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“I love you, Chaya,” he whispered in her ear as he began to press his cock inside her.
Instant, silken heat began to enclose his sensitive cock head. Liquid fire tightened around it and sucked him inside, inch by inch until he was gritting his teeth against the pleasure consuming him as he buried himself full length inside her.
It was like living in ecstasy, the moments that he was a part of her. The way she took him, so freely, without hesitation, giving every part of herself to him whether she realized it or not.
He had always known it. Whether it was one of the kisses he stole, or now, buried so deep inside her that he didn’t know where he ended and she began, he could feel her soul clasping him. Just as surely as the depths of her pussy encased him, her soul encased him as well.
Natches sheltered her beneath him, held her to him and began to move, to thrust slow and easy inside her. Each penetration dragged a hard breath from his chest and caused her to breathe in roughly. She trembled beneath him, shuddered with the pleasure he gave her. She made him feel stronger than he knew he was, more powerful than he had ever imagined he could be.
“Oh God, Natches. It’s so good. ” Her breathless cry sent a surge of pleasure racing up his spine.
“Hold on to me, Chay. ” Her arms were already wrapped tight around his shoulders, her nails digging into his flesh. He carried her marks every time he took her, and he gloried in it.
His head lifted so he could watch her face as he took her. Watch the flush that washed over her expression, the perspiration that gleamed against her flesh.
Nothing in his life had ever been so beautiful as Chaya in her passion. And nothing, no one, could strip his control from him as she did.
He moved against her, harder, deeper. He groaned out at the tight clasp, the feel of her pussy tightening around him, trying to hold him inside her each time he withdrew. The feel of her pleasure mounting, the convulsive clench of silken muscles around him, her rising cries, the demand in the return thrust of her hips.
He was losing control. He could feel it. His muscles tightened as he fought to hold back just a little bit longer, to feel just a little bit more of her pleasure.
Then she melted beneath him, around him. Her hips slammed into his and her cry filled his ears, and holding on was impossible.
Her name was on his lips as he thrust inside her again, again, lost in the release rising inside him until he buried inside her one last time and felt the hard, forceful jets of his release throbbing from his cock.
Nothing had ever been this good in his life. Nothing else had ever filled him, fulfilled him, as Chaya did.
“I love you,” she whispered at his ear. “God help me, Natches, I love you so much. ”
And those words, they completed him.
NINETEEN
Natches moved the Nauti Dreams from her berth beside his cousins’ houseboats and pulled her into a spare slot at the other end of the marina. To preserve the illusion, he had told Chaya. His expression was still, too still and too quiet, as though he were with her in body only.
Chaya leaned against him as he maneuvered the craft from the second-floor control room. He sat back in the custom leather captain’s chair, guided the huge craft into the empty slot, and watched as two of the marina’s part-time workers secured her to the dock.
It was dark; clouds rolled over the moon and blocked the stars as a cold wind whipped around the glass-enclosed control room.
“When this is over, we’ll find a house,” he said as he stared off into the mountains surrounding them. “I think a baby needs a real house. ”
Chaya pressed her lips together and found the ache and the panic building inside her at his voice.
“A baby just needs a home, Natches,” she told him softly. “And two parents. ”
What he was getting ready to do wasn’t without an element of danger. Chaya had read Dayle Mackay’s Marine file. He had been a mess cook with control issues. He used his fists indiscriminately, not caring who he hurt, or how he hurt them. But he was proficient with weapons, namely, a knife. His hand-to-hand skill rating was high, and from everything else she knew about him, he didn’t have a conscience.
But it wasn’t the thought of the physical danger that had him staring off into the distance; it was who he was going up against. What he was going against. The man who should have been his father.
“I was seven the first time he locked me in the closet,” he said. The lethal throb of cold determination in his voice had her hands tightening on his shoulders from where she stood behind him.
“He kept me in there until I thought I was going to die,” he said.
“Almost two days. No food, no water. When he dragged me out, I was almost senseless with fear. After I managed to get cleaned up and he gave me a drink of water, I lied for him, just like he wanted me to do before he put me in that closet. And he told me, ‘Loyalty, son. That’s all I want from you. Just be loyal. ’ ”
Natches couldn’t even remember what his father had needed him to lie about at the time. Something inconsequential. It always was. Just something to prove his loyalty.
“And what did you want?” she asked him.
