As Beautiful as the Bay

by Serenity Woods

  She laughed. “Really? You don’t like any kinky stuff?”

  “Well, what’s normal for one person is kink for another. Would I object if my girl dressed up in stockings and lacy underwear? No. If she wanted to try a vibrator, or a bit of harmless role play for fun? I’d give it a go. But would I complain if all she wanted to do was make out like this? Absolutely not.”

  “You’re not just saying that?”

  He sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Technically, sex is just putting Tab A into Slot B, or possibly C.”

  “Or D,” she said.

  “I don’t even want to think how you know about slot D or I’ll have to swim to the U.K. to smash the guy’s teeth down his throat. The point is, if you read a manual about sex and followed it, you’d end up like Jack, thinking it was all about gratification, about the end product. But that’s not what making love is.”

  “Tell me what making love is,” she said, her voice breathless with longing.

  He kissed her cheek, then around to her ear. “Sharing yourself. Enjoying just being with one another.”

  “How do you know exactly what to say to me?” she whispered, tipping her head to the side to give him better access.

  “Just doing what comes naturally.” He touched his tongue to her skin, and she shuddered in response.

  He brought his lips back to her mouth, and then spent some time kissing her properly, until the tension dissolved from her spine, and she stretched out along him, molding her body to his. He kept his hands beneath the duvet but on top of her clothes, stroking her back and down to her hips, then up the dip of her waist to the swell of her breasts, enjoying her curves while keeping clear of any sensitive areas.

  He just wanted her to relax and enjoy it. He wasn’t sure if this was going anywhere tonight, but he knew this was going to be important for her. And it wasn’t exactly hard work for him, either.

  They kissed for a long time, and Sam drifted into a netherworld of lazy pleasure. Somehow, being in the dark enhanced the sensual experience for him, until all that existed was Ginger’s soft mouth, and the smell of her hair, and the feel of her curvy body beneath his fingers. They talked occasionally, and he made her laugh when he could, feeling a little more tension draining from her body with every minute that went by.

  After a while, she shifted and moved back a little, and he tucked an arm under his head and closed his eyes while she traced her fingers down his chest, slipping them inside the robe so she could feel his skin. Then she kissed him again, and he let her press her lips across his, murmuring his approval when she kissed around to his ear, and down his neck.

  “How do you still smell of baking, even after a bath?” she asked him, nuzzling his skin.

  “It’s in the blood.”

  She chuckled and tugged at the tie holding his robe together. “Sam...”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’d like to take my pajamas off, but... it sounds stupid... my feet are like ice.”

  “So keep your socks on,” he said, amused.

  “That doesn’t sound very sexy.”

  “I don’t care about things like that. Keep them on or take them off, it makes no difference to how I feel about you.”

  She gave a short laugh, muttered something under her breath, and then sat up and began to unbutton her pajama top. He could just see her in the darkness, her fingers moving down the buttons, and then her shoulders rolling as she shrugged it off. She got stuck at one point, and he had to help her out, leaving them both hot and sticky and breathless beneath the duvet.

  His heart began to race, but he didn’t move, just played with a strand of her hair while she lifted to remove the pajama bottoms.

  Then she tugged at his robe. “Want to take this off?”

  “I do,” he said. “But I feel I should say... I’m not expecting anything tonight. If you just want to cuddle up, that’s fine, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this, and you’re being very patient. But I want to feel you against me, if you’re willing.”

  “Oh... I’m very willing.” He didn’t need telling twice. He undid the tie of the robe and slipped it off, then pulled her into his arms again.

  Aaahhh... She was all soft skin and dips and curves. Her breasts pressed against his chest like small pillows, and as he slid his hands down her back, she felt like satin.

  She kissed him again, and this time there was more heat in the kiss, stirring his blood. Her tongue delved into his mouth, and her hands skated over his skin, exploring, teasing, feather-light, but sensual enough to get all the hairs—as well as other parts of his body—rising.

  Sam felt as if he were still in the hot tub, buoyed by the water, or maybe out in space, floating in zero gravity in the darkness. The bakery, his home, his father, everything fled his mind except the woman in his arms, her hot mouth on his, and her soft skin beneath his fingers.

  What Ginger had said about her ex wanting control over her did play at the back of his mind, though. He wanted to prove to her that he wasn’t like that. He wanted to show her he had no interest toying with her, and that sex was good enough when it was about two people sharing themselves without having to resort to laboratory-style experiments and orgasm deprivation.

  He wasn’t going to think about that, or about other things the bastard had tried out on her, because fury didn’t tend to encourage an erection. He was going to concentrate on her, and on making sure she enjoyed herself.

  He skimmed down to her hips, then slid his hands over her bottom, enjoying the plump muscles there, before bringing his hands back up to her hips, her waist, her ribs, and her breasts. For the first time, he brushed his thumbs over her nipples, testing her reaction—if she stiffened, he would slow down and let her dictate the pace again. But she didn’t, she sighed against his lips, and so he did it again, cupping her breasts and murmuring his approval of their weight in his palms.

  He could feel the cool air of the room on his face, but under the duvet their bodies were continuing to heat. Running a hand over her hip, he brushed down the outside of her thigh, caressed her knee, then drew his fingers up the front of her thigh to her hipbone. He did it again, and the third time, she opened her legs a little, allowing his hand access to the even softer skin of her inner thighs.

  Sam took his time to explore, letting her get used to the feeling of his fingers on her sensitive skin, and smiling when he passed over her tummy and she shivered and laughed. Then he moved his fingers down, between her legs, and he felt her inhale as he stroked through her folds.

  “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured. “You’re in charge, Ginger. Tell me what you want.”

  “Don’t stop,” she whispered back, sighing when he rested the tip of a finger on her clit and gently moved it in a small circle.

  Encouraged, he continued to arouse her, taking his time. He talked to her, telling her, “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” and “Jesus, you feel good,” while he touched her, keeping it intimate, making sure his lips never left hers. He kept her close, his other arm holding her tightly, building the heat between them, hoping to destroy any associations she had with lovemaking being cold and clinical.

  She began to tilt her hips gently to meet the movement of his fingers, and his fingers slipped easily through her folds, telling him she was close to a climax.

  “That’s it, beautiful,” he said softly, touching his lips to her cheek, her nose, and back to her mouth. “I’m not going to stop, I’m taking you all the way. Come for me.” Turned on by her arousal, for the first time he let his hunger flow through him and claimed her mouth, plunging his tongue inside while he stroked her firmly.

  She moaned and widened her thighs, her breaths coming in irregular gasps, but he didn’t stop, instead letting her feel how much he wanted her, letting his passion pour through. And then she stilled and exclaimed against his mouth, and her muscles pulsed around his fingers, while she clenched he
r fingers in his hair. He kept his mouth on hers, capturing her sighs, and kissed her tenderly as her body relaxed and she floated back to earth.

  “Oh,” she said when he finally lifted his head. “Mmm.”

  He continued to kiss her, still stroking lightly between her legs, enjoying the way his fingers slipped so easily through her swollen folds. “Ohhh... I want to make love to you,” he murmured, grazing his teeth on her bottom lip. “I’ve left my wallet in the car, though.”

  “I have condoms in the bathroom. Come on.”

  She rose from the sofa, and he let her pull him to his feet and picked up the duvet. Switching on her phone to act as a flashlight, she led him through to her bedroom, left him briefly to collect the condoms from the bathroom, and then they both climbed onto the bed.

  Sam caught her hand and tugged hard, and she fell on top of him, laughing. He lay back until she stretched out along him, and pulled the duvet over them, so they were cocooned. Her body was warm and soft on his, and he smoothed his hands down her back while he kissed her.

  She lifted her head and rubbed her nose against his. “I knew you’d be like this in bed.”

  “Like what? Fooling around?”

  “Fun. Sexy. Warm.”

  “I have plenty of body heat.”

  “I didn’t mean in that way, although your feet are far warmer than mine. I mean you. I was beginning to think sex like this was a fantasy.”

  Now he was puzzled. “Jack wasn’t your first, though, right?”

  “No, he wasn’t. I had a couple of partners before he came along.” She brushed his hair off his forehead. “But although they weren’t quite like him, they were just ordinary guys, I guess. They liked it fast and hard, and I didn’t enjoy it that much.”

  He skated his fingers down her back, feeling her nipples peak in response against his chest. “For guys, sex is more of a physical act than an emotional one. And they learn from watching porn, which isn’t known for being romantic. I was like that, at eighteen.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, of course, most guys are. It takes a few relationships, some lazy Sunday mornings in bed, exploring and talking, to realize that girls aren’t the same. I remember one girl telling me, with some exasperation, that it takes women anything up to forty-five minutes to achieve an orgasm, so could I slow the fuck down, please?”

  Ginger gave a short laugh. “I bet that bruised your ego.”

  “Not really. I was, like, ohhh... really? Tell me more! She explained that a woman considers a guy a good lover if he makes sure she’s ready before he even gets anywhere near penetration, and that it’s more enjoyable for the guy too that way. We’re not born knowing that sort of thing.”

  “Was this Alyssa?”

  “No. Pre-Alyssa. I was twenty-one.”

  She kissed his nose, then his lips. “I bet you were cute back then.”

  “What do you mean? I’m still cute.”

  He felt her lips curve against his. “Yes, you are.”

  “Can I try out my superior lovemaking skills on you now, Ms. Cartwright?”

  She laughed and reached over for the condoms. “Yes, Mr. Muffin Man, you can. Help yourself.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sam took a condom and tore off the packaging, and Ginger moved off him so he could roll it on. She’d been aware of his eager erection since the moment she’d taken off her pajamas and he’d pulled her on top of him. His obvious desire for her warmed her through, and she waited for him to flip her onto her back and climb on top.

  He didn’t, though. He stayed where he was, and moved her back astride him. “You do it,” he said. “As slowly as you like.”

  He was letting her take control. For all his playfulness and his laid-back insouciance, he had a deep thread of compassion running through him. She’d never be able to explain to him how right he’d gotten it—that the way he’d held her and kissed her while he brought her to a climax with his fingers had, in a second, dimmed the memory of the last time she went to bed with Jack.

  She hadn’t told Sam everything, because she was too ashamed of the fact that she’d let the relationship with Jack go on for as long as it had, when she’d not been happy for weeks, if not months. She wasn’t sure when it had all gone wrong. It certainly hadn’t started badly—in the beginning, he’d been affectionate, even loving. But it had deteriorated rapidly over the first six months.

  She couldn’t bring herself to explain to Sam the way Jack had liked to fuck—there was no other word for it; it hadn’t been lovemaking, and even sex was too nice a word for the way he liked to do it, always pressing her buttons in the right order to ensure she had an orgasm, but doing it in such a way that she started to feel unclean afterward.

  She would never be able to forget that last evening completely because it was carved into her brain like initials written on the bark of a tree. He’d tied her down, and had then spent over an hour arousing her with sex toys and other items. He’d said it was to test her reactions to various stimuli, but she’d felt convinced it was because he didn’t have to touch her himself. It had begun to be clear to her that he had a problem with intimacy, and at one point, as he’d brought her to the point of climax only to refuse to let her tip over yet again, she’d opened her eyes and looked at him to see a kind of smug, almost cruel smile on his face that had turned her cold.

  He’d given her a safe word when he’d first started introducing her to his methods of control, and although she’d come close a couple of times, she hadn’t used it up to that point. But at that moment she’d known she wanted the evening to be over. She’d asked him to stop, but he hadn’t, and then she’d broken down and said the safe word. He had stopped then, but he’d been angry, not apologetic, and they’d had a huge row during which she’d accused him of having a heart of ice and a psychological problem involving intimacy with women, and he’d called her frigid and dull. It had not been a pleasant end to the night.

  She’d not slept with anyone since, firstly because she’d been too busy, caught up in the death of her mother and their move to New Zealand, but also because she was nervous of going to bed with anyone else, afraid that she’d somehow jinxed sex forever. If Sam had shown even a fraction of Jack’s coolness, she would have walked away.

  But he hadn’t. He’d shown her that he wanted her, and not just for physical gratification, but because he wanted her, Ginger—he liked her, and he wanted to share this intimate moment with her.

  Her throat tightened, but she didn’t say anything, just moved her hips until she felt the tip of his erection pressing where it should, and then lowered herself down.

  Because of her previous orgasm, she was well lubricated, and he slid in easily. She didn’t stop until he was up to the hilt, and then she sat up and tipped back her head, reveling in the sensation of having him inside her.

  “Aaahhh, Jesus,” he said, and his fingers tightened on her hips. “Holy fuck, that feels good.”

  Smiling, she leaned forward and kissed him. “Mmm, it does.”

  He wrapped her in his arms, and for a long moment they just lay there, kissing, making the most of that first connection, the realization that they were sharing themselves with each other, and nothing was going to be the same again.

  Eventually, though, she couldn’t wait any longer, and she pushed herself up and began to rock her hips. He skimmed his hands up her arms, down her back, up to her breasts, always moving and stroking, and then slid a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her down for another deep, passionate kiss.

  “Do you like girl on top?” she said as she kissed up to his ear and nibbled his lobe.

  “I do. I’m just disappointed I can’t see you. That’s a major benefit of the position.”

  She laughed and kissed his neck, exploring his wide chest and shoulders, enjoying the way his muscles flexed beneath her fingers. That was another thing—she was sure Jack had tied her down so much because he didn’t like being touched. It was a revelation to be allowed to explore a
s much as she wanted.

  “I like your arms,” she said, stroking his biceps. “I like seeing you make bread with your big, strong hands.” She lifted them in hers and placed them on her breasts.

  He rubbed his thumbs across her nipples and squeezed them gently.

  “Like kneading dough?” she asked.

  “Slightly more erotic than that. Although making herb focaccia has been known to turn me on.”

  As she giggled, he slipped his arms around her and, for the first time, turned her so she was beneath him. “Okay?” he murmured, and kissed her, still moving inside her.

  “Very okay,” she said, somewhat breathlessly.

  “The minute I do something you don’t like, you tell me.” He dipped his head to her breasts and brushed his tongue over her nipple.

  “I will... mmm... but I don’t think I will be. That’s... mmm... fantastic...”

  “You’re nothing like bread.” He kissed over to her other breast and teased the nipple there with his tongue. “You’re like a fine pastry.”

  Her lips curved up in the darkness. “How so?”

  “Exquisite. Sweet. Delicate.”

  “Delicate?” She’d never been called that before.

  “Elegant, then. You have a chef’s hands.” He interlaced their fingers. “They’re strong but fine-boned. I’ve watched you finishing a dish, adding a small basil leaf with a pair of tweezers. I nearly took you there and then.”

  She laughed, filled with joy at this man’s delight in her. “I wish you’d told me.”

  “I thought you’d have been able to tell from the way my tongue was hanging out.” He captured her giggle with his mouth, and she moaned and flexed her fingers in his. She’d never be able to put into words how wonderful this was. Even though he didn’t appear to be making a calculated effort to turn her on, it still felt so amazing being there with him, having him kiss her with such desire, and with him touching her in a way that told her he delighted in her body, and that he really had dreamed about this moment for a long time.