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“I miss you, too.” He kisses the top of my head.
Tears trickle out of my eyes, and I bite my lip hard.
“Ah,” he says, obviously feeling wetness on his skin. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I squeak. “I fucked everything up. I’m so sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything. It was all me. I shouldn’t have pushed you to sleep with me.”
“You didn’t push me. I wanted to. I’ve always wanted to.”
He sighs then, a long, deep sigh that seems to go on forever. “Elizabeth,” he says, just that one word, but he makes it sound precious, as if he’s rolling an emerald around on his tongue.
I lift up onto an elbow and look down at him. “Hux…”
He lifts a hand to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Jesus, you’re so fucking beautiful. How are you so beautiful, even without makeup, with your hair all messed up?”
I swallow hard. “Do you want to kiss me?”
He cups my face and gives me a helpless look. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole life.”
More tears spill down my cheeks. He brushes them away with his thumb. And then he slides his hand to the back of my head and pulls me down to kiss me.
Oh God, at last… I open my mouth and touch my tongue to his bottom lip, and he groans and sweeps his tongue inside. He moves his hand to my thigh and slides it up, groans again as he discovers I’m not wearing any knickers, then slips his fingers further up under my nightie to cup my breast. I arch my back, and he rolls my nipple beneath his thumb, then tugs it in his fingers, and it’s like a bolt of electricity shooting through me, exploding somewhere between my thighs.
“I want you,” he whispers as he shifts so I’m on my back and he’s leaning over me. “I can’t bear it any longer. It’s all I can think about. I’m obsessed with you.”
Fresh tears sting my eyes. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Never,” he says, and kisses me hard, delving his tongue into my mouth. Half-crying, filled with relief, I part my legs as he slides his hand down, and I can’t help but give a long moan as he slips his fingers into my folds.
“Ahhh…” He lets out a long breath, as if he’s coming home, and slides two fingers right down inside me. I can barely see his face, but his eyes glitter in the starlight.
He arouses me gently, moving his fingers while he kisses my breasts and teases my nipples with his tongue, eventually removing the nightie to give himself better access. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, or the fact that I’m keyed up and I’ve been thinking about this almost non-stop ever since we parted, but it feels like only minutes before a deep ache grows in my belly.
“I want you inside me,” I tell him softly, moving a hand down to stroke him through his boxers, the silky fabric slipping over his iron-hard length.
He divests himself of the boxers, kisses up my neck to my jaw, right up to my mouth, then pauses, and I look up into his star-filled eyes.
“Do you want me to use a condom?” he asks.
I hesitate. My brain’s muddled, and I can’t think straight. I’m pretty sure I’m close to ovulating again. Elizabeth… don’t complicate things. Take this for what it is—a brief moment of comfort, some quiet, private, nighttime delight. Tell him yes, that he should wear a condom.
But staring into his eyes, I can’t bring myself to do it, and I give a small shake of my head.
Half of me thought he might frown, and even say he was making the decision to use one. I’m completely unprepared for his beautiful smile.
He moves on top of me, which isn’t easy in the tiny bed, and for the first time we both laugh as he nearly falls off. Impatiently, he pushes the duvet away, then moves up my knees and opens them wide. He slides the tip of his erection down through my folds until he just enters me, then watches as he pushes his hips forward and buries himself inside me.
I arch my back and cry out at the exquisite feeling of being stretched and filled—ohhh… that’s amazing.
“Shh,” he says, laughing and covering my mouth with his. “You’ll wake the rest of the boat.”
“Sorry.” But it’s so hard not to say anything as he moves inside me. Mmm… I welcome his weight as he settles down on top of me, and wrap my legs around his waist. Oh, he feels good. I love the way his muscles bunch and furl beneath my fingertips as he moves. Sliding my fingers up his back, I curve them and draw my nails lightly down either side of his spine, and he shudders.
“Fuck,” he says, thrusting harder, and I match each movement of his hips with one of my own. It’s sensual and sexy and superlative, and I’m filled with such relief, such wondrous joy, that my eyes prick with tears again.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers, slowing a little and kissing the tears from the corner of my eyes.
