The Love Shack

Chapter ELEVEN


GAGE’S MOUTH WAS HOT and his tongue slid into Skye’s, stealing her breath and taking her wits right along with it. She’d managed to drag herself out of the sexual spell he’d cast over her for a brief moment, but now he threw her straight overboard again. The fact that he’d avoided her question barely registered.

Her hands clutched at his biceps, trying to stay afloat, but she was sinking fast, her mind going dizzy as prickling heat broke out everywhere—on bare skin and clothed skin, sensitizing private places that swelled and throbbed along with her heavy heartbeat.

Protest was a flickering thought, like the TV’s light against the wall in a darkened room. She closed her eyes, ignoring it to ride the rising pleasure. It felt so good to be touched, to have his warm, male presence beside her, both secure and exciting. She’d worried that trying a full-on sex act with him wouldn’t work, but everything seemed to be full speed ahead, so why not go with the flow?

His lips crossed her cheek and angled down her throat. Her head fell back and he speared his hand in the back of her hair to hold her in place. He feasted on her skin and she felt her blood rising to the surface to meet his kiss. Her breasts ached, pushing against the bodice of her dress, and she moaned, grabbing blindly for his hand so he could provide some relief with a firm, masculine touch.

He smiled against her skin and let her press his palm to her fabric-covered chest. But he didn’t knead her skin or test the fullness. Instead, he merely let his heat transfer through the material, adding kindling to the fire already inside her. “Maybe we should change the venue,” he murmured.

Change the venue? The phrase sounded too technical for her brain, reduced as it was to primitive, primal reactions. “I don’t know what that means,” she said, then whimpered as he moved upward to suck on her earlobe.

His laugh was seductive in its arrogant surety. She should dislike it, she thought, but in the state she was in and because of her tenuous hold on her sexuality, she was grateful that he seemed certain of exactly how to proceed.

He could be the one in charge, she thought. No problem. Please. And then she whispered it, her voice breaking in desperation for something more. “Please, Gage. Please.”

He laughed again, soft and indulgent. “Let’s go inside.”

She fumbled with the handle of the door, but her fingers were clumsy. Gage had it open before she did, and then she realized she’d forgotten she’d toed off her sandals. Leaning over, she reached for them, but Gage was again first. The crushed shells on the driveway crunched as he squatted and took up her shoe, then slipped her foot inside. His fingers brushed her bare skin as he made quick work of the fastening. Then she felt his mouth against her ankle.

She sucked in a startled breath at the hot wetness of the kiss, shuddering with the unexpected delight. He placed a second on her shin, then another on her knee, sending a hum of bliss up her femoral artery and from there to the rest of her body. Placing his palm over that damp third kiss, he spun her on the leather seat so her legs dangled out the opening. Her left shoe was buckled as deftly as the first.

Trembling, she waiting for a second set of kisses, and he didn’t disappoint. His mouth brushed her ankle, the sleek skin of her calf, the cap of her knee. Then, sliding the blades of his hands inward, he nudged her knees apart. The hem of her dress, caught at his wrists, rose with the movement, almost to the bottom edge of her panties.

Cool air washed her hot skin. Skye stared, captivated, as he lowered his head and the rasp of his evening beard teased the soft inner skin of her upper leg. Her hand tangled in the silky dark locks of his hair, but she didn’t have the strength to push him away. Or the will. She could only quiver as he gave a tiny bite to the vulnerable flesh, moan as he sucked there, hard. The sweet, stinging delight hadn’t abated before he left a second love bite on the other inner thigh.

Desire was crashing her nervous system and she was certain she couldn’t walk as his hands curled around her waist to draw her to her feet. “I won’t be able to stand,” she protested.

“I’ll help,” he promised. “C’mon, honey.”

Her body swayed as her weight landed on her feet and he had to slide an arm around her hips to keep her upright and against him. “Told you,” she said, leaning into his chest.

He kissed her cheek, her ear, her temple. “You should come with a warning label.”

“What?” She frowned up at him.

“‘Combustible,’” he said. “I expected you’d be a lot harder to warm up, lady.”

“I am hard to warm up! I’ve always been hard to warm up, even before—” She broke off, not wanting to voice the thought. It had no place here, not now. Not tonight.

Not when he was laughing at her again, in that indulgent, arrogant way he had. “It’s just me, then, I guess,” he said, looking smug.

She was too grateful, too needy, to argue with him at the moment. Lifting to her toes, she fitted her mouth to his and kissed the superior smile from his face. He cupped the back of her head with his palm, and their mouths worked at each other, finding angles and tasting surfaces, until Skye broke away with a gasp.

Clinging to Gage, she sucked in great lungfuls of air. “Oh, God.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said, his hot breath stirring her hair. “This is going to be so good.”

It was going to be everything she’d worried she’d never have, she thought as he led her toward Beach House No. 9. He continued to drop random kisses on her face and hair as they approached the door, as if he couldn’t stand not to have his mouth on her. She gripped him in turn, one hand fisted in the shirt at the small of his back.

They climbed the short flight of steps and then he fished for the keys. She leaned into him as he unlocked the door and pushed it open. Their hands entwined, he drew her inside.

Where lights blazed.

Blinking against the harshness, Skye felt as if she’d been slapped awake. Her heartbeat slowed and the simmering desire cooled a little. She glanced over her shoulder, at the dark night. People kept insisting there was magic at Beach House No. 9, but to her it had been outside—in the shadows, where he’d stoked her desire with burning kisses.

“What’s wrong?” Gage asked.

“It’s...bright.”

An odd expression crossed his face and she couldn’t decipher it, although there was enough illumination for intricate surgery. “Yeah,” he said, then lifted his free hand. He tucked her hair behind her ear, rubbed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “Let me dim it down a bit...or would you like to go home? Has it killed the mood?”

The strong lamplight had something going for it—it clearly displayed the rugged good looks of the man still holding her hand. Much of the time when she thought of Gage, what occurred to her first was his voice in the letters he’d sent to her, or his view of the world that she glimpsed through the photographs he took. But now there was no missing the rugged, masculine splendor of him. In a pair of barley-colored, heavy linen pants that he wore with a white, loose-weave shirt, he appeared both elegant and exotic. He might have stepped from an isolated jungle bar where he’d just met with a reclusive warlord. Or perhaps he was bound for a small South American country via single-prop airplane.

There was an aura of relaxed expectation surrounding him, as if he was ever prepared for a rebel uprising or a knife fight with a local thug...but was sure as hell going to enjoy himself until that eventuality actually came to be.

As she continued to study him, his piercing, turquoise eyes narrowed, and he gave her a quizzical glance. “Honey?” he said, brushing his thumb over her mouth again. Her lips began to throb and her heart thudded painfully against her ribs, its tempo once again speeding up.

Dark or bright, she still wanted him.

He was angled cheekbones and male ego, black-pepper whiskers and searing kisses. She tightened her fingers on the hand holding hers and wrapped the others around his heavy wrist to draw him close, feeling her temperature rise to fever level. “I want you,” she said fiercely, because it was true and the opportunity might never come again. “I want this.”

His forehead touched hers. “Go outside on the deck for a minute,” he said. “I’ll pour you some wine, turn down some lights.”

Excitement flowing like kerosene into her already burning bloodstream, Skye obeyed. She kept her back to the house as she stood outside, her gaze on the surf. Still, she was aware of lights going off, others dimming. In a few minutes, she felt the wooden planks beneath her feet reverberate with his footsteps.

She shivered in anticipation, quivering harder when his hand cupped the nape of her neck, beneath her hair. He turned her and placed the stem of a wineglass in her hand.

Flickering candlelight caught her gaze. She angled her head toward the house and saw that the living room was dark now, except for the fat pillar candles that sat on the mantel and on the coffee table. She wondered if he’d lit the others that were in the big master bedroom downstairs. There was one on the long bureau, she knew. A second and third on the small tables that flanked the bed.

Where she would lie with Gage, the two of them tonight, naked together. Swallowing hard, she looked back at him. “I—” A sight over his shoulder gave her sudden pause. “Oh, no,” she said.

“What?”

“Oh, no.” She pressed her palm over her heart, which was thudding for an entirely different reason now. “They’re back,” she whispered, her body going cold, desire abating. “They’re back.”

Gage glanced behind him. “Who’s back? Honey, what—”

“The men,” she croaked out. “That man.”

“What are you talking about?”

Her finger shook as she pointed at a cottage up the beach. “The Rutherfords are supposed to be gone. They went up the coast for a few days. There’s someone in there—you can tell.”

“Maybe they decided to postpone their trip.”

She shook her head. “I waved at them as they drove off. Mary Rutherford called when they were an hour out and asked me to go in and check that the iron was off. I know I locked up behind me.”

Gage had turned fully around to inspect the cottage in question. Lights were on in the windows, and there was movement behind the drawn sheer curtains. “I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”

She clutched at him. “No! It’s dangerous. We should call the police, or...”

“And I will,” Gage said gently, “if I think there’s a problem. You go inside No. 9 and lock the door. I’ll be right back.”

Once he left, her stomach roiling with anxiety, Skye paced around the beach house’s living room. She turned on the overhead light, and while both the front and sliding deck door were locked, fear kept a stranglehold on her throat. Gage was out there, putting himself at risk. Cold at the thought, she grabbed up the crocheted throw hanging over the couch and wrapped herself in the fabric.

The act of covering up calmed her a little, and she sat on the edge of a seat cushion, rocking back and forth. The sound of the surf was loud in the room, and she tried breathing along with it, but nothing calmed her churning belly or her hyperactive imagination. It spun a dozen scenarios.

Trying to hide from them, Skye pulled the woolen throw over her head. She pressed her forehead to her knees and whispered to herself over and over and over. “It will be all right. It will be all right. It will be all right.”

At the rap of knuckles on glass, she jackknifed up, swallowing a shriek. Her brain hiccupped before she recognized Gage, standing on the deck. She scurried to the slider and fumbled with the locking mechanism. “Sorry,” she called, her voice anxious. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey,” he called through the glass. “Take a breath. Everything’s okay.”

When the door finally snapped open, she didn’t have the muscle power to slide it wide. Gage took over, then stepped inside, bringing the scents of salted air and wet ocean with him.

Her gaze ran over him. “Was it them? Did you call the police?” She darted around him to once again flip the lock. “Did they see you?”

“Skye.” He touched her shoulder.

She jerked at the contact, then whirled, her shoulders pressed to the glass. The fight-or-flight response tasted bitter on her tongue, and she stared at him, her bones rattled by tremors.

Gage went still. “Easy, easy. It wasn’t anything you’re thinking.”

“What...” She swallowed, trying to ease her dry mouth. “What...who...exactly was it?”

“Monica Rutherford, and a handful of her teenage friends.”

“Monica?” She was seventeen years old, going into her senior year at high school. The girl, her parents and her younger siblings had been spending a month at the beach for the past few years, an escape from the summer heat in the nearby San Gabriel Valley. “Her mom said she was going to be staying with a school friend while they took their short trip.”

“Monica and company thought it would be more fun to escape adult supervision by overnighting at the beach house.”

Skye let out a shaky breath. “Uh-oh.”

“Our young friend Monica has a healthy guilty conscience, however. The minute I arrived and mentioned you expected the house to be empty, she and her buddies couldn’t jump into their car fast enough.”

“Were they—”

“I didn’t see any signs of drugs or alcohol. They promised they were heading straight back to Pasadena.”

Skye stumbled to the couch, dropped onto it.

“I made sure the place was locked up tight,” Gage added. “That’s the end of it. They won’t worry you like that again.”

Eyes closing, she rested her head against the back cushion, feeling both weary and resigned. “I don’t think that’s the end of it.”

“Sure it is,” Gage said. “You have my personal guarantee.”

She rolled her head to look at him. “Until the next time something unexpected but perfectly innocuous turns up. Then I’ll have another freak-out. Face it. I’m crazy.”

“Skye—”

“I’ll always be jumping to the wrong conclusions and jumping out of my skin, too. I’m never going to get my life back.”

“Sure you will.”

She eyed him with pessimism, then held out her quivering hands. “You think so? Look how I’m shaking.”

“Take some more deep breaths,” he advised. “And let me get you that wine I left in the kitchen. I need a glass myself.”

She babbled at his retreating back. “If it’s for Dutch courage, don’t bother. You won’t have to deal with me and my messed-up sexuality any more tonight. I’ll go home in a minute.”

He glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.

“I’m too screwed up for you to want to...well, screw. I get it. No one’s interested in doing the deed with a certified loon, even someone who engages in things like the Gage Gorge.”

He muttered a curse and walked into the kitchen.

She raised her voice. “I’m not going to hold it against you or anything. We’ll never mention any of this again.”

“Do you talk this much when you’re in bed?” he asked, his voice floating through the entry.

“I don’t remember being in bed with anyone, ever,” she called back. “It’s past the shelf date of my short-term memory and it wasn’t memorable enough to make it into my long-term banks.”

“Good,” he said, coming back in with a glass in each hand. His face was perfectly calm. As he passed the light switch, he flipped it off with his elbow, and the room went back to romantic and candlelit. “I like a fresh slate.”

“Didn’t you hear a thing I said?” she demanded, taking the wine he held out.

He sat on the other end of the couch and stretched his long legs in front of him. “I heard the forbidden phrase ‘Gage Gorge,’ and for that you will be punished.”

Her eyes rounded. “Ha-ha.” Then she looked down at her wine, aware once again of her dry throat and an odd, illicit tingling sensation below her belly. “What do you mean...punished?”

He shrugged. “Get your sweet ass into the bedroom, and I’ll show you.”

Despite herself, she felt her skin flush. He was just joking around, right? “Is this some outlandish practice you learned in your travels?”

“I’ve been to many foreign places, Skye. Turns out our American Puritan streak means most of us are not very adventurous.”

Oh, he was having fun with her now. “But not you,” she said, then sipped at her wine while peeking at him through her lashes.

“Who was the first to set sail on the raft we made one summer?”

A grin broke over Skye’s face. “I think every mom in the cove was mad at my dad for letting us watch that documentary on the voyage of the Kon-Tiki.”

“We could have used a little better quality control, that’s for sure,” Gage admitted. He lifted the hem of his shirt to expose his flat belly. “I still have the scar from when the raft broke up on the rocks.”

Skye slid closer, the dim light making it impossible to see from so far away. “Where?”

As he set down his glass on a side table, he drew the shirt farther upward. Now she was close enough to get a glimpse of the washboard ripple of his belly and the dark disc of a nipple. Still no scar. “Where?” she demanded again.

“Come a little closer,” Gage coaxed.

It was as if Satan had changed places with him, his voice was so smoky and dark. Skye’s gaze jerked up. His eyes were disguised now, their usual screaming blue two pools of deep shadow. Without touching her, he took her wineglass out of her now-nerveless hand and set it beside his own. Then he lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it away.

“Oh,” she breathed. “You don’t play fair.”

“A little something else I learned along the way.” He gestured toward the top of his rib cage. “My old wound is just about right here.”

Part of her was desperate to get closer, to succumb to his invitation, but her still-jittery nerves and residual queasiness made her pause. All the teasing, all the big talk in the world didn’t mean she could handle the entirety of what came next.

“Do you want to know your punishment, Skye?”

The p-word sent another rush of heat flooding through her and sparklers of tingling sensation flowered again. “Wh-what?”

“I’m not going to touch you.”

Her gaze slowly lifted to his face.

“You can touch me all you like. But if you want to feel my skin on yours—you’ll have to make that happen.”

She blinked. “How?”

He smiled Satan’s smile, lazy and sure. “Pick up my hand, put it where you’d like. Bring yourself to my mouth.”

Her trembling started again, but this was the good kind, the hot-and-cold kind that made her breasts and the place between her thighs swell. The love bites he’d left on her inner thighs began to throb. Still wrapped in the crocheted throw, Skye realized she was about to incinerate. Panting a little, she fought her way out of the blanket and pushed it to the floor.

Gage hadn’t moved a muscle. His gaze was still fixed on her. “Would you touch me with your hand, Skye?”

His own were resting on his thighs, lax. Hers were in fists, and she unsprung her fingers one by one, until they were both spread like sea stars in a tide pool. Then she lifted her right arm, using her palm to cup his cheek.

Closing his eyes, he made a low sound of appreciation in the back of his throat. His whiskers prickled the tender cup of her hand, and she teased herself with the sensation, subtly stroking. Her thumb brushed the smooth surface of his lower lip.

Gage dipped his head, caught the pad between his teeth.

Skye gasped and felt herself go wet. His tongue swirled over the tip, circling, circling, and then he sucked, reminding her of the way he’d played with her nipples the other afternoon as she sat on his lap.

They recalled it, too, and stood stiff against the built-in bra cups of the new dress. She squirmed a little, and they shifted against the fabric, a private self-caress.

Gage released her thumb. “Oh, there’s another rule,” he mentioned, his tone casual.

“What?” Her hand fell from his face, back to her lap.

“No touching yourself, either. I saw that little shimmy.”

She felt her face go red. “I wasn’t touching myself.”

“Hell, yes, you were.” He pointed a finger at her. “No wiggles. No secret clenching, either.”

Her inner muscles instantly tightened, and she almost moaned at the sweet pleasure of it, even as she felt another rise of heat on her face. How could mortification be such a turn-on? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, aware how defensive she sounded. “And I don’t see how you can...can tell any of that anyhow.”

“Because I’m paying attention,” he said in his Prince-of-Darkness voice. “I’m paying attention to you.”

She shuddered, desire rising. Gage was drawing her toward him, his gravitational pull just like that of the moon on the ocean. She drifted closer, until she could see that he was flushed, too, the flickering candlelight showing the heightened color crossing his cheekbones.

Without thinking, she placed her mouth on the patch of warmth, her lips skating across it to find the masculine jut of his elegant nose. She followed that, too, then dropped lower to take a kiss.

He let her, opening so that her tongue could slip inside. She heard herself moan, appreciating the taste of fermented grape, berrylike and earthy at the same time. As she leaned closer, his body heat burned her upper arm.

Wanting more of it, she broke the kiss, then practically crawled over him so she could press her face to the muscled perfection of his chest. She felt him suck in a quick breath, but he held still, allowing her to rub her cheek and mouth against sleek skin and soft hair as if she were a cat.

Her lips encountered his nipple, its center point hardened. She played her tongue over it, lashing it with little flicks, and he groaned. Lifting her head, she took in his heaving chest and his now-fisted hands.

“Who’s punishing whom now?” she whispered, thrilled with the husky tease in her voice.

“Witch,” he said, but he was smiling. “Give me another kiss.”

She did, and though he continued to refrain from touching her with his hands, he still seduced her, his lips moving on hers, his exotic-spice scent rising around them. The kisses caught her like a fish in a net; she was wholly consumed by them, by him. Her hands were on his shoulders, her bottom on his lap, and when her eyes fluttered open to see his fingers wrapped in the fabric of her skirt, it was his restraint that made her the rest-of-the-way sure.

“Take me to bed,” she said, licking the line of his jaw. “Punish me there if you have to.”

“If I get you to bed, the punishment is finished. Pleasure takes over.”

“Oh, God.”

He laughed, the devil satisfied with his wickedness. Then he had her up, off the couch. She didn’t remember the walk to the bedroom. Inside, it was as she expected, lit by more candles, the wavering light as unsteady as her pulse. The bed looked huge, the covers already turned back. Her eyes were trained on it as she heard him say, “Strip.”

Her gaze jumped to his. He grinned at her, the devil gone back to the deep blue sea, perhaps, leaving Gage behind. Her Gage. “Subtle,” she said, chiding him.

He lifted his hands. “I’m afraid these might do damage to that pretty little piece of temptation.”

But he had to get involved anyway, because Skye couldn’t manage the hidden back zipper herself. After a moment of watching her struggle, he strode over and bent his head to kiss her shoulder as his deft fingers ably managed to draw down the metal tab.

He chased her newly bared skin with his mouth, all the way to the dip at the small of her back. On his knees, he gently pulled the cloth until it fell at her feet. He nuzzled at the dimples above her panty-covered bottom.

Next he insinuated his tongue just beneath the top elastic band of the undergarment and worked its soft wetness from the side of one hip to the other.

“Oh, God,” Skye said again, fervent.

Then Gage was standing again, and it was she who was off her feet, her back against the cool sheets, his body coming down beside hers. Elbows bracketing her head, Gage devoted himself to kissing her. Skye sought for purchase in a world gone hot and sweet and topsy-turvy. One hand clutched at the sheets, another gripped the waistband of his linen trousers. Her right leg twined over him, trying to bring him closer.

He pulled back, his face gone serious, and quickly jerked off his pants and boxers. Then there was nothing between his body and her but the candlelight, licking over the hollows and curves. His sex was fully aroused, thick and aggressive, and she took a breath, prepared to push back the panic. But it didn’t arrive.

Because Gage was there, his concentrated gaze studying her face, gauging her reaction. “I’m between you and your nightmares,” he’d said that day while painting her living room, and she believed now that it was true.

“I’m okay,” she said, feeling a little shy about the admission. “I’m okay.”

It was Gage’s turn to be fervent. “Thank the Lord.” But still, he was careful as he lay down beside her.

She turned into his body, wanting to feel its heat and masculine intent. Though he didn’t rush to the next level. It was as if they’d started all over again, delicate kisses to her face, tender strokes of his tongue into her mouth, the lightest of brushes of his big hands over her breasts.

She arched into him, silently begging for more, and he gave it, sliding down to lick at her breasts and suck at her nipples and tickle her belly with soft caresses of his tongue. He drew the scrap of her panties down her legs and then he was between her thighs, his elbows widening them, his thumbs exploring the furrow of her sex.

“Oh,” Skye said, jerking onto her elbows in sudden alarm. “Well. Um.”

He glanced up. “Yum? My thought exactly.”

Her face burned. “Gage,” she protested.

“Skye.” He sighed a little, his breath brushing across the wetness that was seeping from her. “If you must, look at this as part of the punishment.”

“What?”

“Or the pleasure,” he said, and bent his head.

She fell back to the pillows at the first stroke of his tongue. Her body seemed to coil, one sharp, quick twist taking her all the way to the precipice. He laved the pleated layers of her, opening her flesh so that all the secrets there were uncovered as she panted to stave off the imminent explosion. His thumbs slid over liquid-glazed softness, working to reveal her most sensitive point. It throbbed, exposed to the air and to his eyes, and again Skye waited for fear or vulnerability to steal her pleasure.

But nothing could do that, not when it was Gage who was looking on her as if he’d found hidden treasure. His tongue flattened over her *oris and she jerked upward, to him, not away from him, and then his lips closed around the pearl of flesh. Suckling.

Sending her straight into screaming pleasure.

But not oblivion. Because it could only be this sweet by not forgetting who it was that treated her with such passionate care.

* * *

GAGE GROANED IN PLEASURE as he took Skye over. She was trembling, her body shaking through an orgasm fiery and strong. Sue him, but he felt ten feet tall, and hornier than he’d ever been in his life. He eased up on her sensitive skin, delicately lapping at her flesh before lifting away from her.

One of her hands fell to his shoulder, and he took it in his, kissing her knuckles as he moved to the pillow beside her. She was watching him with half-closed eyes. “Um...”

“Yum,” he said again, helpfully.

The outline of her lips had been smudged by his kisses, making her mouth more red. Definitely swollen. The corners turned up and she gave him a reluctant smile. “You are bad.”

“I am good,” he said, leaning in to kiss her chin, her cheek, the downy arch of her dark eyebrow. “I am very, very good. Admit it.”

“I can’t deny that, but...” Her expression was too serious.

“It’s okay to have fun, Skye. We can play here, honey.”

She appeared uncertain. So he teased her with a flurry of baby kisses, pecking them on her face and down her neck until she giggled at the tickling and pushed at his chest. He grabbed her shoulders then, flipping to his back and bringing her over him.

Her body went still, as his cock pressed into her belly. Then her eyes rounded and her muscles tensed. “Do you have condoms? If you don’t—”

“I have condoms.”

She relaxed. “Okay, then,” she said, looking at him expectantly.

When he didn’t move, she frowned. “Do you want me to get them?”

“The condoms?”

“Of course, the condoms.” She wiggled against him, forcing him to clamp his hands on her butt before they wouldn’t need a rubber after all.

“We’ve got something to do before that,” he told her.

“What something?” She squirmed again, and he laid a light slap on one tempting buttock. “Ouch,” she protested. “What was that for?”

“For forgetting the promise I made to you.”

A line developed between her eyebrows. “What—”

And then he saw she remembered, her eyelids flaring, her whole body heating in his arms. “I can’t,” she whispered. “You won’t.”

“You can. I will.” She’d come again before he entered her. Two times, just as he’d told her.

He watched her mouth open, and expected more argument, but then she just dipped her head and treated him to a lavish, wet kiss. He groaned, twisting again to take her under him. But she was like an eel, squeezing out from beneath his larger frame to gain advantage.

The bed turned into a sweet battleground then. She was determined to make him break, he decided as she held down his shoulders and extracted more kisses. Probably thought she could get him to cry “Uncle” or at least “condom.” But he was determined and she was already turned on again, her breath panting as he flipped her to the mattress and turned his attention to her breasts.

They were so pretty, soft and full, with hard nipples that he pressed against the roof of his mouth just to hear her moan. His palm slid down her belly and over her hip and he knew he was winning when her knee canted to the side, instinctively asking for his touch. Still teasing her breasts, he brought his hand to her swollen, flowered flesh, reveling in the slick heat there. He slid his thumb to her *oris just as he sucked harder on her tight nipple and she was gone again just like that, her eyes squeezed tightly shut as her hips pulsed.

In the aftermath, her arms and legs were splayed across the mattress in exhausted abandon. Running his gaze over her, he chuckled. “You look like a victim of disaster.”

One eye opened. “Disaster? Is that what you call yourself?”

He grinned at her. “I call myself Stunning Sex Man, because I believe I just delivered two spectacular orgasms.”

Both of her eyes were staring at him now. “Stunning Sex Man?”

“New superhero. Bounds into bedrooms and dispenses incredible, passionate experiences to beautiful women.”

She frowned. He wondered if she might object to the “women” aspect of his job description. Instead, she tapped her chest with a finger. “I want a superhero name. What could I be?”

“I don’t know... Didn’t you meet with a repairman today? You could be Plumber’s Helper Girl.”

That galvanized her. She sat up, then went on attack, bringing him down to the mattress in a wrestling move that brought her knee a little too close to his jewels. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said, grabbing her wrists while laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Be careful. You almost emasculated Stunning Sex Man.”

“That’s what you get. Plumber’s Helper Girl. Bleh. I want a sexy name, too.”

“Have to prove yourself, babe,” he said, still laughing.

“I’ll prove myself,” she said, then reared over him again to lock her mouth to his.

She kissed the laughter out of him. He tried remembering this was fun, that they were engaging in play time, that he was Stunning Sex Man, but then she lifted her head and he looked into her face. It took his breath, framed as it was by the long, mermaid-wavy length of her hair. That strange feeling he’d had when he first saw her by Tess’s pool overcame him again.

The air was hard to move through. It slowed his actions, made everything but his heartbeat sluggish. He cupped her face in wonder and she stared at him, as if alert to this new turn of things.

This serious turn of things.

His blood chugged through his system, his cock screamed at him for immediate release, but it was all slow motion, the way her lashes fluttered, the way her body turned, then spread for him, the way he reached for the condom, rolled it over himself. Candlelight gleamed on her lips, wet from his kiss. He stared at them as he fitted his body to hers.

She made a sound as he breached her. A moan, a plea, it came to him as if through water. His body was shaking with only an inch of himself inside the heated tightness of her. He pushed, rolling his hips to ease his way.

Whispered words echoed through the room, his. “Relax. Yeah. Just like that. Oh, sweet. Tight. So damn tight.”

Then he was in, all the way, and he closed his eyes at the firm hold of her, wrapped around him like a sleek fist. Friction came next, the slide and squeeze, and though he saw only blackness from behind his eyelids, this particular darkness was okay because Skye was with him. Not the imaginary Skye, not Letters Skye, but the flesh-and-blood siren of the cove who clutched his shoulders and made soft, pleading sounds in his ear.

He wouldn’t last long, but he gritted his teeth because ending too soon would be the true disaster. His body pumped, he felt the bite of her nails at his shoulder and when he dropped his head to place a sucking kiss at her neck, her telltale quiver freed him from restraint. He picked up the pace, his pulse racing, too, and as she lifted into each of his thrusts, he slid his hand between them, opening her around the thickness of his cock, spreading her folds so he could find the sweet spot.

Touching there, a wet, sure stroke, that set her free.

And he spun into his own climax, pulled along by the tether that was binding them.