The Boat Builder's Bed

by Kris Pearson

  Bedrooms... Oh I shouldn’t.

  “We can’t just prowl through someone else’s house,” she objected, trying to tug her hand out of his as the reality of the situation hit her.

  “They’ve prowled through mine.”

  “But yours isn’t finished. It’s not...um.”

  “Not private? Not full of beds?” One corner of his gorgeous mouth twitched in challenge.

  She stood there battered by indecision.

  “I really want to see the house if it’s made such an impression on you,” she assured him. “It might give me ideas on what I can specify for yours.”

  “So come and see it.”

  “But...I don’t want you to think...”

  His scent drifted across the small gap between them, and she remembered him saying two evenings ago, ‘You like the way I smell. I like the way you smell. Win/win.’

  Yes, he was a big strong sensual man who smelled like everything missing from her life.

  She’d vowed to keep things businesslike between them, but he tempted her with privacy, and beds, and his warm eyes. Her decorating studio and her treasured daughter had been the total focus of her life for the past few years but now Rafe had forced his way in beside them.

  Hesitantly she stepped closer, pressed her face against him and breathed him in, soaking up the intoxicating scents of clean fabric and hot sexy man.

  Two top buttons undone...

  If I just tweaked another one, stroked his chest, tasted his skin...

  Her restless fingers found it, slipped it through the hole, and pushed the two sides of his shirt apart. Lost at last she nestled in so her nose and mouth brushed against his flesh. With an incoherent murmur she squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled again, savoring his scent for several deep slow breaths, feeling his arms wrapping around her and pulling her hips against his to confirm he was as turned on as she was.

  The hairs on his chest tickled her face so she licked them flat. He tasted slightly salty and totally tempting.

  “This is your way of discouraging me, is it?” she heard him demand in a hoarse whisper. “You eat me alive?”

  She tried to pull back, feeling the flush spreading up her neck and over her face, but he held her close, rocking their bodies slowly together.

  “Why would I let you go now?”

  “We can’t...” she tried one last time.

  “We can.”

  “Your friends...”

  “Won’t be home until next weekend. No-one will know, Sophie.”

  “I just don’t do things like this,” she insisted, fumbling far too enthusiastically with the rest of his shirt buttons as her final shred of restraint disappeared.

  She pushed the fabric back and all her breath rushed out. At last she could touch him.

  Mesmerized, she trailed her fingers over his sculpted chest and shoulders and on down his arms as she peeled the shirt away. Her hands roved, smoothing and kneading spice-brown flesh.

  Rafe held still for her, although she knew how aroused he was and sensed the tight leash he had on his desire. She eased away and stroked down over the warm corrugated muscles of his torso. And then slid her arms around his waist, drew him close again and raised her face in a silent demand to be kissed.

  She felt some of the tension leave his big body as he absorbed her surrender.

  “Sophie,” he whispered. He smoothed her hair back, sifting the long strands through his fingers and tangling enough of it in his hands to hold her where he wanted her. His lingering kiss sizzled hot as a branding.

  “Through here,” he demanded when he finally couldn’t bear the layers of fabric between them. He led her into the guest suite and pushed the window open to the cooler air, then cupped her face up in his hands and hauled her against him again. God she was sweet. Tasted like strawberries—and he was sure she hadn’t eaten strawberries for lunch. He nudged her across to the bed, never breaking the connection between their lips. When she overbalanced and sat with a gasp, he dropped to his knees in front of her.

  Somewhere outside a radio played Elton John. The frantic piano dipped and soared in the warm air, pounding along in time with his pulse.

  A fortnight ago he’d been antsy and out of sorts. Now he felt wildly alive. The thrill of the chase, the unexpected pursuit of this desirable if prickly woman had his blood surging, his breathing deepening, all his senses finely tuned.

  The sun burned sharply brilliant. The salty smell of the sea drifted through the window, a counterpoint to Sophie’s own warm and enticing fragrance. He leaned forward and pressed his face between her breasts, sucking in her skin-scent.

  He felt her fingers in his hair, possessive and urgent, holding him close. He knew he’d give her anything...anything. He breathed deeper, drawing her right into his lungs, his drug of choice, his addiction.

  Finally, desperate for more, he leaned away and gathered her camisole upwards to reveal the hipster top of her jeans just below her navel. A small gold stud gleamed there. He touched it, intrigued. A bolt with a hex-nut—who’d have thought?

  He bent and slid the tip of his tongue over the ornament and down into the small hollow below. Sophie rewarded him with an indrawn breath and a horrified “No!”

  “Not nice?”

  “Too nice,” she protested, wriggling in his arms. “Too sensitive.”

  He smiled to himself, loving her reaction. She was a little volcano, pressured to bursting point, ready to erupt. And soon he’d split her open and release all that scalding passion.

  Outside, Elton John faded and Rihanna took over. A lawnmower droned somewhere close. Lost in pleasuring her, they were only dream-noises against the background of the restless ocean. He barely heard either as he raised her camisole higher, enjoying her slim supple build, then closed his eyes and let his lips and teeth graze ever-upwards over her sweet-smelling skin until they hit the scratch of lace.

  Sophie pulled the camisole up over her head and tossed it sideways. Rafe sat back on his heels, parting his thighs in a futile search for comfort, and looked his fill.

  Her hair hung tousled and silky over his hands as he reached to stroke the topmost slopes of her pale breasts. How long ago had he sneaked that tantalizing glimpse down her neckline in the cable car? He’d told himself then they were no bigger than a schoolgirl’s, but he’d been wrong; she had irresistible curves.

  He leaned forward with a groan, clamping his mouth around one of the hard peaks pushing against the white lace. He suckled, thrilled by the sounds of pleasure he drew from her throat.

  He felt her flex, and flicked his eyes open. He’d have sworn he was already at full stretch but the sight of her swaying backwards to unhook her bra sent yet another surge of blood southwards until the pressure was damn near intolerable. When she shyly lifted the lace away and her luscious up-tilted breasts settled into his waiting hands he couldn’t hold back his animal growl of appreciation.

  Delicate creamy mounds, big hard rosy nipples—a thrilling study in contrasts.

  He bent and enjoyed as his lust-level rocketed even higher.

  Sophie’s lips parted in astonished pleasure. Waves of intense sensation raced through her, swirling and circling until they were concentrated deep in her belly, flickering like flames, hot as any furnace.

  She plunged her fingers back into Rafe’s shining hair, kneading and caressing, loving all the dark jet and sable shades that were such a contrast to her own fairness. From somewhere came the panicky thought that if she could see him so clearly, he could also see her—and therefore see the faint silvery stretch-marks over her hips.

  Would he recognize them for what they were? Signs she’d been pregnant sometime in the past? Would he demand to know where her child was, and castigate her for not keeping Camille, as his mother had not kept him?

  Frantically she prized his head away. “Curtains,” she begged. “What if someone’s watching?”

  “Not going to happen,” Rafe protested, eyes hot and hungry. “We’re one floor up. No
-one’s going to see you except me. And I want to see everything.”

  Just what I’m afraid of.

  But to her intense relief he let her breasts slide gently from his hands, and stood.

  “Shy, Sophie? I don’t believe it. You’re beautiful.”

  He crossed to the window and started to draw the curtains closed. Sage-green hemp she noticed, even in her agitated state. The hot panic of possible discovery receded a little. But oh, his back! So broad and long, and with rippling ridges of dense golden muscle flexing either side of his spine...

  While he was silhouetted against the sunny brightness she launched herself across the room and scraped both hands possessively from his shoulders to his waist, nails less than kind. She heard Rafe’s breathing fracture, and she added a line of flickering kisses down his back by way of shy apology for her greedy claiming. She wanted him outrageously now, her previous reticence gone like a drift of sea-fog.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, lips against his skin.

  The curtains moved gently in and out with the breeze from the open window. In and out as though they were breathing with the same surging excitement she was.

  “You’re beautiful too, Rafe. I like how you’re hard where I’m soft. Rough where I’m smooth.”

  She wrapped her arms around him. The sensitive skin of her inner arms slid silkily around his waist until she could tweak along the fine line of hair feathering down his belly.

  Her hands stopped at the centre-front of his jeans and her body flooded with the same sensation as when he’d removed his belt so casually in the studio the day they’d met.

  She tugged at his waistband button, caution deserting her on rapid wings. She sensed his chuckle more than heard it with her cheek pressed against his warm shoulder.

  Right under her hands his sex stood hot and hard, barely contained by his jeans. Rafe let loose a growl of appreciation, or was it frustration?

  She unzipped him, pushed a hand in, and grasped him through the soft fabric of his boxers, stroking and squeezing the long firm shaft that led down and down. She plunged a little further south and curled her fingers around the heavy handful. Something made her imagine beautiful dark-haired babies and she tried to banish that thought.

  A pumped-up man was magic for sure, but this man felt pumped to the extreme. She swallowed in anticipation and pulled her hand free.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Almost past governing his raging hunger, Rafe turned and grabbed for her, hauling her close with one arm. He pushed at his jeans with his other hand; the desire to bury himself deep inside her primal and barely controllable.

  Sophie responded by wrenching her own zipper undone.

  “My job,” he rasped, and scooped her up in his arms. Somewhat impeded by his pants around his thighs he took several unsteady steps and tossed her onto the bed.

  She twisted below him, wriggling like a sinuous fish as he pulled her jeans down below her knees.

  Yes, she wore the tiny white thong he’d imagined the first day he met her! His brain sparked red for a moment at the sight of the lacy scrap. Her slippery flesh shone through the barely-there fabric.

  She moaned, eyes huge.

  Rafe bent, forced her legs apart, tweaked the elastic aside, slid his tongue over her, pushed in, sucked hard.

  Her gasp was a long breathy inhalation—the sexiest sound in the world to him.

  Her hips lifted up in an instinctive ‘take me’ invitation and he dragged the thong down to join her jeans.

  “Sophie...” he whispered, smoothing his cheek over the fragrant skin of her belly and then dipping lower to explore the hot wet well between her thighs again. This time he was gentle, and Sophie rewarded him with soft grunts of satisfaction and appreciation, fingers fisting in his hair and then sliding out over his shoulders.

  He pulled back, smiling up at her dazed face and gripping her jeans. He peeled them down until the unexpected barrier of her boots had him cursing.

  “I’ll do me, Rafe, you do you,” she insisted, struggling to sit up and undo them.

  Rafe stripped his jeans and boxers away, kicked off his shoes, and hurled them aside.

  Sophie’s boots fell to the floor with two sharp thuds.

  “Better,” he growled, grasping her jeans where they bunched at her ankles. He tugged them off, and at last his eyes lazered over her whole fair-skinned, super-female, utterly desirable body.

  He hoped he wasn’t scaring her standing over her like a rampant stallion. He saw her bite her lip. Sensed her tiny hesitation at his size. Then she blinked slowly and lifted her arms towards him in welcome. He bent, smoothing his hands up her pretty legs, dropping tender kisses over her hips, her waist and her beautiful breasts before he claimed her luscious mouth.

  Sophie scarcely dared breathe in case the dream-bubble burst. She lay flat on her back on the huge bed with Rafe lying half-across her. One of his thighs pressed between hers, pinning her down. His lips wandered over her shoulders and breasts, soft as curious butterflies. Despite his possessive weight she felt she could have drifted up and floated—light, carefree, wonderful.

  She gloried in their obvious contrasts. In the few seconds she’d glimpsed him before he joined her on the bed she’d seen deeply tanned skin and the fascinating fine trail of black hair down his belly which fanned out to provide the perfect frame for his high-rearing dark sex. He was both frightening and wonderful. Powerfully strong yet treating her now as though she might break.

  He was still just in control.

  She wanted him wilder.

  As he suckled and sent thrills shooting deep into her body, she pushed her hand between them and smiled when his breath caught at her touch. She wrapped her fingers around him, remembering the way he’d thrust up towards her like an animal seeking prey.

  Now she was the hunter and he was her captive.

  She tightened her grip, sliding the silky skin up and down over his steely core until he groaned in protest.

  “How long do you expect me to last, woman?”

  “Exactly long enough,” she teased, wondering where such confidence had come from.

  He kissed her deeply, cradling her face in a big hand, seeking out the places that gave her most pleasure with the other. She arched up as his fingertips trailed down her neck charting her pulse-points and lingering whenever she reacted with a twitch or a sharp intake of breath.

  “Better give you a little treat first.”

  He drew back far enough to lock eyes with her in a long smoldering gaze. Then, fast as lightning, he slid down her body, forced her legs apart, bent her knees up over his shoulders and held her helpless.

  “First one,” he said.

  His wicked grin shone full of promise before his slippery tongue stroked over her exposed clitoris. Sophie convulsed and screamed in less than sixty seconds, rippling waves running from her scalp to her toes, brain bleeding white with sensation.

  Nothing existed except for that insistent wet slide and her out-of-control body. When the pleasure hit pain-level she dragged his head away, gasping “no more...no more...too much...” in a voice that sounded as though it was somewhere outside, high over the sun-drenched beach. He’d sent her flying half-way to heaven.

  Rafe closed his eyes and smiled. She’d gone off like a rocket, and didn’t that just make him feel powerful.

  He turned his head and kissed her soft inner thigh, brushing his lips to and fro. Her scent surrounded him—not the innocent sweetness of roses or the fragrance of French perfume now, but the salty mysterious aroma of aroused woman seeking man.

  He breathed her in as he traced his lips and tongue over her delicate skin...wandering slowly higher to her breasts again. He kept his attentions languid and dreamy until he’d gentled her down.

  “Two,” he finally murmured, repositioning himself so his hands could explore.

  Sophie sucked in her breath and gasped a horrified “no!”

  Rafe held her astounded silver-grey gaze as he slowly licked the pad
of his thumb. He doubted she needed any extra lubrication—she glistened with her own natural juices—but it was worth it just to see her eyes blaze with molten fire.

  “Yes.” His thumb made contact.

  Sophie’s hips jerked up.

  His sex responded with a jerk of its own, and he just about lost it, wanting so much to be sliding deep into her hot little body.

  He gritted his teeth until he was back in full control, then began to rub her in tiny slippery circles.

  As Sophie breathed harder he pressed a finger below his thumb and watched, enthralled, as it sank deep into her heat. Soon he felt the slight tremors of her next approaching orgasm.

  He glanced up to her face again. Fluttering eyelids now hid her beautiful eyes. Her lips were swollen and inflamed from his kisses, and her head thrashed from side to side on the pillow. Small moans grew into ecstatic gasps.

  He twisted his finger up, caressing her from the inside as well. She parted her legs even further. Rafe grunted with pleasure, gratified at her reaction, even as his own body burned for release.

  His thumb continued to circle above, and warm triumph blasted through his whole body as he felt her tense and tense and tense, and finally let go with a deep groan and contractions almost strong enough to break his finger.

  God it’s going to be superb taking her...

  He bent and suckled each of her rosy nipples in turn, then moved up the bed far enough to slide his hands into her hair and pull her face up for deep ferocious kisses.

  He was all animal now, primed and pumped, vitally male and feverish to mate. He fumbled for one of the condoms he’d tossed onto the bedside cabinet and somehow managed to rip the pack open and sheath himself.

  “Sophie,” he groaned on a desperate exhale, positioning himself and starting to tease her open. He pushed home in a long delicious slide, gazing deep into her eyes, wanting her to know exactly who was claiming her.

  He pulled back and repeated his slow invasion several times until he was wedged deep, waiting until he felt her relax enough to welcome the strong thrusts of his full penetration.