Divine Solace (Nature of Desire 8)

"Okay." She responded to the determined look in his eye, but she couldn't help asking. "Noah, do you care what happens to you?"

For the first time since they'd met, she saw a shutter close fully behind his eyes. He lifted her hand, brushed his lips over it. "I serve my Mistress's will. I know it's important that I care for her. And you."

She didn't know how to push it further than that without ruining their day. As Lyda had warned her, he could be stubborn. Proving it, he didn't let her pursue it, instead getting them back to the sailing.

The wind had built and the tide had turned. Going out into the stronger wind and current of the channel, she discovered the exhilarating speed of a small craft, especially in the company of an incredibly experienced sailor like Noah. They made a good team, her following his direction to the letter about when to let off or draw in, shift weight. At one point they were both stretched out at a forty-five degree angle, the boat heeling enough to have them skimming over the water like a bird. She tipped her head back, her hair whipping over her shoulders, and laughed at the feeling of it. His eyes shone with the same feeling, making everything just perfect. A perfect moment, no matter what came before or after. She'd learned to treasure those rare gifts.

She loved watching his mix of concentration on the sailboat and their surroundings, his appreciation of all of it. Another cliche discarded, the idea that a submissive male avoided situations where he was completely in charge. He handled the sailboat and her direction as crew with an impressive mastery she found arousing, mixed as it was with those conflicting signals in his personality. But she loved running Tea Leaves, and yet she'd submitted so willingly to Lyda, hadn't she? What had Lyda said? A strong sub needs and deserves to be able to surrender...

When they finally sailed back in the cove, she was wired with the pleasure and excitement of the day, but ravenous. They disembarked on the strip of beach, setting up an impromptu picnic under the canopy of trees hanging over the bank. She'd made four thick sandwiches and brought cookies, chips and fruit. Noah provided the bottles of water and put away two and a half sandwiches easily, complimenting her between bites. He grinned when she reflected men had a relationship to food in general the way a woman did to chocolate. Yet he ate his share of the cookies too. From the discreet way he eyed the rest, she expected he was hoping she'd only want a couple.

She extended one of hers to him. "Here. I'm stuffed. At this rate, we're going to have to wait on teaching me how to right a capsized boat. I'll sink if I go into the water now. You too."

"We can take a little break." He bit into the cookie, stretching out on the wet packed sand and folding an arm behind his head to gaze up into the trees. Because she wanted to do it, she stroked his chest to his stomach, and back up again.

"I love touching you," she said. "You're so pretty."

When he gave her a pained look, she laughed. "I didn't mean that in an unmanly way. You're beautiful, Noah. It's not just a physical thing. There's something about you; it's really kind of mesmerizing. Like a drug, but not. More like a feeling of happiness. Like being out on the sailboat when everything is working right. You're a living, breathing, perfect moment."

He propped himself up on his elbows, staring at her so that she colored a little. She wasn't in the habit of stating things so out front like that. But that was part of his magic, as well. Anything could be said to him, without judgment. No games, no embarrassment. He'd simply accept it. Like talking to the trees or wind.

"Lyda was right, about your poet side. Thank you," he said with sincerity. "You're a gift, Gen. I wish everyone you've loved realized that."

He was also good at touching past scars and making them feel better, even as it also made them hurt. It pricked at tears that had never been shed, because they required the right stimulus to bring them to the surface, purge them. Stimulus she tended to avoid. "It's water under the bridge. And I'm here with you today, probably because of some of those things. So that's good, right?"

"Right." His gaze remained serious. "I want to make love to you, Gen. Right here. Okay?"

"I... Okay." She whispered it.

He put his hand on her jaw, fingers curving around the side of her neck, pressing against the tripping pulse there. Drawing her down onto his chest, he guided her hand so it spread out there, over his nipple, the firm pectoral, as their mouths met. His other hand framed her face, holding her. He focused first only on her mouth, his tongue teasing hers, his fingers sliding into her hair, releasing the clip so it spilled over his hands, down against his face and shoulders. He traced her lips with his tongue, sealed his lips over hers again, taking the kiss even deeper. He moved his mouth to caress her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, her eyelids.

Dropping his hands to her waist, he opened the cutoff shorts, pushed them off her hips. When she kicked them away, he shifted her on top of him, his stiff cock pressed against her belly, her knees pressed into the sand between his thighs. He cupped her buttock, fingers sliding beneath the edge of the swimsuit to play as his other hand held her, keeping her still while he suckled her throat, bit. She dug her fingers into his biceps, her pussy throbbing already, needy for him. She rubbed against his hardness, transmitting her desire.

But he let the feeling build, until she didn't care if the cove was private. A cruise ship could have come through with a legion of camera-snapping tourists. Everything was Noah. His hands, his mouth, his body. Then he destroyed another idea she'd had about a submissive male. He reversed their positions, turning her so she was beneath him and he was pressed solidly between her legs.

She arched full against him, rubbing in frustrated desire against that barrier of clothing. He gave her a full stroke back, cock against cunt, but then moved down her body, getting rid of her bikini top so he could suckle her nipples. That stud in his mouth began its low level hum, stroking her there, making her writhe and gasp at the stimulation. He cradled her breasts, squeezed them together, lashed at her nipples, taking that vibration to the channel in between, while she bucked her lower body.

"Noah...God..." She raked his back with her nails, not expecting her own ferocity. She choked out an apology, but his gaze scorched her.

"Mark me however you want, Gen. I'm yours."

Yours Unconditionally. Who had he meant that tattoo for? At the moment, it felt like her, Lyda...he was a gift given to a woman, whatever woman he was with. He was everything she needed. A treasure from the gods.

He was playing at her navel now, disrupting the intensity by deliberately tickling. When she pushed at him, he sent her a wicked grin, then went lower, catching the swimsuit bottoms in his teeth, letting his vibrating tongue play beneath the edges. When he took those off her, he stood on his knees, pushed his trunks down. He'd brought a small waterproof container with him to shore, and he removed a condom from the wallet in it.

"Prepared," she observed, her voice shaky. "Take the swimsuit off, all the way."

He nodded, to both things, she assumed. Standing, he removed the swimsuit, the sun praising every line of his body. He rolled the condom on while she watched, moistening her lips.

He knelt between her legs again, met her gaze. "I was going to make you come with my mouth first, but I want inside you too much, Gen. I need to be fucking you."

In answer, she reached for him. He came down, guiding himself into her wet heat. It had been so damn long. She closed her eyes at the feeling, shuddering hard as he eased in.

"So tight..." His voice was strained. She could feel the energy of his body, the desire to thrust, and yet he took his time, concentrating on not hurting her. The care it took to do that, to step outside oneself and make someone else matter more, was something neither of her husbands had given her. Noah gave it to her in ways large and small, and the smaller things held more significance. Yes, he'd keep her from falling off a cliff, but the fact he'd give her the last cookie if he thought for a second she wanted it meant even more.

And that thought was the kind capable of unlocking those more painful memories. She didn't want them to intrude, so she lifted her upper body abruptly, shoving her hips forward and pulling him to her core in the same motion. The lancing pain of it had her sucking in a breath, her face reflecting the discomfort, but she wouldn't let him draw back. She dug her short nails into his buttocks, feeling their muscled tension as well as that in his thighs, against the inside of hers.

"No. Please stay. Stay."