Just when she thought she could no longer stand, when a cry of pleasure was about to burst from her lips, he lay back on the bed and slowly stretched her out alongside him, so they were facing each other.
She moaned, and buried her face against his throat, savoring the touch of every inch of masculine skin lining hers. Dear heaven, she only had to guide him inside her and they would be one.
For several long seconds they lay there, as if he too, were soaking up the feel of skin against skin, the rocking of the boat giving a lulling sensation to their lovemaking.
Then he leaned up on his elbow and slowly began to trace a fingertip over the top of her br**sts, his finger scorching everywhere he touched, down her cle**age pressed tight by the angle of her body.
“Look,” he ordered thickly, his gaze descending between them. Her limbs quivered as she looked down to where their bodies touched. All the way down.
Man against woman.
“A perfect fit,” he said, his eyes now locked on hers.
She swallowed tremulously. “Yes,” she said, growing warm and welcoming, a wantonness forming in her lower limbs.
All at once he rose up over her toward the bedside table and took a condom out of the top drawer. “Here,” he said, handing it to her, a pulse beating in his neck.
The breath stalled in her throat. “Oh but—”
“You want me to wear it, don’t you?” he challenged in a raw mutter.
She moistened her lips. She couldn’t think. Yes. No. “Um…yes.”
“Then put it on me,” he rasped with his usual arrogance, only she couldn’t seem to respond in kind. Perhaps because she could see her effect on him. He couldn’t hide how he was feeling right now; it was an empowering thought.
She tried to open the small foil package but her fingers shook and she dropped it. Giving her a look that said he was pleased she wasn’t an expert in this, he took it and ripped it open with his teeth, then held it out to her.
But she didn’t take it just yet. Swallowing hard, she looked down at him and felt a sizzle run through her. She had wanted to touch him before, and now she would.
She reached out and slid her hand around his erection, hearing a groan rise up from his throat, making the breath hitch in her throat. His skin felt warm under her palms. Warm and vital and so very Damien.
Without warning he muttered, “No more,” then put his hand over hers and released her fingers from around him. In the blink of an eye, he rolled the condom on himself, moved her back against the bed, then nudged her thighs until she opened herself to him.
Only, he didn’t enter her just then. He waited, looking down at her with darkened eyes, the cords in his neck straining as he held his body above her…waiting…
“Come into me, Damien,” she said, sliding her palm over his chest.
And that was enough. On a groan, he pushed himself into her wet warmth.
Slowly.
Exquisitely.
Filling her with a sense of completeness.
Even five years ago their lovemaking hadn’t been as rich as this. It was much richer now in intensity, in depth, in experience.
And then he kissed her deeply as he moved erotically in and out. She loved the way he explored her inner womanhood with a thoroughness and pleasure that stamped her as his own, leaving no part of her untouched.
She moaned and inched toward the peak of desire. Unable to hold out against such an onslaught, she shut her eyes giddily. And she told herself to wait. That she wanted it to last forever. But her body wasn’t about to stop from rejoicing in their mating.
She escalated higher and higher, with nothing to hold on to except this man within her. “Damien, please… Damien, I need you…Damien…”
“Gabi,” he rasped, and she felt him pulsing into her, her own femininity cupping him tight in her climax, welcoming his sheathed essence.
A long moment later she was left with one thought and one thought only. The last time they’d made love he’d called her Gabi. And he’d been inside her back then, too.
The next morning Damien kept his eyes closed as he enjoyed the slight rocking of the boat and inhaled the scent of Gabrielle in the tropical air. It woke his body, arousing him with the pleasure of the night.
Many pleasures of the night.
He rolled on his side and reached for her, but his hand found a cool cotton sheet instead of a warm body. His eyes opened. She was probably in the bathroom. Or making coffee in the galley.
He listened for any sound of her. All was quiet. He sniffed the air and waited. Any minute now the aromatic smell of coffee would tantalize his nostrils. When nothing happened, he eased into a sitting position and looked around the cabin. Unless she’d jumped overboard, she’d still have to be on the yacht.
His heart started to thump. Or perhaps she’d taken the dingy. If she had, he’d kill her, he decided, throwing back the sheet, his gut knotting as he pulled on his trousers. He didn’t bother about a shirt as he took the stairs two at a time.
When he found her on the top deck, it took a moment to steady his heartbeat. Then he strode toward her and hauled her into his arms.
“Damien, what the—”
He dropped a fierce kiss on her lips. It was supposed to be an angry kiss for being foolish enough to leave him. Only, after a moment or two, with her palms flattened on his bare chest, he found he was more hungry for her than angry, more searching than punishing. He wanted her to know how waking up this morning without her had felt. It had been the same feeling he’d experienced five years ago.
He broke off the kiss and muttered, “There’s no escape.”
She looked confused. “I wasn’t trying to escape.”
Okay, he’d panicked. He wouldn’t do it again. “Tell me about the car accident.”
Her face closed up and she stepped out of his arms and went to sit down on a seat. “Why? Am I imperfect now, Damien?”
“No.” She was too damn perfect to look at. That was the problem. He winced inwardly. No, he didn’t quite mean that. Gabrielle wasn’t just about her looks.
She leaned back and stared up at him, gorgeous in white pants and a lime-green top. “What do you want to know?”
“How it happened. When did it happen. Everything.”
Her lips, still slightly swollen from his kiss, curved in a wry smile. “You don’t ask for much, do you?”
He didn’t find it remotely funny. “I’m telling, not asking.”