Too soon, came a protest.
He wasn’t ready for her to be finished with him.
And yet the pull to give this woman what she wanted was too strong. He began moving her up and down his shaft, her quim a delicious tight slide on him, and again she cried out. “Sebastian…you’re so much.”
She was close as she strained and strived for release. And then she went tense and still, caught in the grasp of the moment before release—the uncertain instant it could go either way—before breaking, her sex pulsing around his length, entreating him to tumble over the edge with her.
And then it was upon him—the taunt…the tease…the demand that he give over—and he was pumping his climax into Delilah, joining her in the realm he’d experienced countless times, with countless partners, but never with her.
And never like this.
His arms tightened around her, and she slumped against him, enervated, her heart matching his beat for beat, her breath ragged against his neck.
“That was,” she spoke against his skin.
The remainder of the sentence hung in the air and drifted away on the breeze.
It didn’t need to be spoken anyway. Words were highly overrated. People tended to waste far too many of them when a meaningful silence was sufficient.
Seconds and minutes beat by, and their bodies remained entwined, until at last—too soon—movement became necessary. She lifted her head, her eyes questioning. She was wondering about him, about this man she’d thought she’d known for years, but tonight had revealed himself to be a different man.
Nay, not different, butmore.
And she would be wondering about herself.
About what she’d just done with that man.
“Delilah, can we talk?”
He was finding himself in need of some words to be spoken between them.
“Perhaps,” she said before pushing back, and off him. The loss of her stole through him cell by cell, leaving a trail of emptiness in its wake.
“That was—” She searched for a word. “Amazing.”
A laugh startled out of him. It couldn’t help itself. “You’re not supposed to say things like that after a tup.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” And he couldn’t think of how to finish the sentence, but not because he didn’t understandwhy not.
It had to do with the games borne of power and distrust that lovers played. Games he didn’t want to play with Delilah. He’d never been interested in games, anyway, even as a child.
But in those times he did play, he played to win.
“Come with me,” she said, her slender hand slipping into his.
“Where?” he asked, the question a reflex. The truth was he’d go anywhere with her.
But he wasn’t ready to speak that truth aloud.
Yet.
And who was he trying to fool with that nonsense that he didn’t play games?
She jutted her chin toward the ocean, mischief in her eyes.
“You go ahead,” he said.
