"But we do have a perfect view of the Milky Way." It sounded like he was attempting to console her with an exchange.
Some hitherto unexperienced combination of wonder and affection bloomed in her chest. In spite of his mas terful, take-charge—not to say occasionally overbear ing—behavior, he wanted her approval of his "gift" of stars. Feeling oddly tender and protective, JJ squeezed the hard warm fingers entwined with hers.
"What, exactly, is the Milky Way?" she asked, want ing to extend the moment. "I've heard about it all my life, but I don't even know what I should look for."
"See that long smear of light directly overhead? Looks like a thin high cloud? That's it. As for what it is—it's actually one of the spiral arms of our own galaxy. And there's Cassiopeia."
"Where?"
He slid his arm under her neck to bring his face next to hers, then pointed to the sky. "Put your hand on top of mine. Follow your finger. See the five stars on the Milky Way that look like a W?"
"Yes."
"That's Cassiopeia." He moved his arm. "And there's Andromeda. And Pisces." He moved his arm further to the left. "And there's Aquarius."
"Where's Orion? I've heard of it."
"It's visible in winter. We ought to be able to see it. Look there. Over the ocean. See the three bright stars? They form Orion's belt."
"That's what people always say. But I don't see a belt. And I certainly don't see a man."
"I admit the Greeks had a lot of imagination."
"Well, do you see a man?"
"No, not really. Orion is just coming over the hori zon. We're not able to see all of it."
"Maybe you should show me something easier to see. Where's the North Star? Everybody always says you can navigate by it, but I don't know how. I've never known how to find it."
"Polaris? We can't see it." He brought their hands down. He placed a kiss in her palm before he tucked her arm back under the comforter. When he had re tucked the comforter under her chin, leaving no gaps to leak cold air, he rested his arm over hers at her waist. With his thumb, he idly stroked a slow pattern on the underside of her breast. "We'd have to face north to see Polaris," he told her, a touch apologetically. "It's in the Little Dipper."
She turned her face to his. So close her nose brushed his cheek. His hand left her waist and moved higher. He gathered the fullness of her breast, which had slipped to the side, and cupped it, testing its weight. "Oh." She tried very hard not to think about what he was doing. "You mean if you face north, you see the North Star? And if the North Star is directly ahead of you, you're facing north."
"Uh, yeah." She saw the corner of his mouth curve upward. "You didn't know that?"
"Oh, go ahead and laugh at me. Not that I think un derstanding the connection will help. I don't have any sense of direction at all. None. GPS is the greatest thing ever invented."
He rolled his head toward her. She could see the glis ten of his eyes, his teeth. She wondered if she imagined the tenderness of his smile.
"I'm not laughing." His fingers kneaded the softness they had found. Every now and then grazing to the nipple, never quite landing exactly where she wanted them.
Warm puffs of air, smelling attractively of him, bat ted her face, as if he'd found a way to caress her with every syllable. She was a little breathless when she asked, "Did you learn the constellations so you would know how to navigate?"
"SEALs learn several methods of navigation, but, to tell you the truth, I'd rather depend on GPS, too."
She wiggled, trying to bring her breast into the contact she desired. "Never have to ask for directions again, huh?"
"I need to ask for directions right now." He hesitated. "I need to know if you've looked at the stars enough."
His hand on her breast stilled. She wanted more of his touch. But she hated to let go of this moment, this sense of communion. "If I say no?"
"Then we'll look at them longer. As long as you want to."
"Will you keep doing that?"
He gently squeezed her breast. "This? As long as you like."
She wondered if he meant it, if he would let her have what she wanted, or if he was setting her up. Sometimes he was so sweet; sometimes he was aggressive. She had a hard time knowing which to expect.
"Don't be on your guard around me, JJ," he whis pered. "You want me to play with your breasts while you look at the stars? I could play with your breasts for hours." He found the zipper tab and opened her top. He pushed aside the material and covered her flesh with his warm, hard hand. His strong fingers began again their slow kneading. With the new intensity, skin to skin, ex citement twisted through her deep inside, then in a ripple that took her whole body.
"Trust me to have your back. This is about pleasure. You're a passionate woman who likes to look at the stars for the sheer pleasure of doing so. I want you free to let yourself go."
Her mind slipped back to that night, exactly a year ago. They had already made love once. Had been lying in each other's arms like they were now. She had turned her head, burrowing against him.
She opened her mouth over his shoulder, enticed by the thought of tasting him, feeling his skin with her tongue.
"A biter, are you?"
She pulled back. "I don't know. I just wanted to put my mouth on you." The interpretation he would put on her words didn't occur to her until she saw the hope that widened his eyes. "I can't. I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's okay. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to."
"I—" she finished with a helpless shrug. She did want her mouth on him—exactly there. She wanted to taste him and feel him against her lips. "It isn't that I don't want to. I truly mean I can't." The couple of times she'd tried had been embarrassing and a complete turn-off for herself and her partner.
"Don't worry about it. It's okay."
"But can I touch it? Just touch it? With my mouth?"
"Exactly as much as you want to."
She leaned over with one arm across him to brace herself.
"Wait," he said. "Let's sit you where your neck and throat can stay as relaxed as possible. Kneel on the floor. I'll come to you."
"You won't push my head down, will you?"
"You'll be in complete control. All the time."
He hadn't known who she was or what she was. She had been a temporary woman whom he would forget. He'd been audacious, pushing the limits over and over—and in that way he certainly hadn't changed—and yet he'd somehow made a safe space to let herself go.
She believed him. He wanted her to be free. Free to look at stars. Free to trust her sensual side. "Can we stay out here?"
He raised up on his elbow. "Tell you what. You look at the stars. I'm going to do a little undercover work."
He ducked down and pulled the comforter over his head. He continued his lazy stroking of her breasts, one and then the other.
She felt his lips, the faint scraping of his chin. For long moments he licked at their hardened peaks, tantalizing the very tip. When at last he took it into his mouth, she groaned.
He lifted his head. "Good, huh?"
A waft of chilled air hit the wet skin. Her nipple con tracted with a tight ache she felt in her bones. She gasped.
The heat of his mouth when it closed over her again took her breath away. He suckled. Hard.
Every muscle in her body tightened. Her back arched off the lounger.
"Very good, huh?" she heard him murmur. Felt his breath against her skin. Could have sworn she felt him smile.
He gave the other breast the same merciless loving attention until she was panting steamy puffs into the cold night air. And writhing. And making hungry little sounds that surprised her.
She pushed down their covering. "Getting hot."
She urged him up until their mouths met. She ran her fingers under the soft cotton of his T-shirt, seeking the warm, solid feel of him. The long muscles of his back. The deep groove of his spine.
It wasn't quite enough. She snagged fistfuls of his shirt and dra
gged upwards, but she succeeded only in tangling her hands.
She grunted in frustration. "Off!"
He chuckled at her imperious tone. He withdrew his lips long enough to whip the shirt over his head one-handed.
He came back down, and it was exactly what she wanted. Exactly the muted drag of hot skin on her skin, his vital heat, the knowledge of bone and sinew and coiled strength feeding some hunger that existed deep in the deepest part of her soul.
She pushed at his chest, intent on rolling him over so she could gain control of the kiss.
He went, and caught himself just in time to keep from tumbling off the narrow lounger.
"Wrestling isn't on the list of approved uses for this lounger, I'm afraid. Let's do it this way." He lifted her up out of the way while sliding under her. "How's this?"
They fitted exactly. She centered the notch of her thighs over the hard bulge of his erection. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she dragged her breasts through his sprinkling of chest hair, relishing the light rasp against their sensitive tips. When she lowered herself, he obligingly opened his mouth for her exploration.
Long, leisurely mating of mouths, lips lingering, tongues tangling. Sighs sifting breaths between the drawn-out hiss of breakers.
"My turn." He rolled them onto their sides, again in a casual display of strength lifting them both so that they lay in the center of the lounger. He had the most remarkable awareness of where his body was, and more amazingly, where her body was. Fleetingly, she wondered what it would be like to dance with him but instantly forgot it as his hand insinuated itself under the elastic waist of her pants, stroking her belly and then lower.
Stopped. Tentatively cruised lower.
On a whim she couldn't explain, JJ had left work early on Tuesday to get a Brazilian wax. She wasn't used to the strange feel of it herself. His one questing finger traced the seam of the outer lips.
They said when all the pubic hair was removed, the area became even more sensitive. They were right. She shuddered violently.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
Chapter 34
"JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH." AND HE MEANT THAT WITH full reverence. Again, he drifted his fingers over the petal smooth feminine essence he had found. He had seen her in the shadowy swimming pool and remembered seeing the dark strip at the juncture of her thighs, as if an extra portion of night covered her secrets. "What… when?"
"Tuesday."
"Are you going to get upset if I ask you why?"
"An impulse. I just wanted something to make me different."
He knew about women wanting to change their ap pearance to give themselves confidence, especially when they felt a little low or unattractive. That wasn't what he heard in her voice though. "Different, how?"
She pulled away. Not on the outside—on the out side, they touched everywhere—still, he felt her shrink inside herself. "Does it bother you?" she asked. "It will grow back."
The last thing he wanted to do was make her self conscious. He brushed his lips across her velvety cheeks, kissed the tip of her nose. "Surprised, that's all." His dia phragm shook in a silent, self-amused chuckle. "I thought I knew what you looked like." His fingers found the mois ture at her heated center and spread it over the silken inner folds. "I was planning this for later, but you know what this means I'm going to have to do, don't you?"
Know what he had to do? "Uh-uh."
He pulled the comforter up to her chin. "Stay right there." He rolled off the lounger, catching himself on his hands.
In seconds she felt him untuck her feet. "Scoot down." He placed his hands on her hips to guide her. "Perfect."
"Lift up." Grasping the elastic, he eased the stretchy pants over her hips and down her legs.
"You'll get cold."
His smile was a glisten of eyes and teeth as he peered over her raised knees. "Trust me. I won't."
He gently pushed her knees apart. The comforter be came an obscuring tent, one he disappeared into.
Unseen hands of a magic, invisible lover drifted over her calves, traced delicate patterns on her inner thighs, trailed unreal, dreamlike strokes across the epicenter of her desire.
Above her, the heavens sparkled with cold glory.
And then his mouth was there with hot, insistent pres sure, tracing every hill and valley, seeking the pathway of every nerve. Scalding, soothing, stirring currents of pleasure that surged and sank in waves as timeless and inevitable as the sea.
Time stopped. Forget her clock with the spacious minutes she loved. She had found the unmarked time that lay between those minutes. She was oddly disem bodied. No, that wasn't the right word. Dis-worlded, if there was such a thing. Drifting in unfathomable mys tery, she had no point of familiarity to cling to. She was utterly lost. She felt found.
He entered her with a finger. Withdrew. Two fingers.
She heard a sound like deep pleasure.
The ocean shushed and crashed. Slow rising tide of sensation, slow layer upon layer, held in thrall by hot, silken swirl, and then her climax was upon her, lifting her, crashing through her with shudders and shocks. One wave subsided only to build into the crest of another.
He stayed with her until he had drawn the last quiver, the last of the tiny internal shocks.
She opened her eyes and saw stars.
She opened her arms to him when he slipped back under the comforter.
He was hard enough to drive nails. The thought of losing himself in her tight heat was a red throb, but she opened her arms to him. He had never before thought of the meaning of welcome with open arms. It humbled him and enriched him at the same time. Much as he wanted her roused and ready, he couldn't take her from the satisfaction of her afterglow.
He drew her softness close. As close as she drew him. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, languor ously drawing her fingernails back and forth across his chest. After a while, he realized the scraping across his nipples wasn't accidental.
She rose over him and added kisses. The skin of his cheeks was cool, a shivery contrast to the humid warmth under the comforter. With her lips, she dabbed dots of heat over his face, which changed to dots of cool as soon as she moved on and the moisture of her breath evaporated. She kissed his eyes, his nose, his forehead and moved on to the other cheek.
He waited to see if she would avoid the scar. He would be all right if she did; he honestly didn't know which he preferred. She answered the unasked question by moving her lips across it and then tracing it lightly with her tongue. The sudden warming was like she had touched it with a branding iron. Branched lightning of pain seared through his skull.
Against his will, he stiffened. His gasp was only par tially stifled. He sat up, fighting nausea.
"What's the matter?" She sat up beside him and reached out. "What happened?" Lest she touch his face, he batted her hand away. She dropped it. "What's going on?"
Slowly the pain receded, leaving a cold, hollow trac ing behind. The sensation wasn't pain, but in its own way, it was almost as unpleasant. "It's all right."
"It isn't. You're not. It happened when I touched the scar. I'm so sorry, but you should have told me."
"Not your fault. I didn't think. Cold, heat, shaving, sometimes nothing at all sets it off."
She thought about the delicious contrast between his chilled skin and his hot-feeling mouth. She had been kissing his cheek, wanting in her heart to kiss it better.
"Can't the doctors do anything?"
"The doctors hoped this last surgery would fix it—the scar had healed crooked. They hoped that a nerve had become entrapped and, by doing a scar revision, they could free it."
"I take it that's not working."
"It's still healing. There might be inflammation that needs to subside. It's going to get better."
He said that, but his eyes were dark, wounded-looking.
"We shouldn't be out here. Crammed in here, I could accidentally touch it at any time."
"I'm telling you, JJ… it's all
right."
She pushed the comforter aside and stood. The deck boards were cold, wet, and gritty beneath her bare feet. Her pants were too clammy to put back on. Even the comforter was already heavy from the ever-present moisture in the ocean air. She had seen masterfulness and strategy when he had bundled her up and swept her off her feet. Now she saw detailed attention to her comfort and prioritizing her desires over everything. She gathered up the comforter. "Save your breath. I'm tak ing us in."
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