Page 118 of Devoted in Death

“Locked and blocked.”

She tipped her head back. “Then let’s take each other’s mind off the day. Just wipe it out before we pick it all up again.”

She took his mouth with hers, sank into him as they sank beneath the surface.

Weightless, drifting, until her feet touched bottom and they pushed off and up together.

Into air that smelled of tropical gardens where the only sound was the gentle lap of water. Cool water, warm air, and her lover’s arms around her.

They sank again, mouth-to-mouth, this time with his hands gliding over her, finding her secrets so she surfaced breathless, heart thudding.

They rolled, lazy tumbles in the water—above and below—even as her pulse sprinted, as if in a race with pleasure. Slow and easy, then fast and rough. The quick changes left her weak and wanting, shuddering and eager.

She gave into it, to him, cupping his face in her hands, sinking again, sinking in bottomless love. And felt the power of her own surrender.

The water grew warmer, warmer as he guided them to the lagoon corner. Now the water churned lightly, tingling along her skin.

He loved the look of her like this, lost, and his, her hair slick with wet. Bracing her against the wall, he took himself under to explore all below the surface of that frothy water.

Her breast in his mouth, her heart leaping against his lips as her hands ran over him. And deeper, lifting her hips to find her center, feeling her come as he used his tongue to drive her.

Wet and warm, long and lean, and churning now as the water churned. Hips rocking in invitation as he took her up again.

He glided his lips up her body, slid his hand down to where his mouth had been. And watched her fly again, her hands gripping the edges, her eyes like amber glass as she cried out.

She shuddered, went limp.

“God. God. I can’t.”

“More. Just a little more. Let go. Everything. All. Let go.” Greed for her undid him. He used his hands again, used his mouth again, ravaging, ravishing. He wanted to hear her scream.

When she did, when her body arched, tight as a wire, he plunged into her, thrust after wild thrust.

“Mine.” Mad for her, mad from her, he drove into her, his mouth his teeth at her shoulder, her throat. “Mine. Mine.”

She cried out again, quivering. And her arms came around him, her legs banded him. “Mine,” she said. “Mine.”

And he let go. Everything and all.

Wrecked, they floated where they were in the quiet, bubbling water.

“I don’t have a headache, that’s positive.” She sighed, stroked his wet hair. “I don’t care about the Bahamas right now.”

“Then my job here is done.”

“Is it like reflexology?”

“Is what—sex? Reflexology?” He let out a half laugh as their eyes met. “Where do these thoughts come from?”

“Mr. Mira gives Mira foot rubs. Reflexology. It helps her relax, and I wondered... No, wipe that out. Wipe it because it makes me wonder about them and sex, and I really don’t want to.”

“Why, after I’ve so thoroughly... relaxed you, would you put that in my head?”

“Inadvertent. Apologies.” She kissed his cheek, rose. “I’ve got to get back upstairs.”

“Give us a hand.” He held one up to her. “As you’ve thoroughly relaxed me as well.”

They clasped forearms, and when he stood with her, she wrapped around him one more time. “It’s sleeting outside.”

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