“I’ve told you this before, but I don’t think you can hear it enough,” he murmured. “You’re beautiful, Marin Chevalier. Damn gorgeous, in fact. Do you know that?”
Marin hoped he didn’t expect an answer because her throat had become choked up again. She squeezed her eyes shut to stem the tears that threatened. His lips found the inside of her thigh and she bucked off the bed when his rough beard abraded the sensitive skin there.
He chuckled softly. “You’re very tense. Before we get to the demonstration of my sexual proficiency, I think I might need to let you fly solo.”
With that, his mouth moved to her core. Marin moaned loudly as she fisted her hands in the sheets. She had no argument with the proficiency—she would call it artistry—of his tongue. Within minutes, she was soaring over the edge panting his name.
Griffin kissed his way up her torso all the while repositioning her on the bed. Marin’s body grew warmer and more agitated with every touch of his lips. She reached for his shoulders and dug her fingernails into them.
“Please,” she pleaded.
His lips sealed around her nipple and her body arched against his mouth. She twined her fingers through his hair, holding his head to her breast. Griffin’s finger slid inside her and she squirmed.
“No,” she whimpered. “I want you inside me.”
He lifted his mouth from her breast. “For someone who doubted my abilities, you’re very impatient.”
But he moved further up her body so his erection was poised at her entrance. Marin couldn’t make out his eyes in the moonlight, but his lips were turned up in a sly grin. The sound of the foil packet ripping filled the small berth. Marin noticed his fingers shook slightly when he sheathed himself. Then, Griffin slid slowly inside her. She sighed with each gentle push.
When he’d filled her to the hilt, his lids drifted closed as he paused to seemingly savor the moment. It was costing him to take his time. That much was evident by the tightness of his expression.
“Your equipment seems to be adequate,” she remarked.
His eyes snapped open. “I haven’t had any complaints yet.”
Marin didn’t like the feelings the thought of him being with other women brought on. She squeezed her muscles around him. “If you don’t hurry up, I might complain.”
“Do you like it when people rush you in the kitchen?” he demanded.
Marin threw back her head and laughed until Griffin captured her mouth in a hot, glorious kiss that scattered her wits. He began to move inside her and the gentle rocking of the boat heightened the pleasure of his movements. Their tongues dueled; he slid in and out of her, moving in time with the current. She moaned into his mouth as the fever began to build inside her again.
Griffin’s pace never wavered and Marin became frantic for more. She freed her legs from beneath his to wrap them around his waist. The change in position brought more friction where she needed it. Panting now, she scratched her fingers down his back impatiently. He nipped at her mouth, but he didn’t hurry his cadence. A powerful wave of pleasure teased Marin, but she couldn’t seem to reach it.
“Griffin!” she pleaded.
He brought his forehead down to hers. “Is this what you want, Marin?” He shifted his position slightly and moved within her using more energy. Marin shattered beneath a thousand points of light, her body convulsing in places she didn’t know existed. She was gasping for air beneath closed eyes when she realized he’d stilled above her.
When she lifted her lids, she was met by Griffin’s hot, triumphant look. She would have rolled her eyes at him had her body not been so sated. With a groan, he began to move, driving into her with such intensity that she came again. This time, Griffin followed her over the edge, sighing her name next to her ear when he collapsed on top of her.
* * *
“Mmm.” Griffin scraped his spoon against the plastic bowl. “I never knew oatmeal could taste that good.”
He glanced up as Marin sashayed through the salon, Ben’s T-shirt riding up her thighs slightly.
“All it takes is some doctoring up,” she explained. “I found some chocolate in one of the drawers. And I chopped up the Teddy Grahams for the cinnamon topping.”
“You know you should really think about becoming a chef,” he teased.
She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. But then she grew quiet as she washed the pot at the sink.
“Hey.” Griffin got to his feet and wrapped his arms around her waist from behind.
He inhaled the musky smell of sex that clung to her skin and the need to have her again gnawed at him. But as much as he wanted a round two, not to mention a round three, something was troubling her.
He hoped like hell it wasn’t regret. “What’s wrong?”
She sloshed the water around the sink. “I love being the pastry chef at the White House.”