Three Days, Two Nights

by MJ Fredrick

  She took a moment to savor it all—his strong shoulders under her hands, his hands curved over her back, warm and strong, the fullness of his cock in her, opening her to new sensations, to every sensation. She quivered as she took it in, the press of his flesh, the wiry hair of his groin tickling her sensitive folds. Slowly, she lifted her head to focus on his face, the tension, the pleasure in his eyes. Her heart kicked as he returned her gaze, seeing too much. It was too late now to hide her desire, so she began to move, sliding up and down his shaft, ripples of pleasure accompanying each stroke.

  He watched her a few moments, until her movements became erratic, uneven. He leaned forward to rub his lips against her collarbone, up her throat, his lips soft, dry, his stubble adding just enough roughness to arouse. She inclined her head, offering, inviting, pleading. He gripped the back of her thighs, pulling her closer, his hands on her ass as he thrust into her, meeting her rhythm, finding their rhythm, the one they’d always been so good at. His hands were familiar on her skin, knew just where to touch. The cadence of his breathing, the taste of his mouth, all brought back how good they’d been together.

  Christ, what was she doing, fucking her ex-husband? This wouldn’t, couldn’t end well.

  Except everything about it was so good. She was so close, he was so deep, pushing against the mouth of her womb, and he felt so right in her arms. She squeezed her muscles around him to hold him inside, to feel the pulse of his arousal.

  He dragged her forward, covering her mouth with his in the sweetest kiss, God, like their first kiss, his mouth slanted across hers, tongue teasing and then sliding deeper as he cupped her face in his hands. Her breasts rasped against his chest hair. All these things, these layers, the buried emotions, the memories…He flexed his hips and she tightened her arms around him, matching his movements, pulling him after her into the spiral of pleasure.

  His heart thundered under her palms as she lowered her head to his shoulder, resisting the urge to bury her face in his throat, to feel his pulse, breathe his scent.

  She eased off of him, keeping her gaze down, not sure she could meet his gaze. His hands slid away from her hips and he let her go.

  Let her go.

  She turned and found her shorts—God, how could she have exposed herself to him like this? She stood, leg muscles aching. They hadn’t moved that way since, well, since the last time she’d made love to Nat.

  She heard him deal with the condom and stand with a grunt, but she couldn’t look at him.

  “I’d like to go to the waterfall.” Thank God, her voice didn’t shake as much as she feared. She sounded normal—almost businesslike.

  He blew out a breath. “All right.”

  She chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye and saw the grim set of his jaw, not his usual post-coital face. Her stomach tightened, chasing away the last of the pleasure. She wished she trusted herself to get to the waterfall alone. She needed time, time to compose herself, when she wasn’t still trembling from what his mouth, his body did to her.

  “You never did like to talk afterwards.” Nat followed her to the beach. Every muscle in his body was weak from that orgasm, the one he’d dreamed about for a year, and she wouldn’t look at him, as if she was ashamed of what they’d done. Because that aggravated him, he poked at her.

  “You never usually had the energy.”

  “You take a lot out of a man.”

  She flashed an annoyed glance over her shoulder. “I don’t think that was a compliment.”

  He allowed himself to admire the curve of her ass in those too-long, too-prim shorts. Even that furrowed brow was a turn-on. “Believe that it is.” And yet he was ready to let her take it out of him again. She seemed to be of another mind on that. Big surprise. She always did think too much. He couldn’t resist pursuing the topic, though, even if he knew he’d be jeopardizing his goal here.

  “So the waxing.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said.

  “I never thought that would be something that could turn me on, but damn, it did.”

  Her expression was unreadable as he pulled alongside. Her eyes were hooded, her mouth grim, her jaw tight. He hated that the sex that had him loose-muscled had made her more tense. He needed to change that. The waterfall seemed like a really good place to make that happen, now that the door was open.

  Well, cracked, anyway.

  “It really was so I could wear bathing suits,” she insisted.

  “Yeah, you said.” He wouldn’t have believed her if he hadn’t seen the toys in her suitcase. Maybe this guy she wanted to spend time with at the resort wasn’t that important after all.

  And the toys gave him an idea. Later, maybe.

  “You taste the same.”

  “Nat!” Her face turned bright red.

  “I meant your skin. Your mouth.” He wanted to taste her again—her throat, the way she bowed against him when he kissed her there, when she pushed her breast into his hand. He wanted to cover her mouth with his, savor her, feel her beneath him. He wished like hell he had the supplies he’d stowed on that other island. A tent with sleeping bags would be much more conducive to seduction than his makeshift hammock.

  “Maybe you should call for help again,” she said. “And what about those trackers, those beacons planes are supposed to have? Why hasn’t anyone found us yet?”

  “We might be off track a bit after the storm.”

  “Off track by how much?”

  “A hundred twenty miles, according to the GPS.”

  She stopped and spun on him. “How did that happen?”

  “Well, there was this storm, see?”

  She shoved at his chest, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re supposed to be this kick-ass pilot! Why didn’t you get me where I need to go?”

  “I got you to dry land instead of ditching in the ocean,” he pointed out, his temper rising.

  She pivoted with a growl of frustration and headed toward the stream. He trotted to keep up, but stayed behind, wanting to keep an eye on her, not crowd her.

  “So how long until they realize that we’re not dead?”

  “I don’t know. I know Brandon’s looking for us. It’s just a matter of time.” And he needed to make the most of it.

  She nodded her understanding and continued toward the stream. “I can find my way from here.”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “I want to be alone.”

  “You can be alone on the beach afterwards. I’m not leaving you in the jungle.”

  Expression grim, she nodded again. “After this, maybe we can walk in the other direction. It would be ridiculous to be living like castaways if there’s someone else on the island.”

  “Sure.” He resisted the urge to run his hand down her back reassuringly. Instead he followed her up the stream to the pool. Despite her fragile little shoes, she was able to put some distance between them.

  He reached the pool in time to see her on the rocks on the edge of the water. She squared her shoulders, as if preparing herself, then stripped down to her bra and panties before diving in. Her sure strokes carried her beneath the clear water and she surfaced close to the waterfall. She pulled herself up onto those rocks and stood beneath the pounding water for a moment, her face raised to it. A tremor ran through her body that he recognized—hell, he’d seen it enough the last year they were together.

  She was crying.

  He stripped to his skivvies and dove into the pond to cross to her, climbing up behind her as the icy water washed over him. The need to comfort her was a hollow ache in his chest as he reached for her. She tensed at his touch, then melted back into him, gripping his arms, turning her head so her cheek rested against his shoulder. Sobs shuddered through her and he dipped his head to press kisses to the top of her head. He should tell her of his original plan, to take her to the other island instead of the resort. This wasn’t the way to win her back. Keeping his plan secret while making love to her was a recip
e for disaster.

  Then she twisted in his arms, her mouth lifted to his, and he couldn’t resist. He pushed her wet hair back from her face, covering her mouth with his, pushing his tongue inside, filling himself with the taste of her. He twined his fingers in the wet strands of hair, angling her mouth just so, bringing her closer. She glided her palm over his wet chest, around his back, pressing against him as she tangled her tongue with his. The lace of her bra rasped against his chest, her smooth belly rubbed against his hard-on. She didn’t shy away, but dragged her other hand down his chest to slip through the opening in his boxers and close around it.

  The condom was in his shorts on the other side of the pool. That was his last clear thought before her fist slid up and down, stroking, the water spilling over them reducing the friction, adding to the sensation. He groaned into her mouth and thrust against her hand, needing to be inside her. His hand clenched in her hair, and he deepened the kiss to stop from begging. He glided his other hand up her back, between her shoulder blades to unhook her bra. She let it fall down her arms to the rocks below, where it was swept into the pool, and he filled his hands with her breasts, sliding his tongue over her soft skin. She shifted away, peeled down her panties, which also tumbled over the edge. Turning back, she grasped his shoulders and pulled him with her under the spray.

  “Fuck me, Nat.”

  He didn’t like hearing her say that word, though it used to turn him on, when she’d say it in the height of desire. But that had been when they’d made love, and “fuck” had been just a word. Now, he feared she wanted nothing more than the physical connection. Damn if he could turn away, though.

  “Rubber’s in my shorts.” He rubbed his mouth against her jaw before drawing back with the greatest reluctance. He missed the freedom of being able to plunge into her, feel her bare skin, her wet heat, close around him.

  She pushed his shoulders. “Go get it.”

  Frowning, he looked down at her. “You’ll change your mind.”

  “Not if you hurry.”

  Hurry. Yeah. His doubts shoved aside by desire, he dove into the water and crossed the pool in three strokes, gathering her floating lingerie on the way and depositing them on the rock by his shorts. He fumbled the condom loose and turned to look at her, standing naked under a waterfall, his every fantasy come to life.

  He returned in two strokes, not sure how they were going to manage making love on the flat slick rocks, not the way he wanted, with her in his arms, and his mouth on hers.

  “Quick enough?” He hauled himself up beside her and pressed the condom into her hand as he hopped to his feet.

  She didn’t answer, merely glided her hands down his back, inside the waistband of his boxers and shoved them down with little care for how the wet fabric clung and caught on the hair of his balls and thighs. Still, not the cold water, not the pain, not the fact that he’d come inside her half an hour ago was going to affect his arousal. He cupped his hands over her hips to draw her closer, wanting to taste her mouth again. Her tongue slid along his as she welcomed him inside. She did still taste the same, smell the same, taking him back to the time when he loved her and she loved him. He still loved her, but…

  She ripped open the condom with some difficulty, her hands wet. She fumbled the open packet a moment, making him fear the rubber would go the way of her bra and panties. But no, she caught it, took his cock in her hand and, looking into his eyes, rolled the sheath down to the base of his shaft. She gave him a little squeeze.

  “I miss the pill,” he muttered. “How do you propose we do this?”

  She turned and braced her hands on a slick rock near the edge of the waterfall, presenting that perfect round ass to him. Ignoring the disappointment that settled in, he stepped forward. It was no five-star hotel and he wouldn’t be looking in her eyes as they made love, but he’d be inside her, hopefully breaking down more of the barriers between them.

  And yeah, feeling really good while doing it.

  He rested his hand on her hip and glided the head of his cock over her sex. Christ, she was wet. He wanted to go deep, bury himself in her, never leave her. He bumped against her, watched her back muscles tense, and slid home in one stroke. She tensed more, arching her back, her channel clenching around him, the water splashing on his back as he bent over her, licking water from her skin, tracing her spine. This had always been his favorite position in the past. He was so deep inside her, and his hands were free to touch her, but now all he wanted was to look into her eyes.

  Instead, he drew out of her clasping body and shoved back in. She gasped and turned her head.

  “Yes, like that,” she urged, lifting her ass higher. “Please, Nat.”

  He didn’t need the encouragement, drawing out to slam into her again and again. So deep, and still she ground back against him.

  “Jesus, slow down, Tess.”

  “I can’t. I need to come.”

  “I’ll get you there. I always do.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. “I’m making love to you under a waterfall on a deserted island. Enjoy it.” He stroked at his own pace, holding back his own need to drive into her, to let her quivering muscles push him over the edge. He glided his other hand up to cup her breast, plucking the nipple between his fingers and she pressed back. With a grazing touch across her swollen flesh, he drew a gasp from her. She parted her legs wider and he couldn’t resist. Every touch had her shaking beneath him. God, all he wanted was to watch her face.

  He pulled out. Her head whipped around, her eyes wide.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Turn around.”

  She followed his gaze to the rock he indicated, a wary look creasing her brow. “That’s not going to be fun.” Nonetheless she straightened.

  The sight of her naked body, slick with water, nipples hard and dark, her skin flushed with passion, momentarily took his breath away. This was what he wanted, what he’d planned. This. “Trust me.” Hands on her waist, he lifted her onto the rock. She braced her hands behind her and he stepped between her legs, hands high on her thighs.

  “I was close,” she said accusingly.

  He chuckled, bending his head to the curve of her throat. “You will be again.”

  As his lips stroked up and down her throat, he pressed into her, her body soft, slick, closing around him. She tilted her head back on a sigh of pleasure, giving his mouth free access, and lifted her hips against his. His balls tightened and he sucked in a breath. He cupped his hand around the back of her head, lifting it so he could look into her eyes.

  “Close?” he asked.

  He braced his other hand behind her and pulled out.

  “Nat!” She reached for him, to pull him back to her.

  He braced his feet apart and lowered his mouth to her throat and lapped the droplets of water from her skin. “I want to feel your mouth on me. I want you to touch me. Christ, Tess, I’ve missed you.” He followed the slope of her breast and hovered above her nipple, waiting.

  Finally her lips caressed the column of his throat, her tongue making trails over his skin, her mouth moving down to his chest, across his pec to his nipple, which she bit. Punishment, he knew, but a turn-on anyway. Then she curved her hand around his elbow, holding his arm as she traced his tattoo with her lips.

  “What does it mean?” she asked against his biceps.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Sexy,” she said, mouth still against his skin. Then, as if she realized what she’d said, she looked up at him, eyes wide, like she’d let him know too much.

  She was going to bolt. If he let her think, she was going to run and he’d never get this close to her again. So he gripped her hips and drove into her.

  She let her head fall back on a moan of pleasure, and her body squeezed around him, Christ, so good, so that his balls tightened. Too soon, too soon. But she was pumping against him, hungry for her orgasm, and he couldn’t hold back. He dropped his hand to her sex and stroked her as he flexed his hips, moving in and out of her
, pleasure building. She lifted her head, her eyes dark, meeting his in challenge. He grinned, pressed his mouth to her, and circled his finger over her.

  She gasped, then cried out, her head falling back again and he let himself go, the orgasm ripping out of him, almost painful in its violence. He dragged her close, held her against him as he trembled, as he emptied inside her. Her own breathing was ragged, and her hands curled in his hair, holding him against her, not pushing him away. Thank God.

  Without releasing her, he eased out of her and peeled off the condom. She turned her head and pressed her lips to his throat, then straightened her legs, which he hadn’t even realized were wrapped around him. She dropped her hands to his hips and pushed him back.

  He wasn’t going to let her push him away again. He turned to kiss her, catching her surprised gasp in his mouth, but he didn’t release her, instead stroking his hands down her back and up again as he teased a response from her. She gave it, her tongue sliding along his, lips softening, opening in a sweet kiss, a satisfied woman’s kiss. He glided his hand down her cheek and gently broke away.

  Her dark eyes were vulnerable, just for a moment, but before he could work up the nerve to tell her he still loved her, the shutters came down.

  “I’m starving.” She pressed her hands against his shoulders to put distance between them.

  Trying to hide his disappointment, he turned away. “I have some granola bars, I think.”

  She made a noise of disgust, but it was good humored. She stepped under the waterfall and let the spray wash over her. He sat on the edge of the pool, feet in the water, and in a matter of moments, she rested her hand on his shoulder to slide into the pool. He followed, but she swam away. Still, he didn’t get the feeling she was shutting him out as she had the last time.

  What had changed? And how could he keep the momentum going?

  Chapter Five

  Tess sat on the beach in front of the plane, knees drawn up and hands wrapped around her shins as she watched Nat out in the waves. He’d taken it into his head that he could catch some fish for dinner, and he stood hip deep, shirtless, shoulders tight, arm flexed as he held the net he’d fashioned out of strips of plastic from the bottles of water. His stance was primitive, and sexy as hell. Her fingers itched to draw him, but she’d long since stopped carrying a sketchpad with her, hadn’t felt this desire to put pencil to paper in over a year.