as he settled beside her on the narrow sofa, their hardened tips burrowing into the soft, dark mat of hair, prickling deliciously with its friction. The rasp of his jeans against the sensitive inner surfaces of her thighs was a vital incitement. The firmness under the line of his zipper made her catch her breath as a deep and pleasurable ache expanded inside her.
He bent his head, hovering over her as he brushed the globes of her breasts with his eyelids, his cheekbones, his lips. Inhaling the scent of her, he pressed his mouth to her smooth skin, trailing his tongue to taste and entice. Settling his mouth over one nipple, he let her feel the heat inside him before giving her the wet abrasion of his tongue, tugging with gentle suction.
There was no hurry. With consummate care and closely executed skill, they sought the wellsprings of mutual delight. Caressing, delving into warm hollows and scaling resilient heights, they used hands and lips, invention and imagination, to test endurance and stretch enchantment. Until it was too much, and not enough.
The joining was a slow, liquid slide, yet a joyous shock. They made it last with measured, deliberate rhythm, using the rise and fall of the boat with the waves as naturally as breathing. Touching the threshold of ultimate grace again and yet again, they skirted it, daring it while they moved together with straining muscles and expanding minds.
Surrender came with a shattering plunge. It was an internal storm, one more exhilarating, more potentially dangerous, than the one outside. They let it buffet them, shake them, while they rode it with panting effort. They reveled in it, sinking deep into its mystery. And when it passed, the memory of it lingered in the heated meshing of their bodies, transfiguring them. They lay, trying to hold it, while their heartbeats shook them and drying moisture cooled their skins.
Ross stirred, smoothing her hair away from her face, pushing it behind her shoulder in aimless, caressing exactitude. As he touched her arm that was doubled under her, he seemed to recognize that she was cramped against the back of the sofa. He shifted, giving her room.
There was no real comfort to be had on the narrow width of the cushions, however. He pressed his lips to her forehead then extracted himself with the contraction of long muscles and excellent balance. Bending to scoop up his discarded jeans, he stepped into them. He leaned once more to pick up their mugs where he had set them on the floor, then moved across to place them in the sink.
Caroline felt exposed, lying there naked and alone on the sofa. She sat up and found her robe, struggling into it. Shaking her hair back, she lifted its long length from under the robe's collar and swept it over one shoulder out of the way.
She glanced at Ross where he stood with his back to her and his head bowed. A slow chill moved over her skin. Drawing up her feet, she covered them with the robe and wrapped her arms around her.
Ross reached for a glass from the overhead cabinet. The battery operated pump under the cabin floor was loud as he ran water into it. He drank a few swallows. As he set the glass down, he spoke over his shoulder, his voice offhand and easy, perhaps too easy. “The sofa unfolds into a bed. You might try and get some sleep.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant to do, but caught the words in time. There was no point in issuing what amounted to an invitation to share her bed, since he had already decided, apparently, to leave it. Finally, she said, “Yes, I'll do that.”
He braced his hands on the cabinet top. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he put pressure on them. “This—just now—was not my intention when I brought you on board.”
“No, I realize.”
“Nor is it a habit, in spite of what Tony may have said.” The words were sober, deliberate.
She looked away from him, her gaze catching and holding on the black reflective surface of the back window. “Don't,”
He bent his head, hovering over her as he brushed the globes of her breasts with his eyelids, his cheekbones, his lips. Inhaling the scent of her, he pressed his mouth to her smooth skin, trailing his tongue to taste and entice. Settling his mouth over one nipple, he let her feel the heat inside him before giving her the wet abrasion of his tongue, tugging with gentle suction.
There was no hurry. With consummate care and closely executed skill, they sought the wellsprings of mutual delight. Caressing, delving into warm hollows and scaling resilient heights, they used hands and lips, invention and imagination, to test endurance and stretch enchantment. Until it was too much, and not enough.
The joining was a slow, liquid slide, yet a joyous shock. They made it last with measured, deliberate rhythm, using the rise and fall of the boat with the waves as naturally as breathing. Touching the threshold of ultimate grace again and yet again, they skirted it, daring it while they moved together with straining muscles and expanding minds.
Surrender came with a shattering plunge. It was an internal storm, one more exhilarating, more potentially dangerous, than the one outside. They let it buffet them, shake them, while they rode it with panting effort. They reveled in it, sinking deep into its mystery. And when it passed, the memory of it lingered in the heated meshing of their bodies, transfiguring them. They lay, trying to hold it, while their heartbeats shook them and drying moisture cooled their skins.
Ross stirred, smoothing her hair away from her face, pushing it behind her shoulder in aimless, caressing exactitude. As he touched her arm that was doubled under her, he seemed to recognize that she was cramped against the back of the sofa. He shifted, giving her room.
There was no real comfort to be had on the narrow width of the cushions, however. He pressed his lips to her forehead then extracted himself with the contraction of long muscles and excellent balance. Bending to scoop up his discarded jeans, he stepped into them. He leaned once more to pick up their mugs where he had set them on the floor, then moved across to place them in the sink.
Caroline felt exposed, lying there naked and alone on the sofa. She sat up and found her robe, struggling into it. Shaking her hair back, she lifted its long length from under the robe's collar and swept it over one shoulder out of the way.
She glanced at Ross where he stood with his back to her and his head bowed. A slow chill moved over her skin. Drawing up her feet, she covered them with the robe and wrapped her arms around her.
Ross reached for a glass from the overhead cabinet. The battery operated pump under the cabin floor was loud as he ran water into it. He drank a few swallows. As he set the glass down, he spoke over his shoulder, his voice offhand and easy, perhaps too easy. “The sofa unfolds into a bed. You might try and get some sleep.”
She opened her mouth to ask what he meant to do, but caught the words in time. There was no point in issuing what amounted to an invitation to share her bed, since he had already decided, apparently, to leave it. Finally, she said, “Yes, I'll do that.”
He braced his hands on the cabinet top. The muscles of his shoulders bunched as he put pressure on them. “This—just now—was not my intention when I brought you on board.”
“No, I realize.”
“Nor is it a habit, in spite of what Tony may have said.” The words were sober, deliberate.
She looked away from him, her gaze catching and holding on the black reflective surface of the back window. “Don't,”
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