Chapter 8 #2
“Oh,” she groaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, her loose curls tickling his cheek as she pressed her lips to his, breathing a long moan into his mouth as she began to take control of her movement, slowly, testingly, taking him in deeply, fully, not shying away from the boundaries of pleasure and pain.
This Delilah…the one entirely abandoned to herself…he’d sensed her all this time, for it was she who called to the him he kept hidden away.
The him who wanted and craved and ached.
For her.
“You’re ready, Delilah.”
“Ready?” She muttered into his neck. “For what?”
“For this.”
His grip tightened on her hips, and he thrust. She gasped and cried out.
“Too much?”
She shook her head. “Do it again.”
He held her fast against him, grinding her on him, and thrust again.
Her grip on his shoulders tightened, nails digging into flesh, and her hips joined his rhythm, carrying her toward the place she sought.
He saw it in the determined intensity of her movements, the crease of her brow, the concentration of purpose.
Release was beginning to taunt her, just out of reach.
Too soon, came a protest.
He wasn’t ready for her to be finished with him.
And yet the pull to give this woman what she wanted was too strong. He began moving her up and down his shaft, her quim a delicious tight slide on him, and again she cried out. “Sebastian…you’re so much.”
She was close as she strained and strived for release. And then she went tense and still, caught in the grasp of the moment before release—the uncertain instant it could go either way—before breaking, her sex pulsing around his length, entreating him to tumble over the edge with her.
And then it was upon him—the taunt…the tease…the demand that he give over—and he was pumping his climax into Delilah, joining her in the realm he’d experienced countless times, with countless partners, but never with her.
And never like this.
His arms tightened around her, and she slumped against him, enervated, her heart matching his beat for beat, her breath ragged against his neck.
“That was,” she spoke against his skin.
The remainder of the sentence hung in the air and drifted away on the breeze.
It didn’t need to be spoken anyway. Words were highly overrated. People tended to waste far too many of them when a meaningful silence was sufficient.
Seconds and minutes beat by, and their bodies remained entwined, until at last—too soon—movement became necessary. She lifted her head, her eyes questioning. She was wondering about him, about this man she’d thought she’d known for years, but tonight had revealed himself to be a different man.
Nay, not different, but more.
And she would be wondering about herself.
About what she’d just done with that man.
“Delilah, can we talk?”
He was finding himself in need of some words to be spoken between them.
“Perhaps,” she said before pushing back, and off him. The loss of her stole through him cell by cell, leaving a trail of emptiness in its wake.
“That was—” She searched for a word. “Amazing.”
A laugh startled out of him. It couldn’t help itself. “You’re not supposed to say things like that after a tup.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” And he couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence, but not because he didn’t understand why not.
It had to do with the games borne of power and distrust that lovers played. Games he didn’t want to play with Delilah. He’d never been interested in games, anyway, even as a child.
But in those times he did play, he played to win.
“Come with me,” she said, her slender hand slipping into his.
“Where?” he asked, the question a reflex. The truth was he’d go anywhere with her.
But he wasn’t ready to speak that truth aloud.
Yet.
And who was he trying to fool with that nonsense that he didn’t play games?
She jutted her chin toward the ocean, mischief in her eyes.
“You go ahead,” he said.
A quick smile tripped across her mouth, and she slid her hand from his before springing up and running straight into the ocean, splashy laughter trailing in her wake.
He pushed off the sand and followed, unable not to. “Come somewhere with me tomorrow,” he called out.
“The company is decamping tomorrow.”
Blast.
A playful splash of water landed on the side of his face. He sputtered salt water from his mouth. “Delilah, be careful of the consequences of your actions,” he said, wading toward her through waves that now reached his waist.
“I am,” she said, now floating on her back. “Always. But here’s the thing, Sebastian. I generally find my provocations to be worth the consequences.”
She directed another well-aimed spray of water at him.
Head averted, he braved the sloshy onslaught until he came close enough to gather a giggly Delilah into his arms, their naked bodies slick against each other. “Come somewhere with me when we make camp again,” he entreated. His mouth found her neck. It couldn’t help itself. His cock grew heavy.
“Anywhere,” she exhaled, throwing her arms around his neck, and her legs around his waist, weightless, his hard manhood pressed against her hot cunny.
Even as he took a taut nipple into his mouth and sucked, and she reached between their bodies and guided his shaft to the entrance of her sex…even as he pressed inside her…he vowed this wasn’t the only way he would have Lady Delilah Windermere.
He would make more than her body his.