Beyond Seduction (Bastion Club 6)
“Yes, but…” She blinked; pushing back her hair, she stared at him, then glanced at the beach, wet sand and dry sand, couldn’t imagine…
He laughed briefly. “In the surf. Come on.”
“What?” But he was already striding down the beach, towing her with him. She followed, still stunned. “In the waves?”
He glanced back at her. “Surely, as a Gascoigne, you’re not going to balk?”
“Being a Gascoigne has nothing to do with it,” she muttered under her breath. They reached the waves; she braced for their icy touch—and experienced an altogether different sensation. The summer had been warm, the days long and hot; the sea, at least in the shallows, had heated. The water purled around her feet and legs as he drew her relentlessly on; it felt cool against her already heated skin, but not cold.
The sensation was pleasant, a tempting, distracting sensual contrast.
It became even more so when he finally stopped, beyond the breaking waves where the water reached to his waist, planted his feet and pulled her around and to him, into his arms—and kissed her again.
Ravenously, voraciously—a kiss and a claiming deliberately calculated to set their fires raging again.
The resulting conflagration took less than a minute to reduce her once more to a state of heated, urgent, hungry and greedy, desperate need.
He knew—he lifted her, hoisted her against him; needing no direction, she locked her arms about his neck, wrapped her legs about his waist and kissed him back, all fire and determination, willing him, needing him, to take her.
The glide of his blunt fingertips over the slick, swollen flesh between her thighs had her gasping. She clung to their kiss, urged him on, demanded—then sighed, a near sob, as his fingers pressed in, thrust deep…but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
Gervase read her spiraling need through their kiss, through the desperation that reached him so clearly, that so powerfully joined with his own. He didn’t truly know what had possessed him, only that he had to have her now, here, had to make her see…
He savaged her mouth, driven by that pounding primal need to make her his—and have her acknowledge it. Have her know it, comprehend it, understand it.
The waves were retreating, their repetitive surge a caress in itself. His fingers buried in her sheath, he stroked, and felt her sob. But the water was level with his hand, the to and fro motion distracting, both water and air cooling what didn’t need to cool. Holding her against him, supporting her weight, he walked deeper into the sea.
She knew, clung, waited until he stopped again with the water at mid-back, below her shoulders, leaving the waves flirting with her breasts, with her tightly furled nipples.
The sensation evoked a strangled gasp, then she tightened her legs around him and shifted, restlessly seeking, wanting.
Inwardly smiling—his beast intent and slavering—he drew his fingers from her sheath, positioned his erection, then thrust up as he pulled her down.
They both lost their breaths.
Lips parted, they gasped; from under their lashes, mere inches apart, their eyes locked. Slowly he lifted her, then brought her down again, thrusting even deeper, filling her to the hilt.
She exhaled, her breath washing over his lips, breathing with him as he moved her upon him, her breasts rising and falling as his chest did the same.
Her gaze lowered to his lips; he shut his eyes, concentrated on all he could feel…. She closed the last inch between them and pressed her lips to his.
Gave him her mouth, welcomed his tongue, wrapped him in her arms and let their own tide take them.
Slow, forceful, repetitive; a drawn-out excruciatingly intense lovi
ng.
They’d learned not to rush, and the surge of the waves about them helped. The steady, measured, inexorable rise and fall gave them another rhythm to cling to when their own grew too fraught. The coolness of the water helped keep the heat from cindering their wills too soon, let them stretch the moments out, and out, and out…let them commune in the dark sea, in the depths of the night, with the wild cliffs behind them and the stars above, the surf a constant whisper in their ears, alone but for nature all around them.
He gave himself up to it, completely, utterly, and prayed she would know, that she would see. That she might, tonight, finally understand.
The end was spectacular, even for them. It came upon them in a rush and caught them, shattered them. Wrung every last iota of passion from them, then flung them high, beyond the world, where every sense vaporized and glory filled the void—and filled them, glowing in their veins as they slowly spiraled back to earth, to the sea, the waves and the darkness of the night, to the comfort and inexpressible joy they found in each other’s arms.
Chapter 15
When at last she lifted her head from his shoulder, Madeline stared into Gervase’s face, and tried to fathom what the last moments had meant, what they’d revealed.
The power between them—fueled on her part by what she recognized as love—had only grown stronger, but…did he feel it, too?