Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
The moment the tender pulled away, taking with it their crew and bodyguards, the yacht changed. Bea thought they might go up on deck and try to spot a comet. But then she saw Rafael shut the cabin door and start unbuttoning his shirt.
“We’re not stargazing?” she tried, backing up, already knowing the answer. Alarm, arousal, both were present in her voice.
Three days of marriage and she still felt newly issued, still adjusting to the reality that he could touch her whenever he wanted. That she could want him back just as badly.
He reached her just as his shirt hit the floor. He drew the silk down her body like it had no business being on her skin, then everything else, and suddenly there was no hiding from him. He kissed along her neck, down to her collarbone, lingering in the hollow.
“Get on the bed.”
Bea obeyed. Her mouth went dry as he shed the last of his clothing, revealing lean, hard muscle, honed by years of sparring and sweat.
“You should come with a warning label,” she breathed.
The mattress dipped beneath his weight. “Here’s my warning,” he said, low. “You’re my wife now.”
The words landed somewhere deep in her stomach. Wife.
She was a wife. She had a husband.
His palm climbed her thigh, heat dragging higher, higher, until he found the slick warmth between them.
She sucked in a breath when he stroked her, gauging the effect.
Heat bloomed, as did the evidence of her body’s warm welcome.
She writhed beneath his touch, soft gasps spilling from her mouth.
Her legs splayed, not even trying to resist.
He shifted over her, positioning himself, and she felt the unmistakable weight of him at the entrance to her body. Anticipation flashed straight to her spine.
“You have ten weeks to make up to me,” he murmured.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to pull him closer. Her hips began to tilt upward on their own.
“Do you remember what I said?” he asked. “About your next education?”
She nodded, barely able to think.
“Good,” he murmured. “Class begins.”
He nudged in just enough to make her feel the full promise of him. Her breath fractured, back lifting as her body adjusted, tension melting into acceptance, before finally driving fully home.
Bea’s mouth fell open.
Rafael moved with deliberate restraint, drawing nearly out before pressing back in, over and over, forcing her to feel every inch of the motion instead of rushing it. The cabin narrowed to sensation, to the weight of his body and the certainty of his pace.
“Faster,” she begged.
He answered with a firmer thrust that stole her breath, then another, rhythm tightening for a handful of strokes before easing back again. A reminder that he could give her exactly what she wanted.
“Not yet, baby.”
She tried to pull him closer, craving that harder rhythm. Instead, he caught her wrist, then the other, and pinned them overhead with one hand.
“Take it the way I’m giving it to you,” he said into her ear.
The authority in it stole the air from her lungs. His name left her lips in pieces, syllables dissolving as pleasure crested too fast to outrun.
Release cracked through her like a bolt of lightning, bright and blinding. He didn’t relent. Still he moved, stretching it, claiming every aftershudder until she sagged beneath him.
Rafael rolled them, pulling her on top of him. His hands settled on her hips. “Again.”
Her legs ached. Her body felt too sensitive. But the look he was giving her made her move. She wanted to know how far he could take her, and how much she could give.
Bea braced herself on his chest, shaking as she rose and sank down again. The stretch was sharper now, almost too much.
“That’s it,” he praised. “Just like that.”
His hands roamed freely, palms over her thighs, thumbs at her ribs, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, the other curling at the back of her neck to keep her exactly where she was.
She tried to slow. He lifted into her, holding her at the precise angle where the friction was unbearable. Her fingers dug into his skin.
The second time she shattered, her whole body locked—back arched, breath lost, a cry torn straight from her core. Rafael watched her like a man drinking from a well.
She collapsed onto him, boneless. He stroked her back, steadying her. Bea’s eyes were half closing when she heard him whisper.
“One more.”
“I can’t.”
“I know you can.”
“Just you now,” she whispered, because he still hadn’t let go.
He didn’t reply.
“Rafael,” she whimpered into his chest, not even sure what she was asking for. Mercy?
“You take your husband so well.” His voice was velvet, fingers tracing long, lazy lines down her spine, coaxing sensation from skin that shouldn’t respond.
Bea lifted her mouth to his chin, a soft, helpless decision. “One more.”
Rafael flipped her, guiding her onto her hands and knees. He covered her from behind, one hand curling over hers on the sheets as he slid in again, the angle stealing her breath.
Her cheek pressed into the bed. His arm snaked around her waist, taking most of her weight while also holding her against him. He moved slowly, almost indulgently, holding himself back, extending the moment as though he wanted to live inside it.
“I might just stay here,” he said darkly.
He could. She wouldn’t survive it. She whimpered.
His thumb found her again, patient and unrelenting, returning again and again until her moans became guttural.
That’s when his pace changed, control giving way to urgency. Each stroke drove the sensation higher, until she splintered beneath him. The moment she came undone, he followed, a harsh sound torn from his throat as he came hard.
This time, he let her sleep.
RAFAEL
The first thing he registered was her hair across his throat. The second was the soft weight of her limbs on his body. Bea was curled into him as if sleep itself couldn’t convince her to let go.
For a while he just lay there, memorizing this moment.
His wife.
Carefully, he lifted her leg away, and shifted down her body, shoulders easing her thighs apart. He kissed from the delicate skin behind her knee upward, until he found her with his mouth.
It didn’t take long before she stirred, her thighs tightening instinctively. He kept going until they loosened, and finally let go entirely.
Her hands shot down, threading into his hair—not to push him away. Just to hold on.
“You going to make a habit of this?” she rasped, fully conscious now.
Rafael looked up. His mouth curved against her skin. “Do you want me to?”
In answer she dropped her head back onto the pillow and pulled his hair.
He liked when she did that, liked the way she tried to stay quiet and the way she never could.
He liked everything about her, especially the surrender that always found her in the end, sometimes in her body, sometimes in the words she couldn’t keep in.
He lingered, indulgent, long enough that the air itself held the scent of her need. Rafael kissed his way up her body, until she felt exactly what was coming. Then he entered her, slow enough to see her pupils dilate.
Her walls cinched around him hard, dragging a curse from him. Every time, she wrecked him. Her eyes fell shut, as if what she felt demanded darkness.
Rafael kept the rhythm steady, breath close to her ear, feeling the change in her body before she could speak it. Her fingertips dug into his forearms, and he adjusted just enough to draw that broken sound from her again.
She broke faster than he’d meant her to, and she clamped down around him so hard he had to grit his jaw. Her neck tipped back like an offering, and he caught the smooth column of it between his teeth, leaving a small mark of possession.
He didn’t move until her breathing began to steady. Then he shifted her onto her side and held her. Her skin was damp, she was spent.
He wasn’t.
His hand slid down again. His fingers were much better at sweet-talking than he’d ever been. They knew exactly how Bea liked to be touched, what could persuade her.
He lifted her leg back slightly, over his hip. He kissed her shoulder. “Are you sore?”
“Yes,” Bea said.
“Can you give me one more, baby? Last one,” he promised.
“I can’t.” She turned, dark eyes meeting his. “You’ll have to take it.”
Rafael didn’t wait for a second invitation. He fitted himself close and pressed in. She made a noise she would deny outside this room.
“Yes,” he said, rough with satisfaction. “That sound. Every time.”
And then he took her at her word, and made the morning his.
They’d found a fishing village and a stretch of sand so white it looked invented.
Bea hurried down into their room to change, flipped open her suitcase, and froze. Not a single one of her usual swimsuits. Nothing sensible or modest.
Only bikinis. Tiny ones.
She held up the smallest scrap of red fabric. Lips pursed, she marched back up the stairs. “Rafael.”
From his lounge chair he glanced up. Sunglasses, bare chest, Negroni. “Hmm?”
“What are these?”
His lips twitched; he sipped. “Made some edits.”
She held up the top. It barely covered her palm. “This is…” She searched for words but came up blank. “I’ve seen bigger Band-Aids. I can’t wear this.”
One muscular arm went behind his head. “What if I ask nicely?”
“I’d ask where my one-piece suits went.”
“What if I ask very nicely?”
That voice. Velvet-soft and beckoning her to play.
Focus, Bea. Do not get turned on. You haven’t even touched land in the damn Mediterranean yet. This honeymoon is currently veering toward experiences that cannot legally appear in a photo album.
“We’re going ashore.”
“Are we?” he asked, mild as anything.
“Yes.”
His smile was devious. “Give me a show first, and I’ll personally row the boat.”
She let out a short laugh. “You’re insufferable.”
“I’m insatiable. It’s different.” He smiled lazily. “Put it on, baby. Let me see.”
Heat climbed straight up her neck. Bea turned before he could enjoy it too much and disappeared back downstairs, the red bikini dangling like a trap she already knew she’d walk into.
It made no sense, the hesitation. He’d seen her in less. Touched her everywhere. But this was different. There wouldn’t be any walls, only a fresh breeze on skin that had never met daylight.
When she finally emerged again, her fists were at her sides, her skin flushed in places no one ever saw. “This was a setup.”
Rafael didn’t deny it. He set his drink down, lifted his sunglasses, and stood.
She’d worn it to draw exactly this reaction from him.
His attention was immediate and absolute. It burned away the last of her self-consciousness, even as it sent her pulse skyrocketing.
“It’s even better than I imagined,” he said quietly, coming closer. His forefinger found the thin strap at her hip and followed it inward and down. Something wicked filled his green eyes. “I don’t even need to take it off.” The smallest shift of fabric. “That much is enough.”
And then he showed her exactly how right he was.