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He fucks me thoroughly, pumping himself up into me from behind, more and more, faster and faster, until I’m pressed up against the glass, and I wouldn’t even care if a boat full of divers came motoring across right now, seeing me get royally and thoroughly fucked.
All I care about is this.
All I care about is us.
It’s not long before we’re both coming. His fingers swirl around my clit until I’m lost to him, swept away, like I’ve broken through the glass and dove into the depths below. Then he’s crying out my name, pounding me harder and harder from behind, driving his cock up until he’s letting loose, body shuddering as he pours himself into me.
I feel spineless, boneless, and a little brainless.
This man is going to wreck me thoroughly, isn’t he?
I wake up to a roaring sound that shakes the bed.
I open my eyes to darkness and slowly prop myself up on my elbows, my head swimming with all the wine I had at dinner.
Anders is sitting at the foot of the bed, naked, his back to me. He’s facing the window, which suddenly lights up with a flash of lightning, a fierce forked display across the ink black sky.
“Anders?” I say gently, clearing the sleep from my voice. “It’s a storm?”
He nods but he doesn’t turn around. I can only see the side of his face, but he looks haunted, restless.
I sit up, conscious that I’m naked too, and move across the bed so that I’m kneeling beside him, draping my arm over his shoulder, resting my head there. We both stare out at the darkness, watching the lightning strike, showcasing the waves pounding the shore across the small bay, hearing the thunder rumble and roll, the water sloshing against the building.
“I hate storms,” Anders says quietly. Though it sounds like a simple fact, I can tell it’s something larger than it seems, that it’s coming up from the depth of him.
I press my lips against his shoulder, kissing him gently, holding him tighter. I love the feel of his skin beneath my mouth, how warm he is, both hard and soft. I know why he hates storms. It’s because that’s how he lost his father.
“You must get them a lot here,” I say to him, wanting him to keep talking.
He nods slowly, wiggling his jaw. “Yeah. We do. Doesn’t mean I have to like it though.”
I put my hand at his cheek, turning his face gently so that he’s facing me. His eyes are so impossibly deep, and there’s a storm raging in them too. “You know I’m here, right?”
He stares at me for a moment, eyes searching mine. “Are you, though? Sometimes…sometimes I think you’re already gone. Already moved on in that head of yours. In that heart of yours. Or maybe it’s foolish of me to think your heart was ever truly mine.”
I swallow hard, his words stirring up things I don’t want to feel.
God, I don’t want to feel more for him than I already do. I don’t want to make this complicated, to set us up for heartbreak, when I know he’s eventually going to have to return to the sea and I’m going to go on my way, looking for a version of myself that will never quite appear.
“I’m here,” I say again, feeling stupid, wishing I could say more. Wishing I believed it.
For now, is what I don’t add.
Then I lean in and bring his mouth to meet mine. I kiss him, soft and sweet.
At first.
But the more I kiss him, the more I feel a match being struck from deep within my core, a fire burning brightly, a fire burning for him.
He kisses me back, the storm rolling on, and then I’m lying back on the bed, giving myself to him, wanting him to take me in every way possible.
And he does.
Even though it’s dark, the lightning illuminating the room from time to time, Anders keeps steady eye contact with me as his hands slowly, carefully, skim all over my naked body, treating me like I’m made of porcelain, a sharp contrast to the way he was with me earlier, so rough and wild.
With that same deliberation, he skillfully slips his finger down between my legs and over my clit, through the slick folds and back up and, fuck, I’m soaked for him already. My back arches, my clit pulsing, practically begging for more of that, more of him. His touch alone has the ability to make me see stars and I’m making fists in the sheets.
“How badly do you want me?” he whispers gruffly. Whatever sadness and fear were in his eyes is now gone, replaced by my dirty-talking Nordic god. All pure primal lust.
All mine.
“Badly,” I manage to say, still feeling a bit rusty when it comes to saying what I’m thinking during sex. The dirty talk comes so easily to him.
