Page 25 of The Rebel

When we had sex in the cave it was spontaneous, wild, and hedonistic. Today is different. Revealing snippets of ourselves has made us more aware of each other. I saw it in the way he looked at me up on deck and I’m sure my expression mirrored his: like I made assumptions about him, only to find there’s so much more simmering beneath his glowering surface.

He takes a step closer and rests his hands on my waist. I melt beneath his touch, my stomach flipping when he kisses the back of my neck, a soft kiss that grazes my skin and sends a shiver of longing through me.

His hands slide down over my hips and bunch my skirt, then his palms are on my skin. I quiver and lean back against him, grateful for the support considering my knees are wobbly.

‘You feel so good,’ he murmurs in my ear, nipping the lobe as his palms slide higher. ‘Smooth. Hot.’

Wait until he hits my really hot spot.

I don’t have long to wait as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic of my panties and eases them down. I like that he’s taking things slow this time, in contrast to our frantic sex in the cave. I’ve fantasised about this, about being with him with a bed in the vicinity, and I’m so turned on from his touch I can’t see straight.

My senses are heightened, not being able to see him. I can’t get a read on him if I can’t see him and not knowing where he’s going to touch me next is so hot.

As he slides my panties down, he kneels. I know this because my back is suddenly cold and his hands return to my waist, gently insistent in turning me around.

When I do I gasp because he’s staring at me with adoration. This stubborn, recalcitrant man is on his knees in front of me, relinquishing control, ready to give me pleasure. It’s incredibly heady stuff for a girl like me, who thinks all the talk of prolonged foreplay in magazines is a myth.

‘Beautiful,’ he says, leaning forward to kiss me there.

I whimper.

I sense him smile as his tongue darts out and zeroes in on my clit, making me clutch the top of his head for balance.

He licks me over and over, his tongue delving and probing and driving me wild with an expertise that is definitely no myth.

Hart is giving me the best head of my life and it’s real.

Pleasure snakes through me as he laps at my clit, short, sharp strokes designed to drive me over the edge. It usually takes me a while to come this way but as my muscles clench and the ripples of release shimmer, I realise it’s no fault of mine, and everything to do with the guy.

His hands grab my ass, anchoring me, as his tongue circles me faster and faster, and I’m gone. Writhing against this mouth. Tugging on his hair. Screaming my release as I buck against him, wanting this exquisite pleasure to never end.

My knees buckle but he’s there, standing, and holding my ass, he lifts me onto the love seat. It’s the perfect height and I wrap my legs around him.

His expression is fierce as he unzips, like he’s hellbent on pleasuring me. He won’t get any protests. But we haven’t spoken since he gave me the best orgasm of my life and I have no idea if I should thank him or return the favour.

‘I’ve wanted to fuck you since we set foot on this yacht.’ His tone is barely above a growl and it reverberates deep inside where I want him most.

‘Then do it.’

I tilt my chin up in defiance and spread my legs. His hungry gaze zeroes in on where I want him to be. My breathing is shallow, my nipples so hard they hurt, my skirt is rucked up, and I’ve never felt so wanton.

I watch him tear open a foil packet and roll on a condom like he has all the time in the world. Either he’s teasing me or he has the self-control of a monk.

I wriggle closer until I’m teetering on the edge of the love seat. Sensing my desperation, he steps between my legs and claims my mouth in a kiss that defies logic. His tongue plunders my mouth, ravaging me with a precision that makes me go a little wild.

I claw at him, trying to gain purchase, grasping at his chest, his shoulders, and just when I’m on the verge of begging, he slides inside. Full and long and thick, making me gasp with the depth of his penetration, making me crave everything he’s willing to give.

I tear my mouth away from his and lean back on my outstretched arms so I can watch. My boldness is a turn-on if his reaction is any indication: he withdraws slowly, inch by exquisite inch, before thrusting into me hard. Over and over until I’m panting, desperately clinging to the edge of sanity, the pleasure is that intense.

My muscles tense and I writhe, eager for release. His gaze, smouldering and confident, locks on mine as he lifts my butt slightly and changes the angle of his hips, driving into me with calculated precision.

He hits my sweet spot and I come apart, wave after wave of soul-searing release swamping me until I’m floating.

He groans a moment later but I’m oblivious, stunned by the intensity of my first internal orgasm. I’m boneless when he lifts me and lays me on the bed. I don’t expect a cuddle. I’m not that naïve. We’re indulging in a sexual fling and it’s stupendous.

But when he stares at me, an inscrutable expression in those fathomless eyes, I feel compelled to say something to articulate how freaking fantastic that was.

However, as I try to come up with something suitably light-hearted, a wave of nausea washes over me.

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