“I’m sorry to hear that,” came Beau’s sardonic reply.
She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling and turned her head toward the wall so he could undress.
“I, er, normally sleep in the nude,” he said.
Marianne gulped. “Well, uh, could you, perhaps, keep your breeches on tonight?”
“I can do that,” he replied, humor edging his voice.
Moments later, his weight settled onto the bunk beside her. They bumped into each other and both apologized before she nearly rolled herself flat against the wall on the far side of the bunk to keep from touching him.
“That cannot be comfortable,” he said with a chuckle.
“It’s not,” she admitted with a laugh, partially rolling back onto the mattress.
They laid like that, side-by-side, the entire lengths of their bodies touching from their shoulders to their legs.
“Comfortable?” Beau finally asked.
“Better,” she admitted. She was staring at the ceiling as if the dark brown wooden slats were the most fascinating things she’d ever encountered.
Beau leaned up on one elbow and blew out the lantern that hung above them. “I suppose this is as comfortable as we’re going to get.”
“I suppose so.” Marianne lay there in the darkness for what felt like endless moments, willing her breath to slow and her heartbeat to return to normal. Touching him, smelling him, being this close, was torture. Why hadn’t she tried harder to find a place for that confounded hammock?
She was hoping against hope that he’d fall asleep quickly. But she already knew from the nights they’d spent together that he wasn’t one to do so. In fact, previously they’d stayed up together for hours and talked. She again turned on her side toward the wall and tucked her hands beneath her head.
A few more endless moments ticked by before his voice sounded in the darkness. “I should have taken the hammock,” he breathed.
“Why?” she breathed back.
“Because even just lying next to you like this, I’m so hard it’s painful.”
Marianne shuddered. She could no longer deny the overwhelming attraction she had toward this man. She wanted nothing more than to turn into his arms and kiss him. But instead she whispered, “Touch me, Beau.”
His arms enveloped her from behind. His mouth came to nuzzle at her neck and his hand moved down her leg to pull up her nightrail.
His fingers moved between her legs to tease her most intimate spot and he hooked her leg over the outside of his thigh before freeing himself from his breeches. She felt him probing between her legs, hot and hard before he slowly slid inside of her, giving them both what they wanted.
Marianne closed her eyes. They both groaned.
It had been so long. Too long. And she’d wanted him every single day. She wanted this. Had wanted it for weeks. Had missed it for weeks. But until he’d touched her again, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.
“Oh, God, Marianne. You don’t know how much I’ve wanted you,” he breathed against her ear before he stroked inside of her again. “So much.” Another stroke. “For so long.” A third stroke.
Marianne was mindless. His hand hadn’t stopped touching her and his finger was rubbing her in little circles that made her hips arch into his hand. His mouth continued to suck at her neck and her nipples tingled as he stroked into her again and again and again.
“Come with me,” he pleaded.
Her legs shook, and when she finally fell over the precipice, she buried her face into the pillow so she wouldn’t be too loud.
As always, he was careful to withdraw and spill his seed against her backside, a shuddering groan torn from his lips.
She’d wanted it. There was no question, but now that it was over, she knew what a costly mistake it had been.
She waited until he left the bunk and used a towel from the handbasin in the corner near the door to wipe up before she said, “This can’t happen again.”
“Why? I’ve wanted you for weeks, Marianne. I never stopped wanting you.”
