Theresa Weir - Iguana Bay

by Iguana Bay [SIM-339] (lit)

  So much need, so much wanting...

  He could hear his own rasping breath, feel it tearing at his chest along with his madly pounding heart. He was sweating, shaking....

  From a great, foggy distance, his mind was telling him that he shouldn't be out of breath, it was too soon. And he was supposed to be taking it slow. But then the weak grip he had on sanity washed away....

  He sank to his knees. He cupped her to him, pressing a wet, openmouthed kiss on her abdomen, feeling the muscles beneath his lips contract, the fingers she'd threaded through his hair clench.

  He had to touch her, feel her, know every intimate part of her. He slid his fingers inside the elastic band of her satin underpants, then one hand, then both, following the soft contours of her warm body to cup her bottom, pulling her closer to him.

  Her moan joined that of the ocean. Beneath his hands he felt her tremble; beneath his face he felt the heat of her skin, the silkiness of her panties. Under his mouth ...

  Elise couldn't support herself any longer. She felt herself spinning out of control, surrounded by Dylan. He seemed a part of their surroundings, a part of the sky and the ocean, the night. He had cast a spell over her.

  She sank to the deck, her knees braced against the pitch of the boat. His hot, wet mouth found her breast and suckled it, his tongue sliding across her skin in slick, erotic circles.

  His mouth left her breast. One hand slid up her back until it supported her head so that he could press hot kisses on her face, her throat, her neck.

  "I want you," he rasped, his voice thick with emotion. "Lord, how I want you."

  "You have me."

  "No, I-"

  His words broke off, and he buried his face against her neck, in her hair. "Have you ever wanted something so much..." he said breathlessly, "so much it hurt?"

  "Yes."

  "Deep inside? Fathoms deep?"

  His passion-filled voice, his passion-filled words, were carrying her away...

  "Yes."

  "I ache for you," he whispered, "but this ... is going ... too fast."

  "Fast ... is okay."

  Better than okay. Earlier she'd been scared. But now, knowing that Dylan was shaking, too, she was no longer scared.

  "I want this to last. I want to remember this for a long time."

  If he went any slower she would die!

  Her breasts were crushed against the satiny slick hardness of his chest. Even though the night was cool, he was sweating. And so was she. She dimly recognized the fact that Dylan, cool, calculated Dylan, was losing control, was coming undone.

  He needed her help. All lingering inhibitions vanished. She worked her hands between their two heated bodies. With unsteady fingers she slipped the round metal button of his jeans through the buttonhole. Then she grasped the zipper and eased it down, her knuckles skimming a cotton constrained bulge.

  Dylan shuddered and groaned, then urged her down on the blanket, his hot mouth everywhere. On her eyelids, her lips, her throat, her stomach. Wet, tugging kisses that were creating a tempest inside her.

  She was so hot she was melting.

  There was a coiling ache between her thighs, winding ever tighter. She wanted, needed.... Her legs thrashed, her heels dug into the blanket, her hands clawed the cloth at her sides.

  Then Dylan's hand was slipping inside her panties, his fingers threading through her soft curls. Over and over. She moaned and arched her hips, again and again, until he touched her very center, where the sweet ache had begun but was now spiraling out of control.

  Fire. She was on fire.

  Faster. Faster.

  "Dylan," she managed to gasp, letting go of the blanket to clutch at his damp, muscled shoulders. "I don't know about slow."

  "You will," he promised, his voice just as breathless as hers. "You will."

  His hand stopped its sweet torture. He let go of her and moved away. Cool air brushed her fevered skin, caressing breasts still damp from his mouth. Beneath the sound of the wind and ocean, she could hear Dylan shedding his clothes. Then he was back.

  This time he immediately slid both hands inside her panties, open palms against her scalding skin, slipping the fabric down over hips, legs and feet.

  "Lie very still," he whispered. "Don't move."

  Hands braced on either side of her head, knees between her legs, he slowly levered himself down, stopping before they touched.

  An inch of damp night air filled the charged space between their hot, pulsing bodies. He brought his head down, touching his lips to hers, rubbing back and forth.

  She sighed, and her mouth opened. His tongue plunged. Earlier he'd almost lost control. Now she once again drew his rhythmically stroking tongue deep into her mouth.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  He felt a tightening inside, felt himself harden even more. He lowered his hips and nestled the aching, throbbing stiffness between the soft warmth of her inner thighs. She lifted herself to him, opened her legs wider, but he didn't slip inside.

  Not yet.

  She groaned, tugging at his hips. "Dylan..."

  His lips stopped her half-formed protest, his tongue plunging into her mouth with a long, deep thrust. In and out, in and out, deeper and deeper. She raised her thighs to him, digging her heels into the blanket, trying to urge him inside her.

  But still he held back.

  His mouth left hers. He pressed a wet kiss on her forehead, smoothing her damp hair from her brow.

  "Sshh. Slow. I promised you slow, remember... ?"

  "We ... we didn't shake on it...."

  "I'm shaking now...."

  And so was she.

  Against the sheen of perspiration that bathed both their bodies, he slid lower, filling his hands with her full breasts. "You," she whispered. "Just you..."

  He understood. He'd never had anyone before her. Not like this. Never like this.

  He cupped her breast to his mouth, stroking with his tongue, tasting the pliant nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth, the way she had drawn his tongue.

  She moaned, and her sweet body twisted beneath him. The scent of her skin filled his head. He moved from her breasts to cradle her bottom while traveling lower, tasting her flat stomach, feeling her muscles tighten beneath his mouth and hands.

  In the back of his mind he was aware of being hurled forward toward a place he'd never been before. He wanted to go there. Needed to go there. With Elise. To a place where the walls crumbled away completely.

  With Elise ...

  He shifted himself enough to fold her legs so her bare feet were flat against the blanket. Like a sculptor, he ran his hands up the contours of her calves, across her knees to the soft skin of her inner thighs.

  He heard her breath catch as he combed his fingers through her silky curls, felt her body grow still in anticipation of his next move. He parted her, sliding the pads of his fingers across her hot dampness.

  His heart was thundering in his head, his breathing coming in a tight rasp. He'd never known such an all-consuming fire.

  Losing control.

  He was losing control, but he didn't care. He wanted it. All of it.

  "Dylan..." she whimpered, urging him closer, arching against his hand, her fingers digging into his sweat-glazed shoulders. "I want you.... I want you inside me now." Her voice was breathless, urgent, edged with panic. "Dylan, I-I'm falling!"

  "I won't let you fall...."

  "I'm-oh . . ." Her words broke off.

  Dylan felt a series of shudders course through her body, felt her legs tremble against his arms.

  He soothed her with breathless words, love words, words that he'd always thought were foreign to his nature.

  But she'd changed him.

  Quickly he slid up her body. Her long beautiful legs wrapped around his back, welcoming him. He could feel her heels against his rib cage.

  When his mouth found hers, she reached between their perspiring bodies, guiding him to her. The touch of her hand sent tremors through hi
m that equaled hers.

  Never like this.

  She took him inside her.

  Hot.

  Wet.

  Tight.

  "Better than I dreamed," he swore against her arched throat. "Better than I dreamed..."

  He slipped deeper. Millimeter by slow, slow, millimeter.

  "You're so soft ... warm ... so tight. I could almost think ... almost believe..."

  He'd never felt so surrounded, never felt so complete. He was only half-aware of someone-himself-whispering soft, strange words against her mouth, against her eyes, against her ears.

  He cupped her bottom, lifting her higher. Closer. The heat was building, their damp bodies moving together. The boat pitched. She arched.

  He followed the motion of the rolling deck, stroking her deeply, matching the movements of the waves. Again and again.

  He heard her call out his name, felt her legs tighten around him, felt her soft heat convulse. His every muscle stretched to its limit, squeezing until his body spasmed against hers and once again he whirled away into the night sky.

  Lost.

  Hopelessly lost.

  Dylan came whirling dizzily back to the earth's atmosphere, back to gravity, back to latitude twenty-five degrees north, back to the Florida Straits, back to his boat.

  Back to Elise.

  He'd traveled far. Blown by solar winds, he'd hurtled out past neutron stars, pulsars and quasars, out to the end of the galaxy. For a few seconds, he'd lost track of where he was and who he was.

  Which was odd. Spaceman Bob had never suffered reentry disorientation.

  But now he was back.

  He could feel Elise's hands stroking his ribs, trailing down the indentation of his spine. His perspiring body felt as if every muscle in it had melted during reentry. But he forced himself to lift his heavy head so he could look at her.

  Her eyes were closed, her lips swollen and red. She was the moon, and he was the tide. He could feel her strength, feel her pull.

  Love for her washed over him and through him. It was bittersweet and painful, and so strong and unexpected that it made his heart thump in panic.

  She had changed him. A week ago he had managed to convince himself that he didn't even like her. And now... now he was afraid he loved her.

  No.

  Damn it, no.

  He managed to bring a hand up and stroke her damp hair away from her face. As he watched, her eyes fluttered open. In them, he could see the reflection of the stars.

  "There are stars in your eyes," he whispered, wondering where those strange, embarrassingly poetic words had come from. He never said things like that. And through all these new emotions, he was distantly aware of a note in his voice, a note that until now could only be coaxed from him by Skeeter's kids.

  Tenderness.

  Dylan both cursed and marveled at it.

  She smiled sleepily... maybe a little shyly.

  Elise's senses, her tired, love-sweet senses, were full of him. He was in her, around her. Behind him, she could see the stars. His stars. He'd cast a spell on her, a deep, dark, wonderful spell.

  For a second, with him looming over her, his face cast in shadow, his dark hair tumbling forward, she was reminded of the first night during the lightning storm. She'd been so afraid, yet so attracted. He hadn't seemed quite real.

  She wasn't afraid anymore.

  "Dylan... ?"

  "Mmm?"

  "Did you cast a spell on me?"

  A thoughtful silence. "What if I told you that last night, while you were sleeping, I cut a lock of your hair and entwined it with one of mine?" There was a teasing quality in his deep voice.

  "I'd have to say it was a very good spell." "Think so?"

  "Mmm. Definitely."

  She felt more than heard the laughter that rumbled in him. For one bittersweet moment she was unbearably content.

  But then reality intruded. Reality always intruded.

  He rolled away from her and got to his feet, leaving her with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness.

  Reality.

  Time to go. Time to be on their way.

  After all, spells are only spells, and magic can only last so long.

  She began fumbling for her clothes, horrified at the sudden rush of tears she could feel welling in her eyes.

  She would not cry. She could not cry. Not now. Tomorrow, maybe.

  She directed all her attention to her search for her clothes. She found her bra, but not her underpants. She found her cutoffs, but not her T-shirt. Oh, hell. How stupid, she had the T-shirt right in her hand. It was the panties she needed.

  She clutched the shirt to her while she continued her search, her fingers shaking as she felt around the deck.

  "Elise..."

  "I can't find my-"

  "Elise-"

  "I've lost-"

  My mind. I've lost my mind.

  It was then that she felt his hand on her arm.

  "Elise, come here."

  He pulled her up beside him, and when she collided with his hard chest, she realized he was still naked. And aroused. A hard, hot roundness was pressing against her abdomen. It was warm, velvety soft, throbbing....

  He took a step back and sat down on the bench seat. Holding her hand, he pulled her toward him, urging her closer until they were knee to knee.

  "Have you forgotten?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "That we have all night."

  He worked his knees between hers and pulled her closer yet, until she was standing with her hands braced on his shoulders, her body straddling his thighs. Her fingers were still clutching the T-shirt in a death grip. He worked it free and dropped it to the deck, then pulled her even closer.

  "I want to love you like no one has ever loved you before," he whispered against her throat, his voice fierce and rasping, his hands once again awakening passions within her.

  Love.

  She knew he meant love in the physical sense, and yet ... His hands, his mouth, his body, were making her dizzy. How on earth could he make love any more passionately? She was drowning ... drifting away....

  "So you won't forget me," he said, a hint of desperation behind his words.

  "I won't forget you," she swore. "I'll never forget you."

  His head came down. She felt his hair brush her nipple; then his warm breath caressed her skin and he was pulling the tip of her breast into his mouth, sucking, tugging, while his hands kneaded her round bottom.

  A series of small shudders ran through her. Again and again. One of his hands moved between her parted thighs, a finger once again discovering and stroking her aching dampness. Her most secret, womanly place.

  "I want to make you forget any other lover you ever had," he swore.

  Before she could say anything she felt his large hands grasp her hips, his callused thumbs on her hipbones. Then he was lifting her against him. She slid down his sweat-damp chest. Falling, falling, deep shudders trailing through her. She called his name, heard his soft, soothing murmur, and then his iron hardness was slipping into her.

  Slick.

  Hot.

  Deep.

  Through a haze, she thought she heard him moan. She felt his body tense, the muscles under her clenched hands tightening.

  Fifteen minutes later they were lying on the deck again. Making love again.

  There was nothing slow about Dylan this time. This time he seemed to lose control, taking her with such wild abandon, such feverish, erotic passion, that he drove Elise's breath from her body, leaving no room for a single coherent thought.

  Chapter 14

  Sleep.

  Soft. Warm. Safe.

  But gradually the ceaseless roar of the ocean intruded, infiltrating the deep recesses of Elise's semiconscious mind.

  She became distantly aware of the sound of waves lapping against a hull, gently rocking the boat from side to side.

  Closer, nearer... directly beneath her ear, came the deep, muffled beat of a heart.

>   Strong. Steady. Comforting.

  And the warmth ... it was the wonderful feel of skin against skin.

  Her skin.

  His skin.

  Love.

  Like a snowflake drifting down to slowly melt on a flushed cheek, the single word seeped into the deepest corner of her mind, the deepest corner of her soul.

  Love.

  No.

  Yes.

  Awareness came slowly, in stages. When it was finally reached, Elise kept her eyes closed, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to move. She wanted to absorb the sensation of lying in Dylan's arms, the blanket wrapped around them like a cocoon.

  She could hear his steady breathing, feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest, smell the scent of his skin, taste the salt tang of it on her lips. She felt surrounded by him, enveloped by him.

  Changed by him.

  She didn't move. She wanted to simply hold this moment, savor everything about this moment, commit it to lifelong memory.

  Elise opened her eyes. It was dark, but not as dark as it had been. Dawn was coming.

  Even though she'd been lying very still, hardly breathing, the arm around her back tightened, pulling her closer.

  Was he awake?

  "I've discovered something better than stargazing." Dylan whispered, his voice a deep rumble beneath her ear.

  How long had he been lying awake, holding her?

  "What could be better than watching the stars?" Her voice was hoarse from sleep... or from lovemaking.

  He shifted her in his arms, enough to look down at her. The movement of their two bodies sparked a small, warm glow deep inside her.

  He bent his head and pressed a light, tender-an oh, so tender-kiss on her forehead. "You."

  Before she could say anything, before she could swallow the sudden tightness in her throat in order to make her stiff vocal chords work, he kissed her again, this time on her parted lips. Not passionately. No, it was more of a reassuring kiss. More of a hello kiss.

  He sighed. "We have to go."

  A goodbye kiss.

  She'd never thought she would make love to a man, then tell him goodbye. But things changed. Situations changed.

  People changed.

  Her grandmother's words came back to her. Be careful, Leesie. Men are only after one thing.