He knelt on one knee beside her, coiling one finger through her damp hair, taking a corner of the plush towel and gently blotting away the droplets of water that beaded on her satin skin. ‘It’s you who are amazing,’ he said, leaning over, his lips unable to resist the kiss-plumped allure of hers. ‘And I want to be inside you next time you come.’
She looked up at him, her dark lashes blinking against her cheeks, and smiled. ‘I want you inside me.’
He groaned, her words ratcheting up his desire and his need. He’d been at the razor’s edge of release before, gratified beyond anything he’d known before at the power of the orgasm he’d driven her to with his mouth. But nothing would beat the heady sensation of being, and coming, inside her.
Their eyes caught, their mouths meshed and their bodies tangled on the bed, mouth to mouth, mouth to nipple, hand to naked flesh.
He groaned with pleasure as her fingers coaxed him, teased him, led him to her entrance.
Then she gasped as he found that place, and bucked involuntarily beneath him as he settled himself between her legs.
His body pulsed at her core; her body was already willing him deeper, but as much as he wanted her, somehow he still had the sense to drag a foil from the bedside table.
‘Let me,’ she said, her eyes shy, her long lashes sweeping her cheek as if she was too embarrassed to look at him. He realised what courage she possessed to ask that even as he handed it over. For this was not a woman who moved with practised ease. This was a woman out of her depth, caught in deep water and eager to learn how to swim. He groaned through teeth clenched tight as she rolled protection down his length; even while her look of concentration at doing the job right was almost endearing, he knew that her innocent handling might just be his undoing.
All of it was his undoing: the touch of her fingers. The invitation of her parted legs as she lowered herself back down. The heady scent of desire from a woman whose skin turned to pearl in the silvery lunar glow.
He held himself poised over her, a moment of calm before the storm, a moment to savour, a brief moment to wonder what he had done to deserve such a feast for the senses.
‘Please!’ she said, desperate now, driven, and prepared to beg as her body once again screamed for release that only he could give. ‘Now, please!’
And he lunged inside her in one fluid stroke that buried him to the hilt. Her head dug deep into the bed, her eyes wide with wonder, her gasp strangled before it was given birth.
He could stay there, he decided, held hostage by those exquisite, tight walls for ever, and it would not be long enough.
But he could no more stay still than hold the moon captive to glow on her skin for ever. He eased himself back, felt rather than heard her tiny whimper of loss, and made up for it one-thousand-fold as he lunged home again. This time she did cry out and he captured her ecstasy in his mouth, tasting her pleasure as he built the rhythm of their joining.
She matched him, tilting her hips to change the angle, using her muscles to hold him just a moment longer even as the pace turned frenetic and uncontrolled.
Skin slick with sweat, she glowed in the moonlight as she writhed under him, her breathing erratic, her increasingly desperate cries torn from her as he plunged again and again into her depths.
‘Daniel!’ she cried, reaching for him blindly, teetering on the edge of the precipice they both shared. He drew one perfect breast into his mouth and sucked on it hard, ramming himself home and exploding inside her with what felt like fireworks.
She came all around him, a vivid starburst of colour and passion, a wild release that blew his mind and took him shuddering over the edge with her.
Later, when the silvery moon had tracked higher in the night sky and Sophie lay sleeping, he stood outside on the deck in a pair of shorts, his hands palm-down on the railing, his restless thoughts a dark hole in a world of such moonlit perfection.
Electric—it was the only way he could describe how she’d felt, like a switch had been thrown and she’d turned from woman into electrical storm, sparking, pulsing with energy, crashing like lightning about him.
But how many nights would they have? How many opportunities to sink himself into her exquisite depths and feel her body come apart around him?
He turned and looked through the windows of his room, to where he could make out her shape on his bed, her face turned away, one arm hanging over the side of the bed and a glorious curve of flesh from waist to hip illuminated by the pale moonlight.
How many nights?
Or was this thing to end before it began?
He walked barefoot along the deck, the rustle of leaves and the occasional rustle in the undergrowth the only sounds as he put off the inevitable, refusing to open the phone he’d heard beep—the reason he’d come outside.