Читать книгу Christmas Secrets Collection - Laura Iding - Страница 45

Zoe didn’t doubt herself, didn’t second-guess. The course was set. She would follow it.

She would glory in it.

When he reached up his lean hand to her, she took it, grasped it tight, helped pull him up, helped steady him on his good foot. He touched her face with his other hand, traced her brows, followed the curve of her cheek.

And then he kissed her.

It was a slow, tender, exploratory kiss. She lifted her mouth to him and let him take the lead, drinking in the scent of him: clean sweat, insect repellent—and a hint of plumeria from her shampoo. And something else, something heady and manly and totally wonderful. Something that was every good smell in the world, all rolled into one. A one-of-a-kind scent that almost had her believing in those “special” pheromones of his that Lin was always going on about. He smelled of chocolate and sugar cookies fresh from the oven. Of toasted pecans. Oh, she definitely wanted to eat him right up.

He ran his tongue along the seam where her lips met and she let him in.

That was when he wrapped his big arms around her and pulled her close to his hard, strong chest. The fire bathed them in its red glow, sending up sparks to the velvety night. Off in the darkness, she heard the jungle sounds, the screams of predators, the calls of nightbirds, the endless rustling of creatures that crept close to the ground.

She smiled against his mouth, eased her hands around his tight waist, reveled in the feel of him, pressed so close with passionate intent. At last.

In time, he lifted his head and looked down at her through those glorious, lazy bedroom eyes.

She said, “When you were so sick, when you were shaking with fever, shivering with cold at the same time, I used to lie down with you.”

“I remember. I was so grateful. Comforted.”

“It was a comfort to me, too—and a tight fit on those seats.”

A smile tipped on a corner of his beautiful mouth. “But you made it work.”

“Hmm.” She lifted on tiptoe.

He took the hint and lowered his head to her again.

She claimed his lips eagerly, hungrily. When he held her and kissed her, it all made sense, somehow. That they were here, miles from home, constantly in danger but together.

In every way.

For a long while, they simply stood there by the fire, kissing, whispering to each other, kissing some more.

Yes, she felt an urgency to take the pleasure farther, faster. She sensed that he did, too.

But there was a certain joy, a delicious thrill, in denying the urgency, in taking their time.

His hardness pressed into her belly, making promises that they both knew would be kept, and kept that night. Her body thrummed with excitement, her breasts ached for his caress. And below, she was heavy. Liquid with yearning, with hot expectation.

And they went on kissing even longer.

In time, he released her. They didn’t need words. She banked the fire. They each made a final trip into the shadows. They washed their hands and faces, brushed their teeth. He got the condoms from a suitcase and she collected the blanket and pillow that remained in the plane.

And then, at last, they entered the tent.

He undressed her first. Each time she tried to get something of his off, he gently pushed her eager hands away.

And eventually, she surrendered. After days of always having to be in control and on guard, it was a revelation, a sweet and voluptuous relief, to lie back on the pillows. To let him bring pleasure to her.

Like the kissing by the fire, he took his time about it. Starting with her shoes and socks, he worked his way up her body, kissing and caressing as he peeled away her clothing, revealing all her secrets.

She was only too happy to be revealed. It was exactly what she wanted, and just the way she wanted it. His tongue was magic, his fingers knew the perfect way to touch her. To stroke her.

Halfway up her body, he lingered. She still had on her shirt and bra when he dipped his tongue into the well of her navel, when he kissed every inch of her belly.

And lower.

He touched the chestnut curls and she opened her legs for him. He whispered how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, how the taste of her was so sweet, even better than he had dreamed in his constant fantasies of her.

“Constant?” That sounded really good.

“Yes. As in continuous. As in you’ve made me crazy …”

“Crazy. Good. That’s very good.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “I knew you’d think so.” He lowered his head to her, his fingers gently parting her secret flesh. “So beautiful. So slick and hot and wet …” And then his mouth was there, doing things. Wonderful things.

She groaned and clutched his head and pleaded, “Yes, oh! Right there. Oh, Dax….”

He knew just what to do, to make the ecstasy last. He found the right spot and he played it. She would rise, eager, urgent, reaching for the finish.

And then he would ease off, go slower. The waterfall’s edge of her building climax would retreat.

She begged him. She was shameless. She grabbed for his big shoulders, she curved her fingers into his thick, silky hair, digging her heels into the blankets, pushing her hungry body up to him, needing the fulfillment that his skilled mouth was promising, careful only of the bandage on his forehead. “Please. Oh, Dax. Please …”

But he wouldn’t give in and give her what she begged for, not until stars danced behind her eyes and her body hummed and quivered and she felt the glow of her own arousal all through her, in each deep, hungry beat of her heart, across every inch of her heated, sweat-dewed flesh.

Finally, he let it happen. She spun toward the waterfall, her whole body alive, shimmering, supersensitized. She spun toward it—and miracle of miracles—she went over.

In a glorious free fall, she cried out his name as the pleasure rose up and consumed her, in a shimmer of falling jeweled brightness, of pure physical joy.

Of wondrous completion.

He slid up her body as she came. His mouth, wet with her excitement, hot from those endless kisses, pressed a burning, slick trail over her quivering belly, across the white fabric of her T-shirt, along the sweat-damp column of her exposed throat. He took her mouth with a groan.

And he entered her.

Just like that. She let out a sound of surprised fulfillment. She had no clue when he’d freed himself of his pants, of his boxer briefs.

But he was free. She reached down and took his hard, naked hips between her hands.

It was perfect, just what she needed, his mouth on hers in a never-ending kiss, the feel of him filling her, gliding in so hot and hard and slick as the last sweet pulses of her climax beat around him, easing his way.

“So good. Zoe …” He breathed her name into her mouth.

She took it, took all of him, all the way. And she sucked his tongue into her mouth as she lifted her hips to him, eager and ready for each hard, hungry thrust.

They rolled, moaning, kissing, and she was on top. It felt so good, so right. She reared up above him and rode him, rocking her hips on him, claiming each hot, perfect sensation as it rolled into her and through her, and onward, like a rushing, brilliant burst of light, out her toes, her fingertips, the top of her head.

And then, somehow, the bright light of her pleasure whirled in the close air around them and came back into her, expanding, sliding along each and every nerve ending.

Until another climax approached. She shuddered, crying out, and her body collapsed on top of him.

She came yet again, a swift, searing explosion of sensation, as he claimed the top position once more, braced up on his powerful arms and let his own climax have him.

He gazed down at her, his dark eyes so soft and low and gleaming, the bandage white as snow against his forehead, as he pulsed within her, and her body welcomed him, urging him deeper, harder, faster.

At the very end, he tossed his head back. A low, deep growl rose in his chest. His big arms gave way and he came down to her again, locking his mouth to hers, kissing her so deeply, still expanding and contracting within her.

And for the third time, her body answered, going over the waterfall yet again and then slowly, deliciously drifting down into the pool of contentment below.

Some time passed. She stroked his lean hips, eased her fingers under the shirt he still wore to learn the powerful, slick musculature of his beautiful back.

He kissed her cheeks, her chin, her throat, little wet, nipping kisses, that made her shiver in the most lovely, delicious way.

But then, ripping through the lazy aftermath of pleasure like the slashing arc of a sharp, sharp knife, the realization hit her. She grabbed his shoulders, pushed him away, made him look at her.

He blinked those bedroom eyes. “What?”

“The condom. We didn’t….”

He chuckled.

She stared up at him, appalled. “You’re laughing. We forgot the condom and you are laughing about it.”

“Zoe …” He kissed he nose.

She punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t you dare kiss my nose. Do you realize—?”

“Zoe, it’s okay. I didn’t forget.”

She was midway into punching him again. That second punch, she pulled. “You didn’t forget.” She blew out a breath of pure relief. “Whew.”

“See?” He lifted up enough that she could look between their bodies.

She saw, marveled, “How did you do that? I had no idea …”

He settled on top of her again and kissed the curve where her shoulder met her neck, whispered against her damp skin, “I’m not going to say years of practice. It wouldn’t sound the least romantic.”

She was able to laugh, too, then. She wrapped her arms around him and planted a big, loud smacker of a kiss on his beard-scratchy cheek. “Oh, I cannot tell you how relieved I am.”

He rolled a little, so they were facing each other, but wrapped a muscular, hairy leg across her and somehow managed to stay inside. “That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about with me, one thing I never forget.”

She stroked the side of his face. “Well, that’s good. That’s very good.”

He tucked her closer, tighter in his arms. She shut her eyes and drifted, satisfied. Content for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime.

Some minutes later, he gently rolled away. “Don’t go anywhere.” He kissed her forehead, smoothed her hair.

Half-asleep, she yawned. “Not a problem. I’ll be right here.”

He left the tent. She sank back into slumber until he returned, zipping the tent flaps after him. She heard him rustling around next to her, pulling off the rest of his clothes.

And then he came back down to her and gathered her close, spoon-fashion. It was a wonderful sensation, to have him curved around the back of her, touching her everywhere.

She felt his lips against her neck and his hand gliding up under shirt.

He whispered, “This shirt, this bra … they’re in my way.”

She could feel him, unfurling, against her back. “You are insatiable.”

“I try.” He had the shirt by the hem and he was pulling it upward. She stretched out her arms and let him take it away. The bra went next and finally, they were both completely naked.

He guided her over onto her back. She opened her eyes lazily and, in the hazy glow from the banked fire outside, they regarded each other.

“Good,” he said.

She nodded. “Very good.”

And then he lowered his dark head to her breast.

They made love again, slowly, less urgently than the first time—but no less passionately.

After that, he pulled her into the circle of his arms and they slept.

In the morning before dawn, they added wood to the smoke pit, applied insect repellent and went to the river while the fish were biting. Dax caught two again in no time. She cleaned them and they returned to camp.

They ate breakfast. He shaved and changed the wrap on his forehead, which was healed enough now to take two big bandages rather than the more complicated dressing of gauze and tape.

They were discussing the various possible activities of the day—bathing in the river, making love endlessly, foraging for edible plant life to supplement their diet of fish and dried snake—when Dax put up a hand for silence.

“Shh. Hear that?”

She listened, shook her head—and then froze. Her mouth dropped open. Could it really be? At last? “Oh, Dax. I do hear it. It’s a plane!”