Page 31 of One Forbidden Night In Paradise (Hot Winter Escapes)

Batting away her hand, and driven by the hunger uncoiling in the pit of his stomach, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

He reached down and touched the swell of her breasts, feeling the taut nipples, his hands trembling and clumsy with a hunger he had never experienced. He felt feverish, drunk almost with lust and relief that it was happening. Leaning forward, he kissed her again, slowly, deeply, tasting her excitement, her nerves, her need.

‘I want you,’ he whispered.

Her eyes met his and he could see the glitter in them, see the flush of heat in her cheeks. She touched his face, his mouth, her trembling fingers hot against his skin.

‘Then take me,’ she said, and the need in her voice was like a flint to the steel in his shorts.

Blood pounding like a wrecking ball inside his head, he stripped off his top and threw it onto the floor and then pushed his shorts down past his straining erection. Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating; he could see her pulse leaping at him through the delicate skin of her throat, and, holding his gaze, she reached down and began to unbutton her blouse.

Still holding his gaze, she let it slide from her shoulders. He stared down at her breasts, his body hardening, hypnotised by the taut, quivering nipples, and then he leaned forward and licked first one swollen tip, and then the other.

Her fingers bit into his haunches. ‘Chase...’ She made his name last three syllables as he licked a path up the curve of her neck to her pink, parted lips.

‘Jemima...’

Desire drowning him, he lowered his mouth and kissed her again, pushing her back onto the bed. He tugged off her shorts, taking her panties with them, then took a step backwards, the cool air between them just enough to keep things from ending much too quickly.

She was naked now except for her glasses and, staring down at her, he gritted his teeth. She was beautiful. And she was his. To touch. To stroke. To taste.

Sliding his hands beneath her bottom, he pulled her closer, parting her thighs so that he could settle between them. For a moment, he breathed in her scent, his thumbs caressing her silken skin, and then he tilted her so that she was more open to him and traced a line with his tongue between her legs.

She jerked forward, lifting her hips, and he felt her fingers tangle in his hair as she moaned softly, shivers of pleasure or excitement or passion scudding across her skin in time to the sweep of his tongue.

A grating sound rose in the back of his throat. He loved the taste of her. Loved the noises she was making as she started to move against him, arching upwards, her body spasming and twisting frantically like a puppet on a string, hands flexing against his shoulders.

She cried out, and he felt her shudder, and shudder and shudder.

He shifted up the bed, his mouth finding hers, and she gripped his arm weakly, her fingers closing around the hard length of him, guiding him inside her.

Heat roared through him. He was so close now; his body tensed, the fog of unfocused thoughts that might loosely be described as his brain suddenly clearing, and he pulled back and out.

‘I don’t have any protection on me.’

She stared at him, her grey eyes wide and unfocused. ‘I don’t have any either.’ Her breathing was still ragged.

‘They’re in my cabin, I’ll go and—’

But she was shaking her head, pulling him closer, and now it was too late to stop, he didn’t want to stop, he couldn’t stop. He was so desperate for release, but he didn’t ever take risks when it came to sex, and, reaching up, he pulled Jemima underneath him so that the hard length of his erection was pressing into the softness of her belly.

‘Yes,’ he muttered as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and then he was moving against her in an ever quickening, mindless rhythm and the friction kept building, growing stronger and sharper.

He lunged forward and, groaning, he juddered against her with convulsive liquid force.

For a moment he couldn’t move. He just lay there, listening to the slap of the waves against the side of the boat, his heart pounding, his breath tearing his throat, her breath hot against his chest. Beneath him, he could feel the aftershocks of her orgasm still pulsing through her in waves and, shifting his weight off her body, he rolled onto his side, drawing her into his arms, aware of the slick wetness on her skin and his.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said after a moment.

Her face was pressed into his chest but he heard the catch in her voice and he turned so that he was on his side facing her. He could see the pulse at the base of her neck beating wildly. ‘For what?’

But he knew what. He knew that she was remembering the moment when she had guided him into her body without protection. There was a stretch of silence and then she looked up at him. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

‘Thinking?’ He ran his hands over her body, leaning back slightly so he could admire her small breasts. ‘I don’t think either of us were thinking.’ That was certainly true for him. His body, his brain, his whole being had been consumed with oneunthinking purpose.

He placed his open palm against her face. ‘We weren’t prepared. Either of us.’ That was an understatement, he thought, gazing down at her flushed face.

She bit her lip. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it happen. But I don’t regret it.’ She seemed genuinely confused by that statement and he laughed softly.

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