First Time in Forever (Puffin Island 1)

“I’ve been honest with you. I want you to be honest with me.” Her voice was soft and smoky, and it slid into his senses like a drug.

Shit.

“Emily, I can tell you that the last thing you want right now is for me to be honest.”

“Please.”

The right thing would have been to make an excuse, but she was wearing those damn pajamas, a confection of silk and sin, and she was looking at him with those wide eyes, her mouth was right there and—

With a soft curse, he took her face in his hands. He felt the softness of her skin under his fingers and heard her breathing grow shallow. “You want to know what I’m burning to do? I want to strip off those pajamas and smash down every boundary you’ve ever created. I want to explore all those places you’ve never let anyone go, and I’m talking about your mind as well as your body. I’m not like Neil. I don’t respect your boundaries. I want you open to me.”

Her eyes widened with shock, and her lips parted. “That will never happen.”

“If I wasn’t about to leave, I’d make it happen.” He lowered his head but kept his mouth just clear of hers. She was so close he could almost taste her, feel the short shallow breaths she snatched into her lungs.

“You wouldn’t, because—” Her face suffused with color. “The truth is, I’m not that crazy about sex.”

For a moment he thought he must have misheard. “You don’t like sex?”

“It’s fine. Nice.” With a whimper of embarrassment, she eased away from him. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. You’re right. You should go. And I never should have asked.”

“Wait a minute—” He caught her around the waist and pulled her back to him. “Did you say ‘nice’? You think sex is ‘nice’?”

Her face was on fire. “Yes. What’s wrong with that?”

He drew in a deep breath. “Honey, ‘nice’ sex is for people in retirement homes with dodgy hips and a heart condition. At your age you should be having clothes-ripping, mind-blowing, animal sex that leaves you unable to walk or think.”

“All right, you should definitely go now.” She was deliciously flustered, and he dragged her back to him and slid his hands into her hair, feeling it tumble and curl over his fingers in a slide of soft silk. She smelled like blossoms and sunshine. Her lips reminded him of the strawberries that grew wild in Kathleen’s tumbling coastal garden.

“You have gorgeous hair. Is wearing it up part of your disguise, too?”

“

I don’t have a disguise. Just because I choose to dress in a certain way doesn’t make it a disguise. And wearing my hair up is the practical option. It’s always breezy on Puffin Island. It stops it blowing into my eyes.”

“So, in New York you wore it loose?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Like I said. A disguise. You’ve created a persona, because you’re afraid someone is going to see who you really are. But I see you, Emily Donovan. I’m standing here, looking right at you, so you can damn well stop hiding.” His hand was still in her hair, his mouth a breath from hers.

“You don’t see me. And I can tell you I’ve never had clothes-ripping, mind-blowing, animal sex. I’m not like that.”

“You mean you weren’t like that with him. You’d be like it with me, Emily.”

“I don’t—”

He kissed her. He parted her lips with his, licked into her mouth and felt her go weak against him. Those full breasts pressed against his chest, and he hauled her close, holding her with the flat of his hand while the other stayed buried deep in her hair. He deepened the kiss until white heat snaked across his skin, until rampant hunger and raw sexual need tore through him. Her mouth was eager and sweet, and the softness of her breasts pushed against his chest. He’d intended the kiss to be brief, but now he’d started there was no stopping. Instead of letting her go, he backed her against the wall of Kathleen’s hallway and caged her, planting an arm on either side of her and holding her there with the weight of his body. He knew he should probably say something, but he was so turned on he could barely stand upright, let alone speak, and she didn’t speak, either. He felt her trembling against him, felt her fingers slide up to his shoulders and hold on as if she were afraid she might collapse without his support.

He dragged his mouth over her jaw and down to her throat, heard her soft gasp as he slid his hands down her ribs, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.

The single button holding the front of her pajamas together slid out of its silky mooring, exposing luscious curves of creamy white flesh tipped with dusky pink.

Ryan had to force himself to breathe. He was so aroused he felt disoriented. Slowly, he slid his thumb over the tortured peak and heard her moan. He stroked, licked, tasted while she whimpered, squirmed and arched against him, those full lush breasts pushing into his hands.

Drunk on her body he slid his hands lower, down the silk of her back inside her pajama bottoms to cup warm, bare flesh. Everything about her was soft and inviting. He could have drowned in her and died happy.

The only sound was the soft murmurs that came from her throat and the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. The tension in the air was syrupy thick, coating both of them in a heavy, suffocating warmth. And then he took her mouth again, kissing her deeply while his fingers slid between her trembling thighs. He parted her gently and slid his finger into that slippery warmth, feeling velvety softness open for him as her body allowed him intimate access. He held still for a moment, stroked his other hand over her jaw and felt her shift against him with restless need. Gently he stroked and teased, paying attention to every gasp and murmur until he felt the pleasure roll through her. She cried out as she came, her body clamping down on his fingers so that he felt every throb, every contraction.