Chapter 46 #2
His strong, curving bicep. His bulky shoulder.
The plane of muscle that was his pectoral.
Hands and mouth tracing a path, then moving farther down.
Feeling him shifting under her as her palms stroked over his flanks, as she moved down to kiss his flat belly.
Her hands on the tongue of his belt, and the rasp of hair as she pulled his clothes over his muscular thighs.
His hands fumbling for the clasp of her bra, then pulling it off.
His hands greedy on her breasts, then stroking over her shoulders, but she couldn’t wait for that.
She was slipping down onto the floor onto her knees, then trying to pull him toward her.
“Skylar.” The first word either of them had spoken. “Oh, God.”
She wasn’t listening, because he was sliding down the bed at last, and she had hold of him and was going to work.
She wanted him to touch her, but right now—bloody hell, but she wanted to touch him.
This was going to be over too fast. He wasn’t going to be able to make it. He … She was working down there, and he should be the one doing the work. He should …
He couldn’t even touch her. Couldn’t reach her. But he could definitely feel her.
He stood it as long as he possibly could. All he wanted was for her to keep going, but if she didn’t stop, he wouldn’t be able to hold out. “Skylar,” he groaned. “Skylar. Stop.”
She did. Silence for a moment, and then she was backing away. He could see that, because he’d sat up. Rising to her feet, looking confused. Looking stricken.
He was on his feet, then, and taking her in his arms. Running his hands down her arms and back up then again, holding her face in his hands and kissing her. Trying to tell her. Trying to show her.
“You’re brilliant,” he said. “Let me …” His hands on her jeans, pulling them down her body. She had to wriggle a bit, and oh, yeh, this was good. The blood was pounding in his ears, his heart was pounding in his chest, and all he wanted to do was pound into her himself, good and hard.
But he couldn’t, could he? He kissed her again, and she wrapped her arms around him and said, “Zane. I don’t want … I don’t want tenderness. I want— I want—”
Oh, bloody hell. He said, with about the last of his self-control, “Birth control. Are we—”
“Yes. Yes.” She had a knee up and a leg trying to wrap around him.
A slam, and she was against the wall. A heave, and he had her thighs in his hands.
A shove, and he was inside her. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her legs wrapped behind his back.
It was fast, it was hard, and it was almost too much.
She was gasping in his ear, saying his name, and the roaring was louder now.
Hotter. Wetter. Deeper. But she wasn’t … she couldn’t …
Sliding down the wall with her, keeping hold.
Getting her down to the floor, then coming down over her.
From behind again, because he needed to, and so did she.
Getting his hand there, and oh, yeh. The slickness of her.
The sight of her. That white bum. Those thighs.
And the view. God help him, but was there a better sight than fucking your girlfriend from behind, when she had an arse like that?
She was keening now, then dropping to her elbows, the same way she’d done in Wellington.
She must have stuffed a fist in her mouth, because her voice was muffled.
He grabbed her arm and pulled it away. “I need to … hear it,” he managed to say, before his hand went back to work on her.
Moving fast now, and finding the perfect spot, because she was gasping.
Calling out. And, finally, tightening around him.
Tightening, then tightening some more. Her body trying to buck, but he was holding her too tightly. Holding her hard. Holding her forever.
That was the last thought he had, because he was beyond thinking now. She was going up like a rocket, and he was right there with her.
Bloody, bloody, bloody hell.
They were in bed at last, and she was in his arms. He said, stroking back her hair, “I meant to be tender. I thought about you on the plane home and told myself, ‘Take it slow and easy, mate. Make her feel like you know it’s her.’”
“Mm.” She was so sleepy, she could barely answer. “It worked for me. Though I thought you didn’t like it at first, when I— Am I not good at it?”
“You were too bloody good at it, is what you were.” He was kissing her forehead now, and she loved that.
“Oh. Good.” She yawned, then rolled onto her stomach, and he draped an arm and leg over her. That weighted blanket again.
“I need to say more,” he said. “I need to talk to you.”
She heard it, but barely. Because she was asleep.
Now, he shifted position in the airplane seat—he really was stiff, despite a hard swim this morning—and Skylar put down her phone, where she’d been reading a book, and asked, “OK? Still sore from that last match? That was brutal.”
“Nah,” he said. “That’s long gone. I need a swim and a massage, that’s all. Fortunately, we’re going to a resort. Couples massage. That’s a thing, right? You can get the relaxing kind, and I’ll get the kind where they try to pull my muscles out of my body. Hurts so good, eh.”
She tucked a hand in his arm and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Kids, though.”
“Nannies,” he said. “Already sorted. Whanau time and couple time. And heaps of sex.”
“Works for me,” she said, and smiled. So he kissed her, and never mind the flight attendant.
It was good to be home. Or on holiday. Either one.
He was one lucky man.