Chapter 8 #5
He followed her inside, staring after her like an idiot while she staggered to his bed, climbed onto it and fell back against the pillows. In spite of her exhaustion, she sent him the most seductive look he had ever received. He did not turn but kicked the door behind him closed, thinking, “Don’t.”
Her eyes were heavy-lidded. “A very good night,” she breathed, reaching for her wet shirt.
“Very,” he said, unsmiling. His loins had never been so full. “You need to get out of those clothes,” he said thickly, debating what he would do. Honor won. “I’ll go behind the screen and you may sleep here. I’ll sleep in my children’s cabin.”
“I do not want to ruin your fine sheets,” she murmured, sending him another glance through her lashes.
She gripped the hem of her shirt and he tensed.
She clearly intended to shrug off her shirt and he knew he must protest. But he didn’t move and he didn’t speak.
He simply waited, wanting her to undress, wanting to see her in all of her naked beauty.
Lowering her eyes, she pulled shirt and chemise up her torso, over her breasts and over her head.
Half-naked, she sent him another seductive smile, leaning back into the many red-and-gold velvet pillows against the headboard of the bed.
Cliff did not move as she lay there, a Venus in repose, a Venus waiting for him.
No siren could be as fatal, he thought. He had wanted her for far too long and perhaps her courage was what had pushed him to this moment.
Her long, curly platinum hair streamed over and around her breasts, framing each full globe, taut nipples jutting.
He felt himself move forward. He sat slowly at her hip; he lifted her breasts in his hands.
A still but savage excitement consumed him.
She gasped in pleasure.
Her weight was undoing his control. “You are more than brave and so terribly beautiful,” he said harshly. “How can I refuse this magnificent offer? I am only a man,” he said, but his mind was shrieking at him in protest. Some sanity, therefore, remained.
She laid her hand on his arm. “Please.”
And he struggled, conscience and honor battling his body, but it was too late.
Her simple touch had a profound effect. Lust exploded, unleashed.
He hadn’t wanted to kiss her, for it was far too intimate, but he caught her face in his hands and did just that, filling her with his tongue.
He had wanted to taste her for so long, but his greed demanded instant gratification now.
He forced his tongue deeper. When she began to weep in pleasure, he found her breasts, stroking them frantically, tearing his mouth from hers.
He pulled her nipples into tighter, harder points and she gasped wildly.
He began kissing her breasts, rubbing his face there, and finally he found her nipple with his tongue.
Amanda moaned. His other hand crept between her thighs.
Palming her, he felt her spasm through her breeches.
He gulped in air. The pressure in his loins became impossibly painful, too, and the fabric there had become a vice, choking him.
And there was no more thought, no more reason; only lust, desire and emotions he dared not comprehend.
Already he had her breeches open and his hand was stroking over hot, wet, throbbing flesh.
Amanda cried out, spreading wide for him, arching for his touch, his taste, his manhood.
He did as she demanded, stroking her until she sobbed in pleasure.
He was her first lover, he thought, somehow knowing it, and the savage excitement became a maelstrom of possession and need.
He tugged off her breeches, her drawers. She lay panting in the pillows, hardly recovered from her climax, but he could no longer wait. Cliff bent over her, sending his tongue against her distended flesh.
And as he licked her turgid body, his entire being filled with blood. It roared not just in his loins but in his head. She wept wildly, in more pleasure, in more ecstasy, and he reached between them to grip himself. As her cries eased he fought his need, bucking against her.
And then he gave in. He leaped from the bed, strode behind the screen and jerked on his breeches. They opened. He leaned his forehead against the wall and flicked his wrist. Release was instantaneous.
When he was done, he did not move, his wits returning rapidly. He was grim and disbelieving.
What had he done?
He inhaled harshly and pushed off the wall, fixing his clothing. He wiped sweat from his face, his eyes. Unfortunately, he could think of nothing he wished to do more than to leap into his bed with her and continue what they had begun.
But he hadn’t ruined her—not yet.
He tore off his wet shirt and stepped out from behind the screen. Amanda lay where he had left her. She was soundly asleep.
He stared. She hadn’t had the strength to move; she remained on top of the covers, stark naked, her cheeks flushed, but breathing deeply and evenly. Very slowly, he approached.
He could tell himself she was a child until hell froze over, but she was not a child and he knew that now. She was so hauntingly beautiful that his heart began to ache. And she was as passionate as he had dreamed—and they had barely begun.
Instantly he stiffened. They had begun nothing! There was nothing to begin! His intention was to be her protector, not her lover, not a conscienceless cad.
He knew that even if she awoke, she was so exhausted she would fall asleep instantly again.
He lifted her so he could slide her under all of the covers.
She sighed, her lashes barely fluttering.
He went to his chest and withdrew one of his shirts.
When he had slipped it over her head, he pulled the covers up to her chin.
She smiled very softly in her sleep. Briefly, he wondered if she were half-awake.
He paced away and sat, tugging off his boots. He then stripped off his soaking breeches, unfortunately aroused. After he had donned dry attire, he poured himself another scotch. As he drank, he sat in one of the high Spanish chairs at his table, staring at her.
What was he going to say to her on the morrow?
He was a clever and honest man, but in that moment, he could not come up with a single explanation for what he had done.
If he were very fortunate, she might not remember what had happened, he thought. But his ego was rather large and he wasn’t sure he would really like that, either.
How, in God’s name, would he manage the rest of the cruise, now that they had been so intimate? If they remained on course, a full two weeks lay ahead of them. No answer came to mind.
And as the sun rose, he sat there staring and he wrenched at his loins again.