He stopped, his arms tightening around her.
She brushed her mouth over his. The words came easier now. The emotions that he brought out of her were so mixed with love and happiness, she didn’t know how to let them out sometimes. They clogged her throat, they were so overwhelming.
He slanted his mouth along hers as his stride lengthened. She didn’t stop kissing him as he brought them home, as his gait became uneven at the top of the dunes outside their cottage. Even when he slowly let her slide to the ground, they didn’t stop kissing.
Deacon peeled her cover-up over her head and flung it on the lounger. She ripped at the snaps of his shirt and crouched in front of him to drag her tongue along the line of hair above his navel. His long fingers slid into her hair, dragging her back up to him.
He dipped his mouth down to hers as he loosened her bikini top, letting it fall to the shale floor. He flicked open the button to her shorts, making quick work of them as well. The light breeze off the water made shadows play over his skin, accentuating the muscles of his belly and chest with each sway of the twinkle lights.
“God, the way you look at me.”
Her gaze locked on his beautiful face and her breath caught at his rough words. He was all stark angles and intensity. Words were trapped in her chest, but she knew exactly how he felt. Like the world was in his eyes. It was terrifying to have one person be the center of her.
He was her world and she was his.
Deacon slid the backs of his knuckles along her collarbone and down to the slope of her breast to her nipple that stood so tight and swollen just because he was there in front of her. She shuddered as his light touch skidded over the flat of her belly to the curve of her pelvis. He slid a knuckle between the already swollen lips of her slit and groaned.
Shadowed eyes glinted in the low light as he turned his hand, dipping two long fingers inside of her welcoming body. She wanted to throw her head back and lose herself to the feeling, but she couldn’t stop watching him watch her.
Gentle and insistent, his touch was everything. Slick with her, he delved back inside of her and out again. Each time, the calloused tips of his fingers left behind a light scrape of an echo that no one could ever make but Deacon.
She grasped his wrist as her balance faltered. God, he felt good inside of her. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, just the ever slow glide of his fingers until she couldn’t do anything except feel. Except experience the buzz that happened when they were in the same sphere.
She wasn’t sure if it was the roar of the ocean or the roar in her head as he patiently drew her down the path of her first quaking release. When she could feel her own walls clasping around his fingers, he dragged her close and covered her mouth. The swallow of his groan of pleasure swirled with her own as his tongue mimicked his fingers.
The moon and shadows held her as tight as Deacon’s arms as the first wash of misty pleasure swamped her. Distantly, she heard his board shorts fall into a heap as he backed up, dragging her closer to the hammock. He gingerly curled into the wide canvass contraption and drew her in front of him, her back to his front.
Then there was nothing but the floating feel of Deacon wrapped around her. He shifted her and then there was only fullness. Deacon’s wide hand across her belly, holding her tight against him as his cock pulsed inside of her already quaking pussy.
His lips found her neck, his other arm cradled her tight so that his forearm banded beneath her breasts. Cherished. The light sway of the hammock and Deacon’s rolling hips extended one orgasm into another until they were one knot of love and lust and emotion.
Her name became part of a litany of soft groans of love and earnest praise as she broke again and again. But she never fell.
He would never let her fall.
Finally, the gentle cadence of his release flowed around her and filled her. She drifted off, her husband still wrapped around her and inside of her.
Five
Steam
Deacon woke with a groan. His skin was slick with mist and sweat. Harper was still curled in his arms, but they were more like a sloppy, soggy burrito this morning. Residual tequila sloshed in his gut with each sway of the hammock.
Not good.
He squinted at the gray sky peeking between the slats of the pergola. The light rain was picking up and the breeze off the sea was rocking the hammock dangerously.
Definitely not meant to hold a guy his size all night. He looked around, unsure how to unseat them without landing on the shale covered ground.
When another gust tore through the porch, the creak of the rope made the decision for him. He slapped his hand on the ground as gravity and one hundred and fifteen pounds of Harper tried to slide free.
“Shit!”
Harper gasped and instead of curving into him, she stiffened. He managed to roll them, taking the brunt of the fall on his hip and elbow when they hit the ground.