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"Lay your head back like you did when we were sailing. Close your eyes, feel the sun and wind. Feel me."
Though she was on top, the power balance had shifted back to him, easy as the flow of water. She'd needed him to be the one in charge of the boat for this to work. He'd figured it out, accepted that responsibility without a pause.
He rocked her, such that she could imagine the lift and fall of the boat on the water. As he began to do it faster, he set those delicate tissues on fire, driving everything else away. Now he unleashed his male strength, holding her, pounding into her, stroking her clit with the motion. She sealed her mouth over his again, teasing his tongue stud with her own tongue, kissing him with frenetic passion as the climax surged up. She didn't want to break the connection, so as the orgasm swept through her, she dug her claws into him once more, holding on, screaming into his mouth as he kept driving into her. She felt the impact all the way deep inside where he was rubbing against her. He sent her soaring to the freaking moon.
His hand coiled in her hair, holding her tight, fused to his mouth, his other hand spread over her back, his thumb in the valley of her spine. He held her so tight, almost bruising. He was hanging on by a determined thread. Waiting on her to release him.
She stared at him through glazed eyes. Marguerite and Tyler both loved sculpture and possessed an impressive collection. Some of it was erotic, because several of Tyler's friends specialized in that area, but she wondered if any of them had ever captured a man when he looked like this. Almost like she imagined he'd look in battle, eyes fierce, muscles rigid, cock hard. A state where killing rage and lustful need were so close, and a woman felt a thrilling desire seeing either demonstrated on her behalf.
She slid trembling fingers down his jaw, to his throat, over his shoulder. Taking her time with it as he quivered, chest rising and falling, and that look became even more dangerous.
She reached back, bracing her palms against his knees, lodging herself deeper on his cock, the angle tilting up her breasts. She loved the frustration in his expression, but also the fact he complied with her nonverbal cue to keep holding.
"Tell me what you're thinking right now. Uncensored."
"That I'd kill to fuck your cunt. That's all there is. The desire to fuck."
She trembled at the growling response. "I want to watch you come. Come for me, Noah. Don't look away." Then she braced herself.
He tightened his grip, lifted her, thrust upward. She gasped at the deep penetration, and then she had to hold onto his legs as he started pumping himself into her with that singular focus. The des
ire to fuck. She clung to his expression, to his eyes which never left hers as he hammered his cock into her, over and over, such that her post-climactic tissues clutched him, sending sweet aftershocks through her that made her moan. He devoured every reaction, and then he was coming, his face creasing with the effort, harsh grunts breaking free. His gaze shifted only once, to her breasts, quivering with erotic movement because of the power of his thrusts, but she'd forgive him that since his heated attention sent waves of pleasure over the nerve endings.
"Yes..." She encouraged him with sighing pleasure. "Yes..."
When he finally began to slow down, rather than flopping back to the sand like a grounded trout as she expected, he slid his arm around her waist, brought her to him once more. Capturing her right breast with his mouth, he sealed wet friction over her nipple, flicking her with the tongue stud. Arousal feathered through her as she coiled her arms around his shoulders. She held him to her as he nursed each breast to aching, pleasurable response again, rubbing a jaw with that afternoon sandpaper texture against her tender flesh.
At length, he laid his head there, his damp breath on her tight nipple. She kept holding him, stroking his hair, loving the feel of her arms around him, his around her.
She'd touched him how she'd desired, learning to trust herself to command him. And he'd provided her the guidance to do it.
"So..." She cleared the frogs out of her throat. "I realize it's a really convenient time to ask, but you did say Lyda was okay with this, right?"
He smiled against her breast. "Yes. Lyda commands my pleasure, Gen. She told me I was to provide you anything you desired. And before you piss me off by asking, yes, it worked out pretty well for me as well."
Now he did do the fish thing, flopping back with drama, as if she'd completely drained him. "I guess capsizing will have to wait for another day," she chuckled.
"Nope. Just give me a minute to recharge. A couple more of those cookies would help, if we still have any."
"I could learn to hate you," she said, eying the hard body beneath her.
He grinned. "Does that mean we still have cookies?"
With a sigh, she began to slide off him. When her muscles contracted on him, a reluctant farewell, he caught her hips. Bringing his mouth to hers, hand cradling her face, he captured her lips in one more kiss, this one deep and long, a promise of the same passion, but something more tender too.
When he drew back, she had her hand around his wrist. "What was that?"
"I just felt like you needed it. Or maybe I did. I wanted it."
With a pensive look that puzzled her, he let her slide away. He discouraged further discussion of it, helping her to her feet and then pulling on his swimsuit while she did the same with her suit and shorts. The silence was weighted, but comfortable, so she left it undisturbed as she brought the extra cookies back to the towel. They shared one and then he ate another as they passed a water bottle back and forth. A line of pelicans passed over and she closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her still tingling skin. When Noah brushed a finger along her cheek, taking some cookie crumbs or a few grains of sand away--she wasn't sure which--she opened her eyes.
"The cage at Lyda's, there's a freedom to it," he said. "You understand?"
Her brow knit at the unexpected topic. "I didn't feel comfortable with that. For me."
"I know. But a part of you knows why it works, right? The real cage for most people is the one memories put around us." A lot of things moved behind those dark eyes. "If you were in a car crash tomorrow, every reservation or doubt you felt with me today, it would have been a waste, right? You look down the road to the future, and it paralyzes you, because you think you'll find you're still in that prison of memories, that you never left, and this is just more of the same. If there's no future for the past to mess up, there's just this moment, right?"
Whether or not it was his intention, the simple logic helped with her own doubts. But applying the words to that shadow in his makeup she kept detecting, it reminded her of a bird who'd finally escaped a cage. The bird soared, feeding on the pleasures of the air, but he refused to touch the earth for fear of that prison closing around him again. Living in the moment could also be an act of desperation.
