It was himself. If he went wrong in this—tonight, the next night—how could he bear it? What would be left of him, if he lost her stouthearted loyalty?
What would he be, if he did not deserve it?
But it was hard to think when she arched up into him. Harder still when the ship’s slow heave pressed her breasts into his chest. He groaned a little against her mouth—Christ, he could slip his thumb right into the gaping neck of that shirt and feel the unbearable hot silk of her skin.
He stroked the edge of her areola, the tight point of her nipple—felther shaky gasp as he rolled the tip. His blood beat hot at the sound, and he did it again, again, and still he did not take his mouth from hers. He wanted to drown in her.
He kissed her until she was twisting restlessly against him, her hips lifting, her breasts arching into his palms. He kissed her until he thought he’d go mad with it: the slick suction, the brandied taste of her mouth. The tiny cry she made when he passed his thumbs over her nipples, one at a time and then both together.
It was Ruby who pulled away first. “Malcolm,” she gasped, “I want you.”
He brought his hand to her knee, sliding it up beneath the hem of her shirt until his thumb found the slick arousal on her inner thigh.
He felt dizzy again, and not just from the movement of theDelphinium. He was unmoored by his desire for her—for every part of her body and her heart.
He cupped her sex—ohJesusshe was searingly hot and wet—and brought his mouth back to hers. “Let me take care of you,” he said roughly.
She fisted his wet shirt at the small of his back and drew him closer. Her lashes fluttered as she squirmed against his hand, pressing feverishly down, all need and lust-drunk demand. But—
“No,” she said. “No, I want—I want you. I want everything. I’m not going to change my mind.”
It was his turn to pull back. His breathing was shallow and uneven—as though he’d been striving toward some impossible height. And Ruby—
How he wanted her. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared up at him, and he had to make himself look away from the Renaissance masterpiece that was his shirt stretched over her tits.
Nothing about this was as he’d imagined. In his fantasies, as he’d sold theDelphiniumand counted his coin, he’d thought to wed her someplace beautiful. He’d envisioned a bed that would fit both of them, a cloud-tower of soft cotton and down. He’d imagined iced wine and ginger cream, pictured himself licking things off various parts of her body until she was sobbing with need.
But he had this: a cramped cabin at the back of his ship, lifted in slow rolling waves by the sea. Ruby’s skin beneath his mouth. His heart, delicate as a soap bubble, resting in her palm.
“I want it too,” he said hoarsely. “God, I do. But the cabin—there’s only this godforsaken hammock—and I want this to be good for you, Ruby. I want it to be perfect.”
She was still gripping the back of his shirt, and her ocean eyes were fixed on his face. “I’m certain,” she said, “that between the two of us, we can think of something.”
He looked down at her: flushed and heavenly, soft spilling flesh and kiss-damp lips.
Hiswife.
“Oh fuck,” he said. “Ruby. Yes.”
He spun her away from him. He nudged her forward to the small table at the center of the cabin and pressed her down across it.
She caught his meaning. She grasped the wooden edge and leaned forward. Her breasts crushed against the table, and as she bent, he pushed the hem of his shirt up to reveal the tops of her thighs, her buttocks, her sex.
Touching her felt like an impossible extravagance. Some holy luxury he’d never done anything to earn. He stroked her until she was whimpering, and then he knelt and put his mouth to her slick seam. He licked, caressed—used hands and tongue as her hips jerked against him and his body throbbed with need.
He felt the sobbed-out rhythm of her climax with a sense of wonder, with agonizing, tooth-grinding lust. His heart battered his ribs. His cock was so hard he could feel it twitch with every heartbeat, pressing against the waistband of his trousers.
She twisted to look back at him. “Malcolm,” she gasped, “please.”
“Yes,” he said. “God. Whatever you want. Anything.”
He kept on touching her, but he used his free hand to unfasten his fall. He gripped himself—Christ,Christ, this was going to be quick if he did not take care.
He got to his feet, dazed by the sight of her before him, pleasured, pink-flushed. He filled his palms with her buttocks, then reached beneath the shirt to find her waist, her back, the side of her breast. And then he pressed the head of his cock against her sex and did not let himself move.
She gasped a little. “Malcolm. What are you—”
“Wait,” he murmured. “Wait.”
