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I try to be aware of what I’m saying, how loud I might be. But the bed tilts, like the ship is capsizing. I hang on for dear life as my body thrums with the waves inside me, making everything slide off kilter.
I’m still sideways as Rhett kisses his way up my belly, moving the dress out of his way as he goes. I realize it’s only me going sideways. My body. My world. The ship is fine.
Only as he lifts me to tug the dress over my head do I start to feel like the world has righted itself.
I sink onto the sheets, looking up at him.
“Beds are better,” he says, and he’s so like himself from the beach, so different from that strident knock, that I have to laugh.
“They are.” I draw him down to me, his cotton clothes against my bare body. I want to hold onto this moment, hold onto him.
We’re going to be all right.
After a moment, he presses his lips against my cheek and starts working his way down again. “Now I get the less gritty version,” he says, then closes his mouth on a breast.
I arch to him, happy and sated and ready for more, all at the same time.
He breaks away to get rid of his shirt.
I touch everything I got to know on the island. The indention in the center of his chest. The lines between the muscles of his abs.
His swim trunks are loose enough to contain what’s down there, but I swiftly untie them and push the shorts down.
There he is.
I hold him, hot and hard. I was so worried, but here we are, back where we were. It was never the time or the place.
It was a misunderstanding that kept us apart.
And now nothing does.
I draw him down and into me.
He fills my body and I gasp, enjoying the smooth feel of our skin without the humidity and sand.
“We’re so clean!” I have to say.
Rhett chuckles in my ear, and I swear I will never tire of that sound.
He moves inside me with a leisurely pace that’s so different from our frantic previous two days.
His gaze meets mine and the connection locks. I find myself paying tight attention to his face, to each tiny detail of his expression.
His eyes soften as he braces himself over me on his elbows.
We take our time, moving together, and I wrap my legs around his waist.
“Bailey,” he says, and it’s a whisper, reverent, like a prayer.
“Rhett.” I match him, my voice catching.
We’re safe. No wondering when the boat will come, what we will eat, worrying about keeping the fire going.
It shows in how we relax into each other, savoring the feel of our bodies, the comfort of the bed, the protection from the elements.
He pushes my hair from my forehead and plants a soft kiss above my eyebrow. The pleasure of his movements unfurls slowly, like a flower blooming.
Then the fire kicks in, and our breathing speeds up. Rhett grasps my head and moves with more deliberation.
