“In the interests of honesty, I feel I should tell you that I don’t actually own this boat, and I’ve never sailed in my life.”
Kara stroked her fingertips over his collarbones, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed that the Love Tug wasn’t a direct reflection of Dylan’s tastes.
“I’m still going to call you Sailor.”
“Good. I like the way you say it.”
“Sailor,” she said, deliberately husky, letting her fingers trail down the definition of his stomach, enjoying the way his cock reacted with interest.
“Did you offer me breakfast?” he said, sliding his hand between her legs. “Because I’ve decided what I want.”
“Hmm. What might that be?”
He opened her with his fingers, dropping his other hand down to explore her exposed sex.
“You.” He kissed her shoulder. “This.” He concentrated his attention on her clitoris, and she parted her legs wider for him. “Now.”
Dylan bent over her body and placed butterfly trails of kisses over her inner thighs, then lay down on his side, rolling her onto hers too. He rested his head on her inner thigh when she lifted her knee, and gave a small sigh of appreciation when she mirrored the position, inverted between his thighs.
“I’m hungry too,” she murmured, wrapping her arm over his hip, holding him close and loving the sight of his cock so close to her mouth. He was the most tempting breakfast she’d ever had before her.
He kept her waiting, letting her expectations heighten as he stroked the curves of her bottom and thighs, his lips everywhere but where she really wanted them to be. She repaid him in kind, massaging the firm cheeks of his ass, letting his cock brush her throat when she leaned in to lick the lines where his torso met his thigh.
And then he paused, splaying her sex wide with the fingertips of both his hands. Kara held her breath, her teeth grazing his inner thigh, waiting. He made her wait longer still, his fingertips massaging tiny circles where they pressed into her flesh.
“I’m not gonna rush this, English. I want you to remember it forever.”
Was it possible to come just from being looked at, from anticipation and longing to be touched? Kara could feel Dylan’s gaze heavy between her legs, and she thrilled at the heady, hard evidence of his arousal in front of her eyes. She cupped his balls, needing to touch him almost more than she needed him to touch her, gratified by the catch in his heated breath over her clitoris. She moaned out loud with giddy relief when his fingers finally slid over her, moaned louder still when the warmth of his open mouth lowered over her sex, his tongue and his fingers working his own unique brand of leisurely, sensual magic.
He took his time, and she wanted him to stay there forever.
Kara’s hands explored his hardness, and she closed her eyes with pleasure when she took him into her mouth. Dylan’s shuddering sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his tongue onto her clitoris, and she slid him in deeper as he screwed two fingers inside her.
They lay body to body, lost in the intimacy of giving and receiving. Of building and backing off, only to build again, a little higher each time. Kara’s arm over his hip held him close, her fingers sliding over his butt cheeks, between them, pressing against the tightness there as the orgasm she’d tried to hold back flooded through her body like a tsunami. Surrendered. Euphoric. He clamped her against him, thrusting his cock into her mouth as she came against his relentless tongue. She read his fraught movements, knowing he was going to come, wanting to taste him when he did. He was granite-smooth and swollen in her mouth, and she gave him everything. Sliding her hands. Swirling her tongue. Tight, hot suction.
He wanted her to remember this forever.
She wanted him to never forget how she made him feel.
When she pressed her finger deeper between the firm cheeks of his ass, his hips jerked violently and his arm clamped her to him. He was gasping. Raw and laid bare, coming in her mouth and in her arms, his face pressed hard into her inner thigh.
Afterwards, Dylan twisted around and gathered Kara against him, his hand moving warm and languid over her breasts as their heartbeats slowed.
He reached up and traced his finger over the richly decorated ceiling, from planet earth across to the silver of the moon.
“To the moon and back, English.”
Chapter Twelve
To: mollymk@toscanomail
From: mmk@toscanomail
Hey Mom,
Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. How’s Justin doing? Don’t cover for him - if there’s any trouble, you let me know, okay?
Remember I can be home within a day if you ever need me.
M x
To: mmk@toscanomail
From: mollymk@toscanomail
Stay where you are, son, Ibiza sounds like it’s going to suit you.
You’ve done enough for your brother. More than anyone had any right to ask of you. Justin is… he’s Justin, he’ll never change.
I heard on the grapevine at Lorn’s that Suzie is pregnant. Did you know?
Mom xx
Dylan stared at the screen for long minutes, the untouched cup of coffee in his hand going cold.
He could clearly picture his mother sitting under the dryer at Lorn’s salon, her hair in rollers, reading some out of date magazine while the town’s latest tittle-tattle flowed around her. Her sons had provided a rich seam to mine for the local gossipmongers over the years, and she’d become accustomed to wearing her silence and serenity like an invisible cloak. It was that or fight back, and with sons like her boys, that was too much fighting for any one woman.
Suzie was pregnant. Dylan closed his laptop and looked out over the Mediterranean from the open fronted cafe, remembering his coffee and finding it unpalatably cold. Was he bothered? On some level, perhaps. He didn’t want to analyse his own feelings where Suzie was concerned; she hadn’t been his girl for a while now. They’d both moved on, through choice on her part and necessity on his. He’d filed her away, along with all of the other associated bad memories, in a seldom-visited box at the back of his brain. The box was dirty. Battered, as if it had been kicked around in a temper. Padlocked with a big rusty lock that he’d deliberately lost the key to because he never wanted to have to open it again.
This was home now. Ibiza. Sunshine. Sand. Sea. Sexy girls in cowboy boots.
He hadn’t expected to find sanctuary on board a boat kitted out with its own private glitter-ball, or in the arms of a girl with wild curls and questionable taste in footwear. But then he'd learned the hard way that life throws you curveballs, and sometimes the best thing to do is just try and catch them, hoping like hell that no one guesses you don’t even know the rules of the game.