by Selena Kitt
Instead, she sank to her knees with a little cry, and proceeded to apologize in the only way she knew how. Daniel accepted it, watching her blissfully swallow his cock. Her eyes were wet, and so was her mouth. She could swallow almost all of his length and he moaned when she did that. For a moment, he thought he might flood her mouth—he wanted her that much. But he managed to hold back and just let her suck him.
She licked the head and tongued the shaft, using her fingernails—shorter than they'd ever been—to rake through the hair on his balls before cupping and fondling them. That made him groan and throw his head back. He caressed her head, his fingers moving through her wet hair, and she gave a gasp when he made a fist and began to guide her.
Darcy nodded her encouragement around his cock as he thrust deeper into her throat, watching her eyes. They were still teary, but had gone glassy, kind of glazed. She was entering a sort of sex-trance, her body pliable, open—which allowed him to do anything he wanted to her. It was the ultimate act of trust, and he felt both proud that she had given him that trust, and protective of her in this space they shared together.
He pulled her up to her feet, kissing her deeply, tasting salt and pre-cum on her tongue.
"You're mine, Darcy," he whispered. "You'll always be mine, no matter what happens. We both know it."
"Shut up," she said and threw her arms around his neck to kiss him.
He carried her back to the tent where they lay side by side, belly to belly. He put a hand over hers—below her navel.
Their eyes met and he saw the pain there.
"Darcy, I need to tell you—"
"Shut up," she whispered again, grabbing his shoulders and kissing him with such force it knocked him on his back. He let her do what she wanted, her mouth leaving hot trails over his neck and chest, her pussy riding the meat of his thigh.
Then she was straddling him, guiding him inside her.
Daniel groaned, his fingers moving up her spine, wrapping his arms around her shoulders so he could pull her down to kiss her. Darcy's mouth slanted across his, tongue exploring the insides of his cheeks, stroking the top of his mouth. She gasped and arched when he began to pump up inside of her, taking control.
"That's my girl," he murmured as she buried her face in his neck, mewing like a kitten. Her hard nipples brushed against his chest with every thrust. She shuddered against him and he felt her pussy begin to flutter. "Oh, yes, that's it, baby. Come for me. Come on."
Darcy whimpered and cried out as he made circles with his hips, grinding his pelvis into hers. Then she was coming all over his cock, her juices flooding him, and he gasped at the sensation, holding her tight.
"Daniel." She whispered his name, nuzzling his neck, kissing his collarbone. "Can't we stay here? Like this? Forever?"
"I wish we could." He rolled her to her side, sliding out of her—his cock was slick with her, pulsing with heat.
Their eyes met and he pressed a hand down between her thighs. She was all hot fur and swollen pussy. He slipped a finger in and she squeezed at him, never breaking their gaze.
"On your back." He nudged her over and she complied. "Now put your arms above your head."
She did that, too, obedient. She moaned when he took her wrists in one of his hands, holding her arms up, taut. His other hand moved between her thighs, over the red thatch of hair, before slipping his fingers inside.
"Unh…" She shivered as he began to finger her. His cock ached, wanting to make that same motion, buried in the wet flesh he now toyed with. He willed himself to wait, watching her eyes as he slipped two fingers in deep, his thumb against her clit. Then he began to pump, in and out, nice and slow.
"Ahhh," she cried, arching up.
"Look at me, Darcy," he said as her eyes started to close with pleasure.
Her eyes fluttered open and she turned her face to him, tilting her chin up. But he didn't kiss her. He breathed her in, her sweat, the salt of the sea, the pungent musk of her pussy, a scent that filled the tent and made him mad with lust.
"Say please," he told her.
He felt her body stiffen, her spine straightening in protest, but his thumb circled her clit, faster, faster. She moaned.
"Say it."
"Please." She gave the word up with a little groan when his fingers bottomed out inside her.
"Good girl." He kissed her, tongue swirling, and he felt her melt against him. He kept her restrained, arms above her head—because he knew she liked it, and he did too—as he fingered her.
"Daniel!" she cried, breaking their kiss, her hips bucking. "Oh! I'm—"
"Yes," he whispered, giving her permission. "Come for me, princess. Come for me."
She came, clutching at him with her arms and her pussy both, juice flooding all over his fingers. The sounds coming from her throat were deep and inarticulate—and they turned him on like nothing else.
Darcy twisted and moaned through her climax and then, finally, relaxed, panting and looking into his face with half-closed eyes.
"Now…" he said, his hand tightening around her slim wrists. "Say 'thank you'."
She gulped, as if the word had gotten stuck in her throat. But she managed.
"Th-thank you."
"Good girl," he said, praising her. He wondered if it was actually the first time she'd ever said those words.
He kissed each of her eyelids and when they opened, her eyes went all liquid with feeling. He rolled onto her, keeping her arms pinned. She opened to him, her legs going into a wide V. Daniel pushed in, groaning.
Darcy met him, moaning too. Her arms were restrained, but her legs weren't, and she wrapped them around his waist as he began to thrust. She went wild with him inside of her, head thrashing left, then right, her hips pressing up, as if she could take more of him.
But they were pelvis to pelvis—he was as deep as he could go.
"Shh," he soothed as she pitched and twisted beneath him, crying out as if she were in pain. "Easy…"
But she was her own storm now. Slowly, deliberately, he was piloting a vessel on rough seas. Daniel had to hold back from exploding, because she was beautiful, so beautiful like this, hips bucking up, heels digging into his buttocks, driving him in deeper, faster.
"More," she urged, her voice a low growl. "Fuck! Fuck me! Harder!"
Daniel slowed and she cried out in frustration. Her eyes opened and she looked up at him.
"Fucckkk," she cried, whimpering, trying to twist out of his grasp.
"Easy," he said again, feathering kisses on her forehead, over her hairline.
Then he slid out, turning her over. Darcy lifted her bottom in the air like he told her to, pressing her shoulders down against the sleeping bag.
"Give me your hands," he instructed.
She reached back with one, and he took it, waiting. Then she reached back with the other, moaning when he used that leverage to thrust himself into her wet cunt from behind.
"Ahhh! God!" She tried to move, but he had her completely in his control like this.
He grasped her wrists and thrust himself deep, hearing her moan with pleasure.
"I don't want you to come," he told her, finding a delicious rhythm. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes," she panted. "Oh! Ohhh God, Daniel."
"Don't come," he reminded her, hips making hot, fast circles, a friction that rose up and up. "I want to make you come with my mouth."
"Oh fuck." She moaned in anticipation and her pussy spasmed just at the thought.
That sent Daniel over.
He came like a thunderstorm, a full force gale. Darcy screamed when he buried himself deep inside, his hands gripping her wrists so hard he felt her bones grinding. His balls drew up tight and his cock erupted again and again, a hot geyser of cum flooding her cervix. He felt her quivering all over and, when he started to finally come down, he worried he'd pulled her arms back so hard he might have dislocated her shoulder.
"Are you okay?" he murmured, letting her wrists go and kissing her shoulder blade
s.
"Fine," she replied, her voice muffled.
"Good." He rolled her to her back and she gasped when he shoved her knees all the way back to her ears. "Hold them."
She did, moaning when he buried his face between her legs.
Daniel devoured her, tasting more salt, filling his senses with the delicious, pungent scent of her cunt that already filled the tent. He didn't tease her. She was too far gone for that. Instead, his tongue found her clit straight away, and he focused there, flicking back and forth, up and down, his whole mouth sealed around her mound.
Darcy began to quake. Then she started to keen. Her voice rose higher and higher, the closer she got to orgasm. Daniel knew her well enough now to anticipate her. She was close. But then she made that little hitching noise that told him she was finally beyond the point of no return.
She came in a flood, sweet juices all over his face. Daniel sucked her clit into his mouth, feeling it pulsing against his tongue with each throbbing contraction. Then he slipped his tongue down, down, past her entrance, to circle her asshole. Darcy screamed when he pressed it in, going off like a rocket, a beautiful finale.
Then he pulled her close and they rested, their breathing slowly coming back to normal
Darcy moved to get up and Daniel held her fast.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To rinse off."
They went together, hand in hand, wandering into the warm surf.
Darcy wrapped herself around him, beautiful, buoyant. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her everything.
"Look at me, Darcy."
She did, with such sad eyes, his heart ached.
"Now say, 'I'm sorry'."
He saw tears fill her eyes and then begin to fall.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, pressing her face into his neck. "Oh Daniel, I'm so sorry."
"Me, too." He held her tight. "Listen, Darce… I have to tell you—"
"Shhh." She pulled back to look at him, shaking her head.
Then she kissed him, and they were both lost again.
So they didn't talk about anything at all.
Chapter 6
They had plenty of time to talk when they pushed the boat out to sea.
But they didn't have words.
The weather was fine. Darcy's thirty-five-hundred dollar Halston sundress shook and billowed on the makeshift mast in the stiff breeze. The wind and the currents were just as Daniel had hoped. Darcy watched him anxiously as, from time to time, Daniel consulted his compass and a kind of crude sextant he had devised on land with some sticks.
They slept together under the tent at night, but they didn't make love. They just breathed together, and somehow he felt closer to her than he ever had to another human being. Whatever they had together went beyond words, beyond bodies, beyond this world entirely. He looked out at the stars, up at the full moon, and saw Darcy.
During the day, Daniel adjusted the sail and they grew closer and closer to their destination, by his calculations. The closer they got, the bigger the rock in his stomach felt.
Again, Darcy was the one who sighted land. And this time, she was perfectly competent at pulling the other oar. Daniel would have known the size and shape of his island anywhere. They were rowing home—to his home.
But she couldn't stay.
He had to take her to her home—to the mainland, and then, back to America, where she could have things taken care of. He hated thinking of it like that—but thinking about it at all made him want to punch holes in walls.
"This is your island?" Darcy asked as they stepped ashore and pulled the boat inland.
"This is home." Daniel secured the RHIB and nodded toward his little house.
Darcy wanted to go in, so he gave her a very short tour. She poked around, touching things—his radio, his cook stove, his mattress.
"What's this?" Darcy lifted a piece of paper off his pillow, squinting at it.
Daniel looked at it over her shoulder, his heart sinking like a stone.
"'Where you? Miss you mouth'." Darcy gasped, crumpling the note in her hand.
It was his island girl's broken English.
"It's not what you think." Daniel cringed when she turned, arms folded, glaring at him. "Okay, it is what you think, but she's not—"
"I don't want to hear anymore. Don't talk to me. Just… don't." Darcy stalked out, heading barefoot up the beach.
She refused to listen to him.
He tried to explain—he felt like it was his last chance, before she went back to her life—but she wouldn't hear it. She even resorted to the childish, 'lalalala' ear-covering tactics she'd employed on the island.
So they walked in silence to the small village on the other side of the island.
And right into a storm of another kind.
The search for Darcy had not ended, like she'd assumed.
The village on the other side of the island had become a temporary coordinating center for the search for the heiress. It was busier than Daniel had ever seen it.
Not only was the place overwhelmed by search vessels and flying boats, but by media as well. The disappearance of Darcy Haverford, daughter of casino mogul Vaughn Haverford, was big news.
Everyone else on Darcy's ship had been found safe and sound. Her father had paid for the search—and Daniel was shocked, given the size of it, that they hadn't found them on their little island.
When they walked into the midst of this media zoo, everyone went crazy.
It was the scoop of the year—runaway bride and millionaire's daughter rescued by 'beach bum' and stranded on a deserted isle. Not to mention the ingenious trip back to civilization, using Darcy's dress as a sail.
Daniel was a hero.
He hated the cameras, the questions. All he wanted was Darcy, but she got further and further away. She wouldn't look at him, wouldn't talk to him.
He saw emotion in her eyes only once—a flare of hurt quickly covered by anger—when his island girl found him and threw her arms around his neck, sobbing in relief that he was alive.
But he'd never felt so dead inside.
* * *
Daniel found himself lost in a whirl of camera flashes and microphones that did nothing but separate him from Darcy. He told his island girl goodbye and flew to San Francisco—that was where Darcy was going to meet her father. She flew in a private plane. Daniel flew commercial.
They both ended up in the same hospital—Vaughn Haverford's people insisted Daniel be checked over. Daniel, of course, was fine. At least, his body was fine. Although he wasn't sure how long that was going to last. Because Daniel thought for sure Darcy's father, once his daughter's pregnancy was revealed, would show up and punch him in the mouth. Instead, he invited Daniel to a press conference, where they shook hands and the man thanked him for saving his daughter's life.
Vaughn Haverford seemed truly sorry for trying to marry his daughter off—he told Daniel so after the press conference. He hadn't believed that Darcy would really go through with all of the horrible things she'd threatened to do—like run away and try to kill herself.
"She's a little on the dramatic side," Vaughn told him.
Daniel snorted. "Yeah, a little."
"I was just trying to make a good match for her." Vaughn spread his hands in apology. "I wish her mother was here—sometimes I'm not quite sure how to handle the girl."
"I get that." Daniel nodded in sympathy. When he looked over at Darcy, she was talking to the paparazzi. She refused to look at him.
Vaughn started asking him questions about their ordeal—he and Darcy had successfully made everyone believe their time on the island had been purely platonic—and the next time he looked over, Darcy was gone.
He caught up with her outside, just as she was getting into a limo. He knocked on the window and she rolled it down. She was dressed to the nines—another Halston dress—and she gave him a cold look over a pair of dark sunglasses.
He tried to talk to her, but she cu
t him off.
"I hope you had a nice talk with my father," she'd told him. "Did you collect your reward? Take it back to your island girl and buy her a car or something. Although I don't know where you'd drive it on the island."
She gave a little laugh and rolled the window back up. He banged on it, but the car drove off, leaving him looking after her in the parking lot.
He'd called her—Vaughn gave him her cell number—and left several messages, letting her know where to find him, but heard nothing back. He wanted to go to her, to explain—but the more he thought about it, he knew she wouldn't hear him. She'd already made up her mind—to her, he was a callous player who had used her on the island for sex, and now wanted her to get rid of the consequences of their union.
Maybe, he thought, when she went into the doctor for her first ultrasound, she'd understand. Maybe then, she would come to him.
Just in case, he stayed close. And he walked the streets of San Francisco not knowing what to do with himself.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. And the baby. And what she had to go through.
He wanted to be there with her—but she wouldn't have him.
Just go home. Go back to the island, where you belong. Alone.
But the thought of going back to the island—without her—was unbearable.
He wandered the streets and wondered where she was, what she was doing. Had she gone through with the procedure yet? Did she know now that their baby couldn't live, no matter how much she might have wanted it to?
Did she hate him for it?
He wouldn't blame her—he hated himself for it.
All he wanted in the world was Darcy.
But she had cut him off, shut him out, made it impossible to reach her.
He stopped in mid-step and someone behind him on the sidewalk swore and stepped around him as he stood, stock-still, staring off into space.
Darcy wouldn't talk to him. Darcy wouldn't take his calls or read his texts—she'd blocked his number—or let him up when he rang the bell at her apartment. She was still angry at him, and he understood that. But he knew, if he could just get her in his arms… just once… she would melt like she had on the beach, and things would be all right between them again.