by Susan Cliff
Even with his injured arm, he lifted her with ease. He crushed his mouth against hers and kissed the hell out of her. She could feel all of the pent-up frustration he’d experienced over the past few weeks. He smelled like soap and salt and something darker, like blood. She hoped his wound didn’t hurt too much. His arousal pressed into her, hard and hot. He stumbled toward the mat and fell to his knees, still kissing her. She threaded her hands through his hair and kissed him back hungrily. A thrill raced through her at his grunting sounds. He gave her bare bottom a rough squeeze and let go, breaking the kiss.
His hands moved to his fly. She watched him release the buttons with excitement, thinking he might throw caution to the wind and thrust inside her. But he didn’t. He rolled onto his back, breathing heavily. “We can’t do that.”
“I know.”
She helped him take his pants off with a coy smile. Then she pulled him to his feet and waded into the surf. She sank to her knees and rinsed the sand from her body, looking up at him. His erection strained forward.
She wrapped her wet hand around him, stroking up and down. Then she rained kisses along the side of his shaft, where the veins stood out in harsh relief. He was so hard, it looked painful. She soothed the skin with her soft mouth. Then she brushed her lips over the blunt tip, stroking upward.
“You’re killing me,” he groaned.
She curled her tongue around him, tasting salt. After a few teasing licks, she opened her mouth and went to work. He seemed surprised by how deep she took him, but she wasn’t inexperienced at this. She’d always been eager to please her partners.
With him, the pleasure was all hers. She found herself enjoying his taste, his thickness, the smooth velvet of his skin. He had a very nice piece of equipment, and she liked filling her mouth with it. She liked his hands in her hair and his thrusting hips. She alternated between stroking and sucking, her eyes half-lidded.
He didn’t tell her to stop before he climaxed. He warned her by gripping the base of his shaft, ready to direct his aim elsewhere. She made a soothing sound, low in her throat, letting him know he didn’t have to. He exploded with a hoarse cry, his legs locked and his shaft pulsing in her tight mouth. Spurts of hot fluid filled her throat. She swallowed every drop. When he was finished, she released him and rocked back on her heels.
“Jesus,” he said, sounding dazed.
She laughed and rose to her feet. The sun had dipped low on the horizon, and the air was starting to cool. She gathered the mat and went toward the fire, which was burning low. He followed her, pants in hand. He tossed them on the driftwood log and stretched out on the mat. She drank a cup of water, smiling.
“Come here.”
She sank down on the mat beside him. He held her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly, worshipping her mouth. His shaft hardened against her belly, raring to go. She couldn’t believe he was aroused again.
“Do you want to ride my hand or my face?”
She flushed at the question. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to climb on his face, despite what she’d said earlier. He extended his right arm on the mat and lifted two fingers in offering. After a short pause, she straddled his hand and sank down on his fingers. He had big hands, with long, blunt-tipped fingers. Even though she was soaking wet, it had been months since she’d been penetrated, and she felt the stretch.
He felt it, too. He inhaled a ragged breath. “Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Ride me, then.”
She moved up carefully and slid back down, making them both groan. It felt good, so she did it again. It felt even better to rock her hips back and forth, rather than up and down. There was no pressure to satisfy him with an in and out motion, so she focused on her own pleasure. His fingers went deeper, and she shivered. He rested his thumb on her slippery bead, rubbing back and forth with every little thrust of her hips.
“Touch your nipples,” he panted.
She pinched them into hard points, biting on her lower lip. She was aware of him watching her with hot eyes. She was melting again. Melting all over his hand, her moisture slicking his fingers. His erection bobbed against his belly, neglected. She knew they couldn’t have intercourse, but there were other things to do. Things she’d never done.
She came with a sharp cry, her sex clenching and her hips bucking. Something about the dual stimulation of his thumb and fingers gave her a deeper, more full-bodied orgasm. It went on and on, rippling through her like an earthquake.
When it was over, he removed his fingers and she collapsed beside him. She’d never felt more relaxed in her life. Her skin was dotted with light perspiration, her head buzzing but her thoughts quiet.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Like I died and went to heaven.”
He kissed her lips softly. “I’ve never had better.”
She nodded her agreement. This was the best sex she’d ever had, and it was just foreplay. “Do you want...more?”
“I’m good. Just rest for a minute.”
She propped her head on one hand, smiling. “I mean, do you want real sex?”
“This is real sex.”
“Penetration. Penis in vagina.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Yeah, I want that. But it’s a bad idea.”
She knew it was. Letting him come inside her was too risky. If she ended up pregnant, they’d be screwed—whether they got rescued or not. Even so, she wasn’t sure they could resist. She also wasn’t sure it mattered, in the long run.
This island was as deadly as it was gorgeous. Today had proven that more than any other. There was a ten-foot tiger shark prowling the reef. She hadn’t seen a plane or ship since they arrived. Repairing the raft seemed impossible. They were stuck here. They could die tomorrow. Why worry about the future when your days were numbered?
He put his arm around her, as if he could sense her uncertainty. “No matter what happens, I’ll take care of you.”
Her eyes filled with tears, unbidden. She pressed her face to his chest. Maybe it was the sexual release, or all the tension she’d felt about the shark attack. Maybe it was just an outpouring of emotion. She was depending on him to take care of her.
She was also falling in love with him.
The realization rocked her to the core. She was falling in love with a man who seemed to have no fear, and she was helpless to stop the events in motion. The flimsy walls between them had come down. She couldn’t give her body without surrendering a piece of her heart. Now that she’d let him touch her, there was no turning back.
And that was the greatest risk of all.
Chapter 17
Logan spent the next few days recuperating from his injury and bringing Cady to dizzying heights of pleasure.
It was a glorious time to be alive.
He almost wanted to kiss that tiger shark for setting off this chain of events. He didn’t know why he’d held out so long. Making love wasn’t a crime. He’d seen too much war and death on his overseas assignments. What they were doing felt like a beautiful expression of life and passion. They both needed it, badly. If his commander begrudged him the affair, so be it. He’d never regret touching her.
The wound on his arm healed quickly. He stayed out of the ocean. Cady kept the area clean and bandaged. Even after it scabbed over, he didn’t venture beyond the reef. He searched the tide pools, content to look for easy meals.
He hadn’t given up on hunting in deeper water, but he’d been forced to acknowledge the recklessness of it. There was a predatory shark trolling the reef. Swimming alone was too dangerous, and the bamboo raft had offered little protection. If he finished the repairs on the inflatable raft, and took Cady with him as lookout, he could try again.
He found himself eager to please her, and more willing to compromise on safety issues. Whe
n she was happy, he was happy.
There was one thing they couldn’t do, but it wasn’t the most important thing. He could bring her to climax without penetrating her. He was well satisfied by her efforts, in return. They’d shared hours of creative, erotically charged encounters. Not being able to fall back on the old standby had sparked something new and surprisingly dirty inside him. He’d explored every inch of her. He couldn’t get enough. She was so sexy and responsive. They’d both been insatiable.
But he still wanted to drill her.
He couldn’t help it. He was a man. It was in his nature to dominate and plunder. Whenever they were together, he imagined rolling on top of her and thrusting into her tight body. Although he loved using his hands and mouth on her, he longed for a deeper connection. He wanted to fill her to the hilt.
He knew they shouldn’t. He was already crossing the line by touching her. Even so, the temptation to take the final plunge, with no barriers between them, was overwhelming.
She had something special planned tonight, on their one-week anniversary. He’d caught two good-sized crabs in his basket this morning. He’d also managed to make tar, after many failed experiments. He’d patched all of the tears in the raft and rigged a primitive bellows to blow air into it. Tomorrow they’d take turns pumping the bellows. It would probably be a lengthy, exhausting process. He couldn’t wait.
While she made dinner, he cleaned up at the waterfall. He thought about shaving again, but decided against it. He’d washed his pants earlier and hung them over the boulder he called Cady’s Rock, just to tease her. His boxer shorts had given up the ghost two days ago, and he didn’t bother with a shirt unless it was cold. He’d acclimated to the intense sun, little by little. Now he had a tougher hide.
After donning his pants, he plucked a flower from the overhanging vines by the waterfall. Then he strolled down the beach, whistling. Cady wasn’t by the fire. He saw a covered basket near the coals that was giving off steam and a delicious aroma. He approached the shelter, his stomach rumbling with hunger.
“Don’t come in,” Cady cried.
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not ready.”
He’d seen her in every state of undress, but he shrugged and went to sit down on the driftwood log.
“Cover your eyes,” she said a moment later.
Lips quirking, he held one hand over his eyes.
“Keep them covered.”
“What are you doing?”
“Just wait.”
He could hear her fidgeting with the basket. The scent of steamed crab drifted into his nostrils, mixing with the hibiscus flower in his opposite hand. He also smelled coconut oil and female skin.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
He uncovered his eyes...and almost swallowed his tongue. She was standing in front of him with a platter she’d woven out of palm leaves. It was loaded with fresh crab, mashed taro and steamed greens. Everything looked amazing, but he hardly glanced at the plate. Because the real treat was her.
She was wearing a skirt she must have been working on in secret. It was made out of banana leaves, strung together and tied low on her hips with cordage. The short leaves tickled the tops of her thighs. On her head, she had a lush green wreath, Polynesian-style. Her dark curls were more relaxed than usual, as if she’d applied a magic potion to her hair.
Oh, and she was topless.
He stared at her, slack-jawed. The flower fell out of his hand. There was a dewy sheen on her lips, and on her dark nipples. Had she oiled her breasts? He pictured her massaging her smooth skin until it shone, toying with the stiff peaks.
He was instantly, powerfully aroused by that mental image, and by the erotic presentation before him. He was also aware of the effort she’d put into her appearance. The headdress alone had probably taken hours. She’d done this for him. To please him. His chest tightened with emotion, because he didn’t feel worthy. He’d shown up, shirtless and barefoot, with a flower he’d plucked on impulse. He had nothing else to give her.
“I was going to make a coconut shell top,” she said, seeming flustered. “I wanted it to be a whole outfit.”
“This is better,” he said, with complete honesty.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it.”
Her eyes lit up with pleasure. “You do?”
He nodded, giving her another slow perusal. “Put down that plate.”
She laughed and shook her head. “Not yet. I have to feed you first.”
He reached out to take the platter, but she didn’t release it. Instead, she sank to her knees at his feet and literally fed him out of her hand. He ate the crab from her fingers, his heart pounding with excitement. She held his gaze while she took a bite herself.
He was so turned on, he almost couldn’t stand it. She was topless, kneeling at his feet, serving him. He felt mildly ashamed of himself for enjoying it so much—and that shame added to his arousal, stoking it higher.
“What’s for dessert?” he asked in a low voice.
“Coconut cakes.”
Not what he wanted. She fed him and herself bite after succulent bite, finishing the plate. Then she rose to get a drink. He watched the sway of her skirt, mesmerized. He made a choking sound as he realized she was completely bare beneath it.
He stood up, his erection straining his fly. She smiled and handed him the cup. He took a drink, because he was thirsty. Then he tossed the cup aside and lunged forward. She let out a breathy laugh, evading him easily. Before he knew it, she was running down the beach, her bare bottom jiggling beneath her skirt, and he was chasing after her.
He couldn’t quite believe they were doing this, but what the hell? They were alone. The island was their prison and their playground. She was his queen and his prey. He was a predator. He was going to catch her—and eat her.
In the back of his mind, he knew they were playing a dangerous game. Because they weren’t playing. This chase was real, and it didn’t end with him holding her down and ravaging her with soft kisses. It ended with him buried deep inside her.
He wanted it. She wanted it. He could see it in her hot gaze as she glanced over her shoulder. He could smell it. He’d feel it in the slick heat between her legs. They were racing toward ruin, perhaps, but damn. It felt good to run.
She was fast and nimble, giving him a merry chase. He relished every second of it. His knee hadn’t been bothering him at all lately. He kept a steady pace, aware that her endurance was no match for his. He could jog like this for hours. She slowed after a few minutes. He caught her around the waist and lifted her over his shoulder in one fluid motion. She let out a high-pitched shriek as he carried her toward the shore.
He dumped her on a flat rock near the tide pools, triumphant.
She braced her weight on her elbows and looked up at him, biting her lower lip. “Careful, you’ll make me scream again.”
He fell to his knees before her. “I like it when you scream.”
“You didn’t used to.”
“I was a fool,” he said, and kissed her. She tasted like cool water, intoxicating and invigorating. She tasted like the elixir of life. He smoothed his hands down her sides and buried his tongue in her sultry mouth. She arched beneath him, twisting her fingers in his hair. He loved it when she did that.
He loved her. Every inch of her.
His plan to unbutton his pants and take her, quick and rough, transformed into something gentler. There was no need to rush. As he lifted his head, warm surf cascaded over her body. Her lips were parted, thighs spread. His chest twisted with emotion.
She was so goddamned beautiful.
He slid his palm over her slippery breasts, thumbing her sweet nipples. Then he lowered his mouth to taste, flicking his tongue over the oiled tips.
She gripp
ed his hair, groaning.
He moved between her thighs. The leaves of the grass skirt had separated, revealing her pretty sex. His mouth watered to taste her. She looked pouty and ripe, like an erotic delicacy. He couldn’t resist having her for dessert. When he touched his tongue to her sensitive flesh, she let out a soft cry. She started to writhe her hips, riding his face. He grunted with pleasure, licking and sucking her until she screamed his name.
After her shudders subsided, he wiped his mouth, studying her. She’d lost her wreath in the surf. The last rays of sunlight shimmered on the surface of the water, lovely and transient. Although she looked well satisfied, and eager to be taken, he had to make sure. They needed to discuss the consequences.
“If we don’t get rescued—”
“I don’t care anymore,” she said.
“It’s a health risk.”
“This entire island is a health risk.”
He frowned at her response, suddenly uncertain. But when she unbuttoned his fly, he surged into her hand. Her mouth made a soft moue. And then the moment of restraint was over. He fit himself against her opening. She clung to his neck.
He held her gaze as he thrust into her. Her lips parted with a quick intake of breath. Not pain; her eyes were half-lidded, smoldering with heat. So was her body. She was lusciously wet, enveloping him like a slick fist.
He groaned at the snug sensation, his arms trembling.
She twined her arms around his neck and put her mouth near his ear. “Don’t hold back,” she said, panting softly. “Make me scream.”
Jesus.
How could he deny that request?
Jaw clenched, he started to move. He withdrew halfway and slid back in, testing the waters. She shuddered and tightened her thighs around his hips. He did it again, in and out, thrusting harder.
“Yes,” she cried.
After a minute or two of intense pleasure, he knew he was in trouble. To his chagrin, he was already close to finishing. His erection throbbed inside her and his arm muscles flexed. He wanted to drive them both toward an earth-shattering climax, but it would probably be a solo ride at this point. He slid his hand between their bodies to help her along. The quick rhythm of his fingertips offered no finesse, but she didn’t seem to mind. She made little gasping noises, encouraging him.