Читать книгу Naughty Bits - Меган Харт, Alice Gaines - Страница 10
ОглавлениеTHE WARM WATER OF THE GULF OF MEXICO SWIRLS around her ankles, soothing the weariness from her bones. It had been a long drive down from Corpus Christi to Veracruz. She hadn’t meant to stop here, hadn’t really known where she was going; simply going was the important part.
She had wanted to be alone, and here she is, surrounded by the solitude of a nearly empty beach, populated only by a few strangers. And since they are strangers, they don’t matter, don’t intrude.
She has been entirely alone for three days—on the drive, then wandering this beach, taking short swims, sleeping in her hotel room. The room is really a small cottage on the beach, the sand coming right to her door, where she has to wipe her feet with a towel before going inside. Still, sand is scattered over the worn tile floor, buried deeply in the fibers of the colorful woven rugs.
The place smells of the sea, and a little of mildew and something faintly dark and exotic. She doesn’t mind. She loves the scent, even the undertone of mildew; it reminds her that she’s far from home, from her life. The bed, which is perhaps a bit too soft, cradles her as she sleeps at night and during her frequent daytime naps. She has been sleeping endlessly in her room here on the beach. Still, she’s tired. Her limbs are filled with a languid heaviness she cannot shake. Nothing seems to energize her—not the brilliant Mexican sunsets, nor the endless hours of sleep, not even the power of the ocean.
What is it she needs?
She moves deeper into the blue-and-green water, looking out to sea where the late afternoon sun touches the tips of the waves in glinting bits of silver. The ocean surges, swells, caresses her knees, her hips, like the soft hands of a lover she has never known.
There is movement next to her and she turns to find a man standing nearby, waist-deep in water. All she can see of him is his torso, his head. Sunlight gleams off his wide, tanned shoulders, one of which is covered by an intricate tattoo, but she can’t make out the design. She can see the shadowed planes of a finely muscled back, a narrow waist.
Her body gives a surprising shiver. He turns, almost as though he is aware of her looking at him, and smiles brilliantly.
She smiles back and suddenly he is moving toward her. She can see now he has a striking face, one of those faces that is beautiful and masculine at the same time. His features are a bit irregular but his jaw is strong, his mouth lush and sensual. His eyes are the color of the earth, that same deep brown she finds when digging in her small garden at home. But she doesn’t want to think of home now. No, all she wants is to be here, watching this man.
His body is all hard-packed muscle and he moves with grace through the weight of the water. He pauses several feet away. But he is still close enough that she can make out the smooth texture of his skin. Her eyes are brought back to his tattoo, which she can now see is a tiger drawn against a background of tsunami waves in classic Japanese style. She finds herself wanting to touch it.
Water seems elemental to the moment. Except that he is all earth, this man. This stranger. And when he speaks, his voice is a deep rumble that is very much of the earth.
“You’re new here.”
It is a statement, yet she feels the urge to answer. He’s American and it seems the hospitable thing to do.
“I came the day before yesterday.”
He simply nods, moves in closer. She cannot take her eyes off him. When she does glance up, his gaze is focused on her face. The sun is glaring but she can see his eyes, dark and earthy, and they make her tremble inside.
Why does she feel as though he can see right through her?
She is suddenly very much aware of the water rushing like silk between her thighs as the waves surge, then retreat. The bare skin exposed by her turquoise bikini, the same shade as the ocean out beyond the waves, makes her feel naked beneath the stranger’s gaze.
She watches him. He licks his lips. She wants to kiss him so much her own mouth waters. He takes another step closer, until he is standing so near she swears she can smell the salt on his skin.
She doesn’t dare move, to break the spell of this moment. They are doing nothing more than watching one another. She doesn’t want to have to speak. Her whole body feels raw with yearning. She just wants to touch his skin; she doesn’t want to think about why.
A wave rolls in, splashing against the small of her back. With his elemental gaze still locked on hers, she can imagine it is his hand that caresses the tender flesh there. And again, she feels as though he can see right into her, as though he knows who she is deep inside.
“Swim with me,” he says.
They splash out into the waves, and he dives through them, coming up dripping, like some fantastical merman. But he is some fantasy creature. Her mind is making up stories about him already—erotic stories, sensual daydreams. His hands all over her naked skin, on her breasts, between her thighs. His mouth on hers, moving over her flesh…
She dips below the water to cool off. When she surfaces, smoothing her long brown hair from her face, he is right there. He puts a hand on her arm, just a small feathering of fingers she can barely feel, yet it goes through her like an electric shock. Her nipples come up hard beneath the wet fabric of her bikini. Her sex goes warm. She wants him to touch her again.
She moves closer, letting the waves bring her right up against him. His body is every bit as hard and strong as it looks. And his solid erection presses into the soft flesh of her belly.
In her mind is one word: Yes.
His hand grasps her shoulder, slides down her arm, and the next wave crushes them together, her breasts pressing against his hard chest. She looks up, sees his mouth, wants to kiss him still. And as though reading her mind, he lowers his head and his mouth comes down on hers.
His lips are lovely, soft, salty with the ocean. When he parts her lips and slides his tongue inside, she melts all over. Her sex grows molten with need, and she kisses him back, hungry for whatever he offers. He fills her mouth; his tongue is hot, wet. She needs more.
Pulling away, she presses her lips to his neck, slides her tongue down his throat and hears a small moan from him. Her body pulses in response. Moving her mouth, she licks the tattooed skin of his shoulder, swirls her tongue over the design there. Salt—the salt of sweat and of the sea. And something else, something almost sweet, vanilla-like, beneath the salt. Something which is simply a part of him. His hands go into her hair, his fingers curling, but he lets her move freely.
She pulls back to see the landscape of his body, the angles and curves of him. Reaching out to touch him, she finds his nipples hard beneath her fingers. She wants to pull them, one at a time, into her mouth, and she does, while the strength of the ocean moves them around.
His hands slide down her sides and slip beneath her bathing suit top. Finding her nipples with his fingertips, he caresses, pulls, teases, until her sex is throbbing with heat. She moves back to his mouth, licks his lower lip, takes it into her mouth, sucks on it. He pinches her nipples, hard, and she breathes out,“Touch me.”
His arm comes around her waist, pulling her into his body. His hand snakes down between them, beneath the water, pushes aside the edge of her bikini bottom. And delves inside, finding her swollen folds. She can hardly stand it, his touch, the warm rush of the water, the heady scent of him in her nostrils. He moves his fingertips over her clitoris, which is hard and alive and needy. He begins to rub.
She is aching, nearly hurting. Reaching beneath the water, she pulls his engorged cock from his trunks and is thrilled with the size and the weight of it. And even more with the feel of the heavy steel ring embedded just below the head. Immediately fascinated, she runs her fingertips over the cool metal, playing with the ring, tugging on it a little.
She strokes him in cadence with his hand between her thighs. He is guiding her legs with his free hand now, wrapping them around his waist, so that he is holding her, weightless, in the water.
Sensation builds. Blood pounds through her veins, her pulse beating into his mouth where it is sucking on the flesh of her throat. Her sex beats in time, a low, thrumming rhythm, matched by his pulsing cock in her hand. She loves the way he fills her palm, that she can barely wrap her fingers around him. But she doesn’t want him inside her yet. She wants them to come into each other’s hands first.
When he pushes a thumb inside her she almost loses it. She grasps his cock tighter, strokes harder, hangs on until she hears him moan again, feels his body tensing all over. She moves her hips into his hand, trembles as he presses onto her clit, taking her up and over the edge. Pressure is building inside her, like a vessel filled to overflowing. He moves his hand faster. Pleasure swims through her veins, through her head, overtaking her. And as her orgasm washes over her, she pumps his cock, feeling the hot rush as he comes into her palm. She shakes with the force of it, thrusts her hips, presses harder into his fingers. And he doesn’t stop, stays with her, while her sex clenches, while pleasure arcs through her sex, through her body.
Her hand is sticky with his come, but soon the cleansing ocean water washes it away, leaving her feeling a little sad. She clings to him, her sex still pulsing and warm, her breath a ragged panting in her own ears.
And all around them, the ocean moves to its own eternal rhythm.
With his fingers, he wipes her wet hair from her face. Such a tender move from a stranger, but with his softening cock still in her hand, he is hardly a stranger, is he?
They stay together in the water, letting the ocean rock them, her head against his chest, until the sky begins to streak with pink and amber. Neither seems to want to let go, to end the experience.
Finally he asks her, “Are you tired?”
“No, not tired at all.” And for the first time in days, she realizes this is true. She feels the energy in her body like a banked fire he has sparked to life.
He is quiet a moment, then he whispers, so softly she can barely hear him above the pounding of the surf, the call of ocean birds, “Take me to your room.”
She looks up at him, nods her head. Slowly, she unwraps her body from his, uncoiling like a long strand of seaweed, the tension gone from her body. She feels a sense of release. And yet, a new and exquisite tension is building simply from the soft tone of his voice in her ear. At the implication of what might lie ahead tonight.
He takes her hand and follows her out of the sea. On the beach, she grabs her towel from the sand, her straw hat, the book she brought along to read, but which she wasn’t able to concentrate on.
Together they move across the sand. At the door to her room she turns to look at him. His skin is beaded with water, the tips of his short, light brown hair still dripping. She offers her towel to him. He takes it, but rather than drying himself he smoothes the towel over her skin: her shoulders, down her arms, across her stomach. When he kneels to dry her calves, moving up her thighs, her sex gives a hard squeeze.
Yes…
In a moment he is on his feet again, roughly rubbing himself dry. He lifts his chin, motioning for her to open the door. She pauses, and he smiles at her.
His smile is brilliant, radiant. As beautiful as the rest of him.
She turns the knob, opens the door and they slip inside. She drops her hat and her book on a small painted table. He moves past her, looks around, then drapes the damp towel over the back of a chair. She shivers a little in the cooler air of the cottage, watching him move, the sleek motion of hard-packed muscle.
She takes a step toward him.
“Wait,” he tells her. “I want to look at you. To watch you for a moment.”
She stops, waits. He runs a hand down his stomach, over that narrow trail of dark hair leading from his navel and into the band of his black and red trunks. Yes, she wants to see him as well, wants to see his naked flesh, his pierced cock. Her nipples are going hard once more, the lips of her sex filling, swelling.
When he presses a hand to the front of his trunks, she can clearly see the outline of his hardening cock beneath the wet fabric.
Oh, yes…
And then he slips his trunks off and stands before her, naked. His body is a marvel, all hard muscle and smooth, tanned skin. His cock is so beautiful, her hands ache to touch it. Her sex aches with the need to feel him inside of her. And the wicked metal ring glinting in the dying sun coming through the shuttered windows.
Her throat goes dry. Her sex goes wet. She squeezes her thighs together.
“Your turn,” he says.
With his dark eyes on her, she brings her hands up to cup her breasts through her bathing suit top; she cannot wait for his touch. Her nipples are so hard they hurt. His eyes are riveted to her hands moving over her breasts, and she moves the triangles of blue fabric aside, squeezes her nipples, tugs on them, pleasure burrowing deep into her system. Everything is amplified by his brown eyes on her, by the lust clear on his face.
He moans softly. Whispers, “Beautiful.”
It has been a long time since she’s felt beautiful. But now, with him, she does. And it is a sort of relief she can’t explain, even to herself, whispering beneath the desire.
But she doesn’t need to think now. She only needs to feel.
Pulling her bikini top off, she keeps her gaze on him. His mouth has gone soft, his eyes glittering. And he is stroking his cock, his fingers moving lightly over that rigid flesh.
She has never seen anything hotter in her life.
She slides her bikini bottoms over her hips, steps out of them, takes one step closer to him. He moves toward her, stops a foot or two away.
“Touch yourself for me,” he demands.
She smiles, feathers her fingers over her nipples once more before moving lower, brushing her mound. When she slips two fingers over her cleft she is soaking wet, slippery, like the sea. She can still hear it, smell that tang of salt in the air. And it is all a part of the moment—the sea moving and surging, the scent in the air. It is the power of the ocean and he is the earth, and between them is fire, building, burning.
“Put your fingers inside yourself,” he tells her, and she does it, spreading her thighs a little and dipping into that wet, waiting hole.
Pleasure moves through her, at her own touch, at his dark gaze on her. At the way he takes a gasping breath and clamps his fingers over his beautiful cock.
He reaches out and takes her hand from between her thighs, raises it. His lips open and he takes her fingers into his mouth, the damp heat enveloping her.
This must be what his cock feels like, sliding into a woman. Sliding into her.
Her sex clenches.
“I need to feel you,” she tells him. “I need your hands on me. Your mouth. Your cock.”
“Yes,” he says, his voice low, full of smoke and need.
Her hand still in his, he leads her to the bed. The sheets are mussed from her nap earlier in the day, the pillows dented. He lays her down on her back and kneels over her. She shivers, waiting.
Lowering his head, he kisses her, lightly, and she can taste her own juices on his lips. Then he is moving lower, his mouth all over her skin, sucking one rigid nipple into his mouth.
“Ah!”
She can hardly believe how close she is to coming already. Her hands go into his damp, thick hair, holding him close to her breast. He is sucking so hard it hurts. But it feels too good for her to care.
Yes, suck harder….
Pleasure, warm and sweet, washes over her body, a trail of heat from her breasts to her sex. Her clit is throbbing.
“Touch me,” she says demandingly.
He moves lower and spreads her thighs wide with his hands. And then his mouth is on her, his wet, clever tongue sliding over her pussy lips, pushing inside. And she is squirming, panting. Pleasure is driving into her body, making her shudder. And when he pulls her clit into his mouth and sucks, she comes, bursting, her hips lifting up off the bed.
“Ah, yes, fuck me!”
His fingers drive into her, and pleasure coils anew in her belly, tight and hot, then crashes over her like a pummeling wave. And she shatters, coming and coming, her hips bucking into his mouth, his hand.
She is still shivering when he raises his head. He is smiling. He lifts her and moves her up on the bed, then asks her, “Condoms?”
She nods her head, but it is a moment before she can speak. “In the small silver case, next to my suitcase.”
She watches as he leans over next to the bed where her open luggage sits on the floor, clothes spilling out onto the tiles. He finds the silver cosmetics case, unzips it, and after a moment of digging, pulls out the folded strand of foil packets left over from the last trip she’d taken with her ex before…
She isn’t going to think of that now.
He is opening a packet with his teeth, and this seems purely sexual to her, animalistic. But perhaps that’s simply because her body is still trembling with the aftershock of orgasm. Or the keen anticipation of knowing his cock will be inside her in only moments.
Yes.
He kneels over her on the bed, but before he can sheath himself she reaches up and takes the silver ring between her fingers, tugs on it.
He groans.
“It’s called a Prince Albert piercing?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve never seen one before. Not in person. Did it hurt?”
He laughs. “Yes, it hurt.”
She smiles, doesn’t tell him she likes knowing that for some reason.
“Will it feel different?”
“You’re about to find out.”
He slips the condom onto his cock, and she spreads her thighs for him.
“Yes, that’s it. Wider.” His voice is low, strained.
He is kneeling between her legs, and she loops them over his strong thighs. He slips one hand under her ass and pulls her up, onto his shaft, entering her.
He pauses, the head of his cock inside her, and she swears she can feel the curve of the metal ring, a lovely added texture. Her sex is pulsing with pleasure, her whole body is pulsing; a steady beat of lust centered at that point where the thick metal ring, the head of his cock, pierces her body.
She shifts, trying to take him deeper. His hand comes to her cheek, caresses her jaw, then he is holding her face a little too roughly. And he slams into her, one deep, hurting thrust.
“Oh!”
She goes loose all over, her body turning to pure liquid fire. Pleasure, pain, it’s all the same as he pulls back, rams into her again. Then he is fucking her, his cock sliding in and out, hard and hurting and so damn good she is ready to come again in moments.
The first wave makes the walls of her sex clench around his swollen cock.
“So fucking tight,” he murmurs.
And then he is driving harder into her, and she is coming apart, her climax pounding into her, overwhelming her. She is lost, drowning in pleasure, shaking with the force of it.
And he is still fucking her, fucking her, driving her orgasm on. Moments later he tenses, shivers, cries out as he comes, one hand gripping her ass, his nails biting deep. The other hand still holds her face, so that she is forced to look at him. And she loves the way he just comes apart, his mouth so full and soft as he groans, his eyes closed, his head falling back.
And still his hips are moving, his cock still hard somehow. And she is coming again, her body tensing, clenching. He senses what is happening, reaches down and takes her clit between his fingers, pinching, tugging. Pleasure, intense, freeing, surges through her, driving deep. And she is left panting and weak. And as sated as she has ever been in her life.
He pulls out of her and she expects him to move away. But after tugging the condom off, he rolls onto his side, pulling her close. Her head against his chest, she can hear his heart hammering beneath her ear. His body is warm. He smells more like the ocean than ever.
They sleep. When she wakes it is fully dark. She has no idea what time it is. It doesn’t matter.
She slips from the bed and brings a bottle of wine—a fruity red from Chile—back to the bed, along with a plate of fruit and some pastries she bought that morning from a vendor on the beach.
Moonlight washes through the half-open shutters, blue and silver in the dark room. And she can see that he is awake, watching her.
“Hey,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.
“Hey.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No. Stay here with me. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” He sits up in the bed, takes the wine from her, uncorks it and drinks from the bottle before passing it back to her.
She has set the plate on the bed, and he takes the knife she laid on the edge of the plate and peels an apple, then cuts it into pieces and offers her one. She bites into the apple, the cool sweetness filling her mouth. She follows it with a long sip of the wine. Everything seems utterly sensual to her: the fruit, the wine, the scent of sex in the air, the heat of his body next to hers. And outside the windows, the pulsing beat of the ocean crashing on the shore.
They sit on the bed and feed each other, pulling the pastry apart with their fingers. It’s sweet with honey. They wash it down with the wine. And when they’re both full, he pours a little of the wine on her naked skin, then licks it off until she is wet and aching, begging him to fuck her again.
He turns her onto her stomach this time, pulls her up onto her knees. She is shivering, as he uses his fingers to part her pussy lips, at the sound of a foil packet tearing.
He enters her with his fingers first, sliding right inside. She surges back onto his hand, pleasure shafting through her in long, rippling waves.
“You’re so wet, so ready.”
“Yes…”
He pulls his fingers from her and in a moment the head of his cock is pushing inside her. He is so big, filling her inch by inch, the ring sliding against her G-spot. His arm wraps around her waist, his other hand going into her hair, grasping tight, pulling her head up. She feels taken over, commanded. And she gives herself over to it, to him, as he begins to fuck her, moving slowly at first, then harder, faster. Pleasure seeps into her system, flooding her belly, her arms, her legs. And her sex is clenching, swollen, ready to explode.
When his hand moves down, massaging her wet cleft, pressing onto her clit, she comes, hard. Waves of pleasure wrack her body, stinging, swift as the ocean current. And she is shaking, nearly sobbing with the power of it.
She is surprised when he pulls out of her, left empty, bereft. But his hand is there, his lovely, soft fingers, pushing into her, pulling out, wiping her juices all over her pussy lips and back, over her anus. He leans in and plants wet kisses down her spine, and she arches her back, loving the sensation. She is hypersensitive all over, her skin, every part of her body, from coming so much, from his touch. He parts his lips, swirls his tongue over her lower back, and at the same time he slips one finger into her anus.
“Shh, relax,” he whispers.
And she does. This is the first time that hole has been breached, but at this moment, it is utterly sensual. With his other hand he teases her clitoris into a hard nub once more. She can hardly believe her body is still able to feel pleasure. But it moves through her in a warm wash of desire, longing.
He presses his finger deeper. “Breathe,” he tells her, his voice quiet, soothing. There is sex in his voice, his own desire held tight.
She does as he asks, breathing in, pulling in that scent of ocean and sex and him. And she is shivering once more. He moves his finger in, slides it out. She has never felt anything quite like it, a sense of fullness, and yet, she wants more.
“Fuck me. Please.”
He plays her anus with his finger for another few moments, making her surge back, taking more of him in.
“Please,” she begs again.
His hand moves away and she feels the head of his cock at that tightest of holes. And she is wet again, trembling with a need that rages through her. He spreads her buttocks, pushes the tip of his cock in. And at the same time, he rubs her clit in small circles with his thumb, pushes a few fingers into her sex. Pleasure, wild and keen, cuts into her like a knife. She cries out. He answers by pushing into her deeper, fingers and cock all at once. Inch by exquisite inch, telling her to breathe, to relax.
But she is already liquid all over. Liquid and wanting everything from him. Anything.
He takes it slow and it seems to go on forever, his cock working its way into her ass, his thumb circling her clit, his fingers dipping inside her.
Just when she is beginning to think he is too tentative with her, he steps up the pace, sliding in and out of her ass, her pussy, filling her, stretching her. Lovely, painful. She is dizzy with sensation, in a state of overload. But all she can do is thrust back against him, pleasure infusing her, emptying her mind. She is nothing more than these sensations, this body being fucked in every possible way. And she is loose and free in a way she has never been before.
This is what she’s needed, what she’s been searching for, she thinks fleetingly, even though she didn’t know it until this moment.
Pleasure builds, deepens, rolls over her body in long waves. Excruciating. Sharper, heavier, until she is completely weighed down by it. She collapses on the bed, but he is still fucking her, relentless, his hand working her mercilessly. She is coming again, shards of pure pleasure stabbing into her. She is sobbing, crying out, shaking so hard her teeth are clattering together. Coming so hard she can’t think of anything at all but the exquisite sensations moving through her body, a body which no longer belongs to her, but to him.
He tenses, growls, pumps into her ass. And it hurts, his pumping cock—and to know that it’s over, this experience.
He lies on top of her. He is shivering as hard as she is. He wipes the tears from her cheek, doesn’t say a word. They lie together for a long time, and at some point, they sleep.
Dawn comes as it always does on the Veracruz beach, with an edge of chill to the otherwise warm and sultry air. But he is warm beside her, the sound of his breath a quiet sigh.
She lies on her back, remembers why she needed to leave Corpus Christi. Remembers her broken heart, which is no longer broken.
Her stranger has healed her, somehow. He is like some magical creature, except that the physical reality of him is all too real—his sleeping form next to her, the lovely ache in her body.
As she watches him, his eyes open. They are that same elemental brown. He is so much of the earth, and of the water. She reaches out, runs her fingertips over the waves tattooed behind the tiger on his shoulder. Yes, he is of the water, too. Their time together is made up of the elements and suddenly she needs to be back in the water with him. She feels desperate, a little sad.
“Come with me,” she whispers.
He nods, sits up, runs a hand over his stubbled jaw. Smiles at her. And she knows everything is all right again.
She takes his hand and leads him, naked, out onto the beach and down to where the surf crashes on the sand. The sun is just coming over the horizon, an arc of fire in the deep, silvery sky.
They move together into the water, and it is soothing, womblike. The waves surge, wash away, caressing her skin, her naked sex. He pulls her deeper, until the water is waist-high. He holds her there, moves his hand between her thighs, pushes his fingers inside her. She spreads for him, reaches down to torment his cock. She runs her fingers over the cool metal of the ring piercing the head of his cock, tugs on it.
He moans, buries his face in her hair, pushes his cock into her hand. And they float in the water as they did that first time. Only yesterday, and yet it seems a million miles away.
He works her with his hand, fingers deep inside her, his thumb pressing on her clitoris. His hips thrust into her fisted hand, her fingers tight around his beautiful cock. They move together, breathe together, long, gasping pants as they build toward climax.
Pleasure, swift and sure, thrums through her body, taking her higher and higher. And the warm ocean all around them, rocks them, the wild scent of it in her nostrils.
As her body begins that first lovely clench, he murmurs, “I’m coming.”
“Yes,” she answers.
And their bodies buck and writhe with desire unleashed, as wild as the sea. His come floods her hand, hot and thick as honey, while she comes apart. Loose and shivering, her climax moves through her like the waves, rolling, thunderous. As powerful as the tides moving on the earth.
She wraps her legs around his waist. He kisses her cheek, her forehead. And they stay there while the sun comes up, burning golden, then pink, then finally a white glow in the deep blue sky. They are quiet as the world around them awakens, the seabirds sweeping in over the waves. All she can hear is the ocean and the sound of his breath in her ear.
He pulls back finally, watches her face quietly for a moment. Then he says, “I’m leaving today, heading down to Cozumel to do some diving.”
“I hear it’s very beautiful there.”
“It is.” He pauses. “Come with me.”
She smiles, shakes her head. “I can’t. I need to go home. Need to get back to…my life. Deal with some things.” She only realizes as she says it that it’s true.
He nods. “Do you even want to know my name?”
“No. I’m sorry but…”
“It’s all right.”
“You’re not angry?”
“What about this time with you is there to be angry about?” He reaches out, runs a finger down her cheek. “You’re like something out of a dream. Maybe it’s meant to be this way. Dream time.”
“Yes.”
That’s it exactly. He understands.
A wave crests, splashes against them. She blinks the water from her eyes, looks up at him. He leans in and licks the salty water from her lower lip, smiling. His eyes have a languid cast to them, but they are still dark, bottomless. And still seem to see right through her, into her soul. She shivers again, but this time it is not physical pleasure but something deeper.
He knows her; she is sure of it. And it is both comforting and terrifying at the same time. It is why they are here together, as though a force that is far beyond them both has determined that this moment should be.
She won’t question it further. Whatever else may happen doesn’t matter. She is satisfied with knowing this much.
