Page 90 of Heart of the Summer Queen

I walk past him toward the mast at the center of our boat, his gaze burning into me with every step. As I turn, I notice his frown but I don’t hesitate before standing flush against the mast, back arched into its solidness. My position lies directly in his line of sight, meaning that if he wishes to see where we’re sailing then he has no choice but to look at all of my naked body.

And the bold display I’m about to provide.

I slide up my leg, foot flat against the mast behind, and angle my hips just right so he has the perfect view.

Even over the rolling waves, I hear his sharp intake of breath.

“You can be the boring one,” I say, hands skimming over my breasts, “but I intend to stand here all night until you come and finish what we started.”

I don’t wait for his response before rolling my nipples between my fingers and pinching so hard they sting as the briny wind washes over them.

He clenches the wheel’s spokes so tightly his knuckles turn ivory. He could look anywhere else, yet his focus remains on me as my hands glide down my body. As they trace up my inner thighs. Even so, he makes no sign of moving, staying as rigid as a statue. From here, I can glimpse enough of him to know he’s as hard as he was when he was inside me.

Time to double my efforts then.

I drag my index finger higher until I reach my swollen core. There, I trace lavish circles over the taut peak, a fresh wave of overwhelming pleasure surging through me.

“Elaric,” I say again, “won’t you join me?”

He does not.

Determined, I sink two fingers inside me, spreading my legs as wide as I can with the mast supporting my weight. Grinding my rear against it, I slide my fingers slowly out before pushing them back in. “It seems I’ll just have to imagine you pressing me up against this mast, burying yourself deep inside me—”

In the next instant, his hands tear from the wheel’s spokes, and he’s at my side faster than I can blink.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, capturing my mouth in a kiss. Our tongues clash together, each fighting for dominance, and I moan into him, my fingers still driving in and out of myself.

Elaric doesn’t allow that to continue for much longer. He snatches my hand from my thighs and brings it to his mouth. Then he licks my soaked fingers, his tongue swirling over them entirely.

Blood pounds through me as I watch him, heat rushing across my lower stomach. My whole body trembles.

But I’ve no chance to recover. His hands are on my waist and he’s lifting me, my rear firmly pressing into the mast behind. He offers no warning’ before driving himself into me.

A cry tears through me, lost to the briny wind. Nothing can compare to the sheer feel of him. Not even watching him lick my fingers.

Elaric isn’t slow, and he certainly isn’t gentle, but I’d be lying if I said I deserved either with how I just taunted him.

His every forceful stroke causes my back to dig in deeper to the mast, and I swear I hear it creak, straining against our weight as we lose ourselves in each other. I knock my head against it at least twice, but register no pain. Just the heady desire pounding through me. I wrap my legs around him, forcing him even deeper.

“I love you,” he mutters against my ear. “I love every single part of you.” Each word is enunciated with a powerful thrust.

I gasp his name, and though the sound is hardly coherent to my own ears, it drives him to his peak, his body stiffening before he crashes back down.

Between watching him come undone inside me and the wildness of doing this out here in the open sea—the crashing waves and glimmering stars bearing witness to our unbridled passion—I quickly find myself thrown over the edge.

I dig my fingers into the firm muscles of his back, desperately seeking purchase, but the current slamming into me is too violent to avoid. And I’m also thrown into that oblivion of pleasure, tremors wracking through me.

Once all falls still, we remain fixed in place, both gasping for breath as exertion catches up on us. Then Elaric slides out of me, and though I feel emptier, warm waves of contentment still wash over me.

His hands stay on my waist, and he carries me back over to where our heap of clothes lies beside my makeshift pillow.

Kissing my brow, he lowers me to the deck. As he regards me, his soft expression grows firmer. “Now you really must try to sleep.”

I cast him a coy smile. “I suppose I can try.”

He just shakes his head at me and grabs his clothes.

I lie there, admiring the sight of him. Only when he’s fully dressed and returned to the wheel do I pull my tunic and breeches back on. Even with the biting wind, I feel as if I’m on fire.

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