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“For being selfish.” He raked a shaky hand through his outrageously mussed hair with an air of self-disgust.
I rolled onto my back, trying to catch my ragged breath. I shook my head, aware of the heat on my cheeks and the tingles flowing throughout my rather expectant body. My voice was soft and breathy when I said, “Never apologize for passion.”
He trailed one finger across my left breast and down my stomach, making me shiver uncontrollably. There was little doubt that I was still on fire. His eyes traveled over my face and his breath quickened. He sat up and pulled me into his lap, kissing me thoroughly. I held him to me hungrily. I was trembling fiercely against him, a soft groan escaping as my need took over.
I could not restrain the moan that ripped from my throat as our bodies joined together again. I smiled against his mouth and felt his lips form an answering smile.
The fire, already burning brightly, rose within me as we moved together. His hands, his lips pushed me quickly to the edge. His breath was hot against my neck as my head fell back, giving in to pure sensation.
I felt the tightness in my stomach explode in that moment, my ragged breathing turning into a long broken moan. I saw his eyes widen as I cried out with the force of my release. I had no time to recover. He continued to move hungrily. My body was quick to reignite under his hands, his mouth.
When his body shook with release, mine followed, and our cries filled the room. We fell together on the bed, both of us gasping for breath.
He spoke softly moments later. “Much better.”
I nodded, but couldn’t speak. My heart was racing and my body was a throbbing mass of liquid warmth. I’d forgotten how this could feel. Every inch of me seemed to pulse sweetly with fulfillment.
“You all right, Claire?”
I peeked at him through my tangled hair. His hand brushed my hair away so he could see me. A huge smile covered my face. “Very,” I said breathlessly.
His smile mirrored mine.
As we lay, wrapped around each other, our breathing softened. The sound of the ocean, the crashing of the waves, and the occasional cry of a gull ricocheted off the room’s walls. He turned onto his side, humming softly, watching me with intense fascination. His finger started a leisurely journey across my collarbone, between my breasts, circling each one, then across my stomach. He seemed engrossed in his inspection, his eyes following the fluid movement of his finger. I let my hand stroke through his hair, fascinated by his exploration.
His eyes traveled over my cesarean scar, his fingers following. “Can I ask how you got that?”
“Um…” I chewed my lip, trying to decide if revealing my maternal status might be a mood killer. “Knife fight?” I giggled nervously, a teasing smile on my face.
“Must be a Texas thing.” He laughed, started humming again, continuing his inspection.
“You’ll find plenty to ask about if you look too closely.” I tried to sound nonchalant.
His brow furrowed. “You’re lovely.”
I laughed. “It’s dark. Really dark.” I watched my hand as it traveled over his side. “However, you would be a wonderful model. Your body is…” I blushed. “Well, there’s hours of sketching potential there.”
“You’re an artist? And a writer?” His eyes searched my face before turning back to my body, tracing my left nipple distractingly.
I looked at him, smiling as his eyes flickered between my breast and my face. “I guess I used to be.”
His hand stopped, splaying across my chest as he spoke. “Used to be? I didn’t realize you could stop being an artist.”
I shrugged, unsure what to say.
He pushed his hair back, leaving it standing on end. “Claire, are you trying to be an enigma?” His brow furrowed a bit before he laughed. “You don’t want to talk about you?” He touched my heart to emphasize his point.
I leaned over him then, smiling. “There’s not that much to know.”
He lay back and looked up at me, his hand coming to rest against my cheek. “I’d like to know you better.”
I shook my head, arching a wicked eyebrow to distract him. “You know me better than—”
“I mean in here.” His finger touched the middle of my forehead, shaking his head with exaggerated exasperation. He paused then, his eyebrows rising. “Hold on a minute. I know you better than how many?”
I blushed and shook my head, laughing a little. “Why would you want to know? Is that a male thing? To want to know your conquest ranking, I mean?”
He shrugged. “Probably.” He took a strand of my hair between his fingers. “I’ll tell you.”
