Page 58 of Ship Wrecked

He smelled delectable, like cedar and skin damp with heat. If she licked his neck, the salt would sting her bitten tongue.

When they reached that LA hotel suite, she intended to devour him.

“The next time I see you, you can touch me however and whenever you want. As much as you want.” Slowly, she smiled. “But only if I can do the same.”

His fist in her hair was still so careful. So controlled. But with his free hand, he gripped the doorframe with white knuckles, clenching it so hard she wondered whether he’d rip off the wood.

Her ponytail might be wrapped around his hand. He might be looming over her, face hard with lust. But she had him precisely how she wanted him: stone-jawed, desire a hectic flush across his cheekbones, pulse throbbing hard at the base of his neck.

Desperate with need. For her.

Sadly, however, she didn’t have time to oversee hotel renovations necessitated by thwarted lust, so this delicious encounter needed to end.

“That said,” she added, “if you tickle me, I’ll force-feed you salty licorice until you puke. Don’t test me,skitstövel. All those long, dark Swedish winters have made me cold and ruthless.”

The tension abruptly broke, as she’d intended.

He freed her hair and gathered her into his arms with a hoarse laugh. “I thought you Swedes were all about—what’s that word again? Hygge?”

“That’s mostly the Danes and Norwegians.” She raised a brow. “But if you want to experience Scandinavian coziness, I can certainly accommodate that.”

He eyed her suspiciously. “How?”

“After you vomit, I’ll wrap you in a blanket.” Her tone was dry enough to desiccate the entire rain-soaked island. “I imagine that would feel quite cozy.”

His chin dropped to her shoulder as he laughed again, and he squeezed her in a fierce embrace. “You’re mean as hell, and you’ll be back in LA in two weeks. I refuse to miss you, Ivarsson.”

Her hands slid down his back and over his gorgeous butt, and his cock twitched against her belly. “I won’t miss you even harder.”

Speaking of hard things, she should let him and his erection go. Any time now. Although, to be fair, he wasn’t moving away either. And she had the definite feeling that when she finally said her farewells to Peter, she wouldn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“We should seal our not-missing-each-other pact with a kiss.” He raised his head and scratched his beard in contemplation. “That’s the Swedish custom, correct?”

“Our daily lives revolve around the metric system, Speedos, and affirming how little we’ll miss one another by kissing.” Loftily, she clarified, “Frenchkissing, obviously.”

He almost managed to stifle his snort. “Because you’re European.”

“Because we’re European.”

“Well, then.” His eyes flared with heat once more. “Consider me the newest member of the EU.”

Then his mouth claimed hers, and she lost track of time. Frankly,she lost track of everything but Peter. In the end, she ran so late, he had to help her pack, and she made the ferry with only seconds to spare. There was no time for even a hurried final embrace on the dock.

But as long as she could see the horizon, there he was. Immovable. Patient in ways she was only beginning to understand. Watchful.

Waiting.

Interstitial

Floor 39

SlowBurned

Rating: Explicit

Fandoms: Gods of the Gates – E. Wade, Gods of the Gates (TV)

Relationships: Cassia/Cyprian

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