Chapter 39 #2
"Thanks. I’d hoped to beat my past record. But I seem to have hit a wall." The veins stand out on his neck. Damn, this man is constantly trying to compete with himself. Another thing which turns me on.
"How deep did you go?" I clear my throat.
"To the bottom. About three meters. In a pool this size, it’s not about the depth as much as it is learning to hold your breath underwater for longer periods of time."
"Of course." I feel a little foolish that I thought it was about how deep he could go in the pool.
As if reading the expression on my face, his own features soften. "It is about how far you can go. But that’s when I go diving in the sea."
"And you do that often?”
"Whenever I can get away. There’s a place on the South Coast of the country where I can dive to a depth of fifty meters."
I gape at him. "That sounds dangerous."
"I never go alone. I have a free-diving instructor and a team standing by to get me, if needed."
"Has that happened?"
His jaw hardens. "I’ve never managed to go beyond twenty meters. The last few times I tried, I had to turn back."
James Hamilton, had to turn back from something? Wow.
"What happened that you had to turn back?"
A vein pops at his temple. "I ran out of air." He says it without sentiment. But the expression on his face tells me this is his personal nightmare.
"Not something you’re accustomed to?"
He gives me a strange look. "I’m not so egoistical to think I don’t have limits."
"But becoming a Marine was all about pushing limits," I prompt him.
Some of the tension leaves his big frame. "Precisely. It makes you aware that there is always another limit to be crossed."
"Is that why you dive? To cross another limit?"
He runs his fingers through his hair; water drips down his throat, his shoulders, and his chest. It’s like I’m gazing at my own personal Poseidon.
All water and muscle and masculine beauty that makes my mouth go dry and my pussy get wet, which is definitely not from the chlorinated water surrounding us.
"I dive because when I’m deep enough in the open sea, it’s dark. And quiet. And I can finally hear myself think."
"Oh." That’s a different way of looking at it. It’s also a very interesting insight into this very complex man, who’s my husband. Who I’m beginning to fall for more every day.
"Show me."
The words are out before I think them through.
He looks at me. "What?"
"What it feels like to hold my breath that long."
Something shifts in his eyes, then he banks it.
"Why?" His face is expressionless. But there’s an edge of excitement to his voice he can’t hide.
“Because I want to know what it feels like to have that kind of control over your life. To push my body past panic. To find the silence you’re describing. I want to understand why you find solace in it.”
“And?”
I think through the various excuses I could give him, but that won’t work. I have to be honest with him. If I want my husband to bed me, I need to show him I am his true student.
Not just in the kitchen, but in the bedroom.
I need him to understand that I can match him, go toe to toe with him, keep pace with him, not just while cooking, but also when he fucks me. So, I go with the truth.
“Because hearing you talk about the pressure, the darkness, the moment when your lungs scream and you have to decide whether to surface or stay under, does something to me in a way I don't want to examine too closely.”
Something shifts in his eyes. Dark. Hungry. My nipples harden. My thighs quiver.
It gives me the courage to tip up my chin and say, "I want to understand what you feel down there. I want to feel it too.”
The hunger in his eyes catches fire. His nostrils flare. When I look down at his speedos, I find it’s stretched tighter around the column at his crotch.
"It's not a game, Harper. It's dangerous if you don't know what you're doing."
I raise my lust-filled eyes to his.
"But you know what you’re doing.”
“Oh?”
I nod. My heartbeat spikes. My pulse thuds at my throat. Say it aloud. Tell him everything you’re thinking. “And I think I’ll enjoy learning from you.”
He inclines his head, the movement predatory, his animal instincts showing on his face. I’m not talking about free-diving, and he knows it.
“You’re talking about breath play?” he drawls.
His words take my breath away. Pun intended. He understands what I am alluding to. He’s too switched on. He doesn’t miss anything.
A dull flush filters into his face, making that scar on his cheekbone stand out in relief.
He’s excited by the possibility of mentoring me in a completely different way outside the kitchen. Finally… I know what’s going to make my husband consummate our wedding.
"You'd trust me to control when you breathe?” His voice drops. "To cut off your air until the very last millisecond of your climax to heighten your pleasure?”
He peers into my eyes. “Would you trust me to give you an orgasm which will change your perception of pain and pleasure forever?”
Yes.
God, help me, yes.
My entire body responds to the promise in his. My pulse races, my skin hypersensitive, every cell in my body aware of him. His proximity. His voice. The way he's looking at me like he's deciding whether to devour me or make me wait.
I'm trembling. Actually trembling. From words. From the promise in his eyes.
I've never been this turned on without being touched. We're just talking, and I'm already this close to falling apart.
What happens when he actually touches me? When he finally fucks me. I can’t wait to find out.
"I trust you," I whisper. “And it’d mean I don’t have to dive. It looked cold down there.”
I shiver.
In a flash, his expression changes to one of concern. "Let’s get out of here before you catch a cold."
He turns and hauls himself out. The water pours down his body, trickles along his strong legs and his feet.
Somehow, it feels very intimate to see his bare feet. More than even seeing him almost naked.
He bends and holds out his hands. When I take them, he hauls me out like I weigh nothing.
My feet touch the floor. He waits until I’m steady, then he releases me.
His gaze slides down my body, and his throat bobs.
The sudden tightness is his shoulders tells me he’s not immune to seeing me in a bikini.
Which I may have worn because it shows off my assets.
When he raises his gaze to mine, his blue eyes have darkened. They seem like the deep water he likes to dive into. Fathomless. Restless. Full of things he won’t say aloud.
"I love your curves."
His eyes are hooded as he rakes his gaze over my body again. He’s generating so much heat, the water droplets on his chest seem to sizzle.
But not even that stops me from sneezing.
The smile from his lips fades. He looks properly concerned.
"We need to get you warm and back to the restaurant."