Absent in the Spring (The Shakespeare Sisters 3)

Closing her eyes, she moved closer to the cliff edge, hesitant as she took a step into thin air. But before she could take that final leap, Lachlan moved his mouth onto hers. His lips were hot and demanding, kissing her as though she held his final breath. And she was kissing him back, her hand still cupping his jaw, the other reaching up to curl around the back of his neck. Their legs were still entwined, and they ground against each other in a subconscious rhythm, gyrating to a silent tune only the two of them knew.

It wasn’t heaven, it wasn’t hell, it was somewhere far, far away from there. Somewhere only the two of them existed. And she never wanted to leave.

This had to be the most sensual night of his life. The most painful one, too. He held her in his arms, her body soft and pliant against his, moving his lips against her with an urgency he didn’t quite understand.

How long was it since he’d had a woman? A month, two? No wonder his body was so responsive.

Lucy was responsive, too. Her mouth was warm, her lips welcoming him in when he slid his tongue against hers. And when they broke the kiss her breath was short, hot against his skin, her chest rising and falling in an effort to catch some air.

He circled his finger lower, until he could feel the tight flesh of her areola, his touch gentle and teasing. She arched her back against him, encouraging his movements until his hand was brushing against her nipple. She gasped, and he kissed her again to taste her excitement.

And now the temptation was excruciating. His whole body pulsed with the need to have her, to be inside her. His spine was tense, his muscles contracted, and the throbbing between his legs was impossible to ignore.

Rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he kissed her again, their tongues tangling together as they tasted and licked. Her moan sent a rush of pleasure through him, his body vibrating in response. But it was too much, way too much. He wasn’t sure he could resist much longer.

‘Lucy…’ he murmured, against her soft lips. ‘Is this okay?’

‘Yes,’ she breathed against him.

‘Do you want more?’

Her legs parted beneath him as if in answer to his question. He slid his hand beneath her waistband, feeling the softness of her stomach against his palm. He moved lower, his fingers making slow sensual circles until he could feel her slickness, her heat, and she let out a little moan against his mouth.

‘Do you want this, Lucy?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was firmer this time, though her lips were still soft against his. ‘But I don’t have any protection.’

‘I do.’ He looked deep into her eyes, at the way they were staring at him, as though he had all the answers. And damn if it didn’t turn him on more than ever. He tugged at her pyjama pants, and she arched from the mattress as he pulled them off, quickly taking off his own, too, and throwing them to the floor. Reaching for his wallet on the bedside table, he pulled out a foil packet, deftly opening it and sliding on the condom. Then he was over her, caging her in with his arms, their bodies inches from each other.

He stroked her chin with his hand, his thumb trailing across her lip. His body throbbed insistently, reminding him how he ached for her, how he needed to be inside her. He felt himself brush against her wetness, felt the give of her flesh as she welcomed him, and the shock of pleasure that ripped through his spine as he slowly moved inside her. She gasped, her legs wrapping around his hips, her body demanding a rhythm he was all too willing to give.

He rocked, thrusting inside her, wringing another moan from her mouth. Kissing her, he swallowed the sound, feeling the vibrations rack down his spine. She felt good. Too good. Enough to make his body tighten with the pleasure spiking through every sinew. He slid his hands beneath her, angling her until she gasped every time he thrust.

If he was going to hell, she was coming with him.

‘Where’s this from?’ he murmured. They were lying there in a post-coital haze, the air around them thick and heavy with the scent of sex. Her eyes were still glassy – the way he imagined they’d look after a mouthful or two of wine. She blinked, staring at him questioningly, her chest still heaving from their exertions.

Her naked chest.

Get a handle on it, MacLeish.

‘Your scar,’ he whispered, running his finger over the raised white line. ‘How did you get it?’ His breathing was almost back under control.

Lucy reached her hand to her forehead, following his finger as he traced it. ‘I was in an accident when I was younger.’ Her frown deepened.

‘Did it hurt?’ he asked.

‘I… ah… it needed stitches,’ she said, still breathless. She looked as confused as he felt. ‘But I can’t really remember the pain. Everything was so messed up.’

‘Messed up?’ He lifted the sheets to cover her chest. That was better.

‘My mum was driving the car. She didn’t make it.’

He didn’t like the way her voice wavered. ‘She died in the car crash?’

Lucy nodded.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’