“No. There’s just pressure.”
He moved again slowly and carefully for long minutes, until she realized that he was right. She felt no pain, just the fullness and size of him as he moved. He seemed willing to take forever, to move slowly, then build, stooping his shoulders and freezing if she flinched or made a sound.
He looked at her. “You okay?”
She nodded, then slid her hands over his back, liking the way his muscles contracted when he thrust into her. She slid her hand to his bottom and felt each of his motions by the tightening of his muscles there.
Before long she realized he was moving too slowly.
And she told him so.
He groaned a “Thank God” and picked up speed. She moved with him, because she had to, because it felt so good.
They rotated their hips in counterpoint. Then he was moving harder and swifter, his lower body thrusting hard and strong. He had to grip her hips to keep her from sliding away from him.
She could hear the waves and how they pounded the shore, and she felt a rush like that of the sea, a surge that was deep inside of her.
There was no pain, nothing but that thrill—the same one that had happened when he loved her with his mouth. Only with this, the friction was coming swifter and deeper and stronger, as if everything began and ended with his body.
“Come baby, come on...”
And he thrust three rapid and deep thrusts that sent her flying over the edge.
He yelled a graphic and earthy phrase of thanks, then threw his head back, his neck straining, his teeth gritted, and he buried himself so deeply inside of her that she blacked out for a moment even as her body gripped him again and again. When she came down from a place so high and free and hot, she could barely catch a breath.
He whispered her name before he started again, thrusting faster than ever. Suddenly he pulled out of her, shifted his lower body back, dropped his hips between her splayed thighs, and groaned deep and dark, his body releasing something wet and warm near her knees.
They lay there, bodies molded by sweat and exhaustion, heartbeats rapid and together. She was acutely aware of the feel of him, the hair on his chest and belly crinkled against her skin, the soft hairs beneath her flat palms as she ran them slowly over the small of his back. His weight, his breath on her neck, his hand still beneath her bottom.
Long minutes later, he moved up her body again and dragged his mouth along her neck and shoulder, tasting her. He lifted his head and gave her a cocky look. “You still think sex isn’t fair and equal?”
“I’m not certain.”
“What the hell do you mean you’re not certain?” She tried to look perfectly serious when she said, “I have to think about it.”
His eyes narrowed, and she laughed then. But before she could think about anything, he shifted back on his knees, slid his hands under her, and flung her legs over his shoulders. “Here, sweetheart,” he said against her, “think about this.”
30
Margaret sat in the sand, her back against Hank’s chest, and they watched the moon go down on a brooding purple night sky. The trade wind brushed her face. She hugged her knees to her chest, dug her toes in sand cooled by the night.
It was odd how she seemed to feel each thing so keenly. The touch of the wind, the coolness of the sand, the warmth of Hank’s body and his breath near her ear and neck. It was as if her skin and her senses had come alive in the last few hours. As if she were a new person. She thought about what had passed between them and wondered if perhaps she was a different Margaret Smith. She smiled. Maybe she was Smitty.
She sighed like the wind, because it felt good just sitting there, as if she and Hank had their own private world. There was a rich sense of peace and kinship about them, something that made it seem as if for that one moment in time no one else existed but the two of them.
Long minutes passed in silence that was like a comfortable old friend, different from the long, tense silences that had been between them before—when they fought so hard to deny what was happening.
She waited awhile, watched the sky turn darker as the silky moon disappeared on the horizon. Then she tilted her head back against his bare shoulder. “Talk to me.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know,” she said, trying to sound casual. “Tell me about your life.”
He laughed that cynical laugh he had. “We don’t have that long, sweetheart.”
“Then just tell me about the important things.” He shifted, and she could feel him look down at her. “Like what?”
“Like where you learned to dance.”
