Page 57 of The Harborer
Amy Caufield was usinghisbody to reach that high point of carnal pleasure.
Her body undulated, her legs quivered, and she practically hummed as she chased her orgasm. Her breathing grew more labored, more erratic, and he stilled as another tremor ripped through her. He snapped his eyes open in time to see her straighten and drop her head back, eyes shut tight. Her hair tickled his thighs, but that’s not what he noticed. It was her beautiful body shuddering above him as ripple after ripple waved through her. Her muscles clenched, squeezing him like a vise. He willed himself not to come, to let her ride out her ecstasy while he watched her do it.
A wail escaped her, and her body seized. For several beats, all was quiet except the buzz of a light bulb and their mingled heaving breaths. Finally, her eyes opened. She braced herself on his chest, and her skin glistened with the dew of her orgasm. She was a fucking vision.
Every ounce of his willpower had been taxed by holding himself back from his own release. Now he rose up and flipped her on her back, somehow managing to stay lodged inside her.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then shone with a lusty gleam. “You made me come twice. It’s only fair for you to take a turn, Deputy.”
Why did her calling him “Deputy” turn him on so much? Something to ponder later.
Lacing his fingers with hers, he pulled her arms above her head. He rocked into the cradle of her pelvis, his movements slow and easy. “I hear third time’s the charm.” Dropping his mouth to hers, he kissed her with the same fervor roiling in his body, sucking her tongue into his mouth and tangling them together. A beat later, he changed it up, stroking his tongue into her mouth, matching the cadence of his flexing hips as he thrust deep inside her. His rhythm picked up, and her hips rose to meet his, their bodies slamming as they came together.
He tore his mouth away. “You feel so fucking good.” The words were drawn-out gasps as he fought for breath.
Moans and mewls and whimpers rolled from her, their pitch climbing, driving him to pound harder and harder, faster and faster.
“Oh God, Shane!” she shrieked. “Yes!”
Her cry sent him sailing over the edge, and he felt her judder before she followed him over.
Consciousness crept back to him in fits and starts, and he found himself collapsed on top of her, her arms encircling him. He’d heard “la petite mort” used to describe an orgasm before, but he’d never understood the idiom.The little death. Holy Jesus, he totally got it now.
“That was … I never knew it could be like that,” she gasped. Her breath ruffled his hair pleasantly.
Neither did I.
More cognizant of his body now, he lifted his head. “Am I crushing you?”
“No, I like having your weight on top of me. Makes me feel … safe.” Smiling, she toyed with his hair. He probably looked like one of those cartoon characters after sticking their fingers into an electrical socket, but he didn’t care. In this moment, he only cared that this beautiful woman who had haunted his dreams was in his bed, smiling at him.
“Let me take care of this.” He rolled off her and hurried to the bathroom, where he disposed of the condom and cleaned up.
He grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge on his way back to her. “Hydration,” he explained as he crawled between the sheets. They would need it if he could rally for round two, and he definitely planned on a rally. He’d always been an optimist.
As he settled back beside her, he gathered her up and cradled her in his arms, thumbing hair from her face as he dropped kisses along her jaw, her throat, her eyes, finally landing on her lips. He licked into her mouth with languid strokes. “I love how you taste.”
Her arms wound around his neck with a fierceness that stole his breath. “Tell me this is real, Shane,” she whispered.
He leveled his eyes on hers. “It’s real, Amy.”
What they had kindled was more intense and more real than any other connection he’d ever experienced in his life. He understood what it meant to be willing to die for someone. Maybe the realization had taken this long because he’d never been in love before her.
Chapter 20
Past Presence
They sat propped againstpillows thirty minutes later, Amy feeding Shane a piece of toast slathered in butter and honey while some rom-com with Sandra Bullock played silently on the TV. Jesus, he needed to stock his refrigerator with something besides beer, bread, and butter. Then again, he’d never had a reason to before. The only other woman to set foot in his apartment was his landlord, Marjorie.
The bed covers covered their laps, and he wore only his boxers. Amy looked downright edible in one of his Sheriff’s Department T-shirts. The thing never looked so good. It was too small for him but was so loose on her frame it kept sliding off her shoulder, reminding him she was naked underneath. His dick twitched every time her skin was bared. Something was seriously wrong with him.
He was busily tonguing the honey off her sticky fingers and making her giggle when her phone chimed with a beep-beep,signaling a text from Micky.She flinched at the sound, and her laughter fizzled.
The light, sexy mood evaporated.
Not long after blocking him, Amy had wrestled with her conscience, and she’dunblocked him.Totally the wrong move, if you ask me.No one was asking Shane, though, so instead, he snarled, “What does he wantthistime?”
“Probably the same thing. I’m not going to check.”
