by Ann Jacobs
He slid her down his body until her wet slit caressed his eager flesh. “Ride me. Ride me hard, the way you used to do. I’ll chase away the demons.”
When she took him in her hand and rubbed his cock head against her clit, he almost came. He clenched his fists, closed his eyes against the incredibly erotic picture of Marcy straddling him, rubbing his near-to-bursting flesh along the wet satin of her slit. Seating the head of his cock in her cunt, she sank on him until it came to rest at the mouth of her womb.
Hot. Wet. Tight. Her inner muscles hugged his turgid flesh as she rose, then loosened to let him in when she sank back down and sucked him deep into her cunt. Sam grasped her hips, took control of the rhythm. Flexed his hips and drove deeper, harder with each downward motion she made. God, how he’d missed this. Missed her.
“Come for me, baby.”
“Together.” The word came out on a whimper as he slid his hands to her breasts, tugged her tight, hardened nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. He’d give her the taste of pain she’d always liked with her pleasure, making her feel him. Only him. He’d drive out the memories of her other lovers. From his own mind as well as hers.
“Oh yesss.”
Her cunt clamped down on him, milked him. Her wild orgasmic contractions triggered the surge from his balls to his cock. He shuddered, trying to hold on, prolong every sensation, savor how she screamed out his name.
“God, Sam, I’m coming. Hold me.” Her nails dug into his shoulders, stinging just enough to let him regain a measure of command. When she bit his earlobe as though she wanted to devour him, he withdrew until just the tip of his cock felt her scalding heat. Arching his hips upward and grasping her ass cheeks, he buried his cock to the balls. The pressure built, then gave way to the incredible pleasure of impending release. Of claiming her with his seed, useless though it might be.
With each hot burst of come, he made her his. Only his. Her whimpers and moans punctuated his sense of possession, let him know she wanted this. Wanted him. As his climax receded, she collapsed on his chest, holding onto him as though she’d never let him go.
“I’ll never let you go now.” As the storm raged outside Sam held Marcy and prayed. Prayed he’d have the chance to make things right…to make a new start with the only woman he’d ever loved. The woman who might have had sex with dozens of other men. The fact she’d held back, saved a lot of herself for him, spurred his resolve to win her back.
Chapter Four
Through the night the storm raged on, its intensity lessening as dawn began to break. Black skies gave way to gray by midmorning, prompting Sam to believe they would survive. He’d have the chance to get Marcy back. To make things right between them once again.
“Shall we go see if we’ve got transportation home?”
Marcy rolled over, stretched, making him painfully aware they’d only scratched the surface, satisfying needs he’d bottled up for five long years. Longer. “Mmmm. I’d rather stay here and escape reality.”
So would he. But he doubted there was much left on Cabbage Key to support life for any amount of time. “Come on, sleepyhead. Get up. We’ve got no electricity or running water and nothing to eat here. There’s no reason we can’t continue the fantasy in the comfort of home. If the Lucky Lady’s still out in the cove, and still in one piece, that is. If we’re really lucky, the marine radio will still be working.” He imagined the devastation at the docks would be as bad if not worse than it was here, but he didn’t want to alarm Marcy. After all, the boat could have survived the storm. If it hadn’t, he was a strong swimmer. He could always swim across the waterway to the mainland for help if worse came to worst.
“Okay.” She rolled out of bed, bent and picked up the sodden green mess that apparently was the dress she’d worn to the wedding. “Damn. I itch all over. I’d give a month’s pay for a shower.”
“Come on, then. There’s one aboard the boat, along with some clean clothes. You don’t need to dress. I’m not.”
“But—”
“Marcy, there’s not another soul on Cabbage Key. Everybody else evacuated right after the wedding.” He grinned. “It’s not as though we haven’t seen each other naked before.”
She dropped the dress. “Okay.”
Putting his shoulder to the cabin door, he shoved it open. “Better put on some shoes. The porch is full of broken glass.” Kicking away his wet clothes, he found his wet deck shoes and shoved his feet into them.
“No shoes. My weekender was on the launch when it took off. The ones I was wearing at the wedding got caught up in the muck by the docks.”
“Right. I saw them. It’s okay. I’ll carry you.”
When he lifted her, he found Marcy lighter then he remembered, or maybe it was that he’d grown stronger. Sam loved the feel of her arms around his neck, the naked skin of her thighs and shoulders beneath his hands. The soft whoosh of her breath against his ear. “Hold on. Baby, it feels so good to have you in my arms again.”
A strong breeze tossed raindrops around them. Downed Australian pines, uprooted shrubs and pieces of decimated buildings along the path gave silent evidence of Kellen’s power. They were damned lucky. Sam looked toward where the dock had been, hoping to see the Lucky Lady moored where he’d left her yesterday.
No such luck. The storm surge had ripped her from her mooring, sent her drifting and apparently tossed the port side of her stern up onto a sandbar.
“Sam?”
“Yeah, baby?”
She cast a dubious look at the boat, then looked at him, her expression full of worry. “Can we get the boat back in the water?”
“I think so, if we wait for high tide. The question is whether we’ll want to once we assess the damage. Keep your fingers crossed that the radio works, and that I can scare somebody up on it.”
“Where’s your cell phone?”
“Overboard, I imagine. I broke it on the trip back here from the mainland.” Sam’s feet sank into muck dragged in by the storm surge. “Hang on. It’s going to be a rocky ride from here on, until we get onto the boat.”
“All right.” Her trust touched him—but then she’d always trusted him to keep her out of danger. The Gulf had been their playground—and the only venue where he’d been superior to her as a kid—at swimming, sailing and snorkeling along the barrier islands off Fort DeSoto Park. “Just think of this as another Sunday adventure,” he said once he was up to his knees in the murky, debris-filled water and her feet were dangling into it, catching muddy seaweed.
The Lucky Lady faced the mainland, its mooring ropes dragging off the bow and stern and tangled in remnants of the dock. Other than sitting at an odd angle, she looked intact. He bent, setting Marcy in the water by the stern ladder. “Let go. Climb aboard and move over toward the starboard side. I’m going to dive underneath her and inspect for obvious damage.”
“Be careful, Sam.”
He dived once, spitting silt out of his mouth when he came up for air. “Looks okay on this side as far as I can tell.” Then he went under again, wishing to God he could see better in the murky water. Feeling his way around, he finally determined after several more dives that even if they couldn’t move, they probably wouldn’t sink. The salesman apparently hadn’t lied when he’d said this boat’s hull would stand up to a hurricane.
Marcy huddled against the starboard side of the Lucky Lady, hugging both arms across her naked breasts. “Well?” she asked when he climbed aboard and joined her.
“She’s safe enough. I doubt we can dislodge her before high tide, though. Go on below, you look like you’re about to freeze. I’ll be down as soon as I see if the radio’s working.”
“I-I’ll wait for you.”
“I said for you to go below. Do it. And put on one of my shirts. Drawer below the bunk.” He watched her until her blonde head disappeared through the cabin door.
Treading lightly, Sam made his way to the cockpit and turned on the radio. The crackling noises sounded promising, and soon he ma
de contact with a Coast Guard cutter searching for survivors from a wrecked fishing boat somewhere off Sarasota. “I’ll try to break us loose,” he said before setting down the microphone and firing up the starboard engine.
“Sam?” Marcy poked her head through the cabin door, a worried frown on her face.
“Stay down there. I’m going to try to rock us free. If I can, we’ll soon be on our way.”
“But you got hold of help?”
“No boat as big as a cutter will be able to get into this cove, and nobody’s likely to be manning Coast Guard auxiliary boats in this weather. We may or may not be able to get out of here, depending on whether the channel’s full of silt. But I’m going to try. We’ve got at least one good engine.”
The Lucky Lady shuddered but didn’t move. Sam let out a curse, then shut down the engine and went below. “We might as well clean up. We might even find something to eat unless it got destroyed during the storm. We’re going to be here until high tide. At least.”
“When’s that?”
“Late this afternoon. If I can break her loose, I’ll take her over to what’s left of the dock and tie her up for the night. You’re going to be stuck with me at least another twenty-four hours. I’m not trying to navigate the Waterway at night, not with the debris that’s bound to be floating around.”
Her expression softened, and she shot him a smile that reminded him of the old Marcy he’d loved so much. “I don’t mind. After all, you did come back for me.”
“Yeah. I did at that.”
* * * * *
Fresh, cool water sluiced over her body and his in the tiny shower. Marcy didn’t mind, though usually tight places made her nervous. Sam’s presence drove away her fear, made her feel young and whole and…
He lathered her breasts and pussy, following up by taking the showerhead and directing the soft spray on her most sensitive spots. “Hey, turn about’s fair play,” she said, taking the hose and spraying his crotch. He was hard, lusciously so.
It took real effort for her to remember why she’d thrown him out…the loneliness when he’d held himself aloof, the humiliation of being accused of unfaithfulness while heartbroken over the loss of their baby. At least now she knew why, though she wasn’t at all sure the explanation should excuse him for having broken her heart.
Decisions could wait. Now she had Sam, and she intended to enjoy every stolen moment until they returned to the real world—their separate lives. Handing him the showerhead to put away, she stepped out of the head and began to dry her body.
“Let me.” Dripping wet, he took the towel from her and blotted away the water, his hands gentle—arousing. Warming her where she was cold, ever so gently, the way he used to when they’d bathed together in the small Miami apartment where they’d loved so deeply.
In the past twenty-four hours they’d faced death and survived. Together. It seemed only right that they celebrate life together too. Marcy sighed, wishing for more than these stolen moments yet afraid to forgive and ask forgiveness. Then she reached up, caressed Sam’s stubbled cheeks, drew his face down to meet her eager lips.
His long surgeon’s fingers entwined with hers, dragging them away. “First I want to feed you. Come here, let’s see what we can find in the galley.”
Out of the chaos the storm had wreaked on his food supply, they salvaged a bunch of grapes…a slightly battered banana. Crackers, though they were reduced to nothing but crumbs from the beating they’d taken. A wedge of cheddar cheese. Some olives. Bending, Sam salvaged a slightly bruised cucumber from the floor and set it on the sink. “I think I’d rather play with this than eat it,” he said, the twinkle in his eye reminding Marcy of the old days when they’d whiled away a lazy day in bed, feeding each other and playing with makeshift sex toys neither of them had the spare change or the balls to go and buy from the adult store around the corner from their first apartment.
Plate in hand, he led the way to the cabin—and the narrow bunk in its corner. “Feed me,” he ordered once he stretched out atop the taut, crisp sheet. “Let me feed you too.” His voice softened, and she heard a catch, as though he were as overcome by memories—emotions—as she.
Almost as though he were afraid of rejection. When Marcy sat on the edge of the bunk beside him she saw not the handsome, supremely confident physician Sam had become, but the gawky redheaded boy he’d been when he very hesitantly asked her for their first date. She recalled his shyness, his sweetness…the endearing hesitation when he’d dared to steal a kiss. And the crackling, miraculous connection she’d felt from the moment their lips had touched.
There was still something of the wonder in his face as he smiled up at her, and it touched her heart as his bold direction did her body. A connection bitter words hadn’t quite been able to sever still made her heart beat faster in his presence. His, too, if she could believe the words he’d said in the heat of passion as they lay in the eye of the storm, not certain they’d survive its wrath.
“You know, there’s something about a first love…something that’s so damn hard to let go of.” She fed him a grape, and then a sliver of cheese, wishing her voice held the ring of confidence for which she was known in court. But no. She sounded much like the pretty sophomore cheerleader who’d fallen deeply and inexplicably for the gawky nerd of the senior class. “Come on, you big lug. Do something to make me remember why I packed up your stuff and had it laid out on the front porch for you. Don’t make me fall in love with you all over again.”
He turned his head and nibbled gently at her finger. “I’ll never do that again. Baby, I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am. What will it take to get you to forgive me? Give us another chance?”
She wanted to. God how she wanted to. But…Sam had a possessive streak a mile wide. He couldn’t help but know about her years-long search for satisfaction…the string of lovers who hadn’t been able to take his place in her heart, or pay him back for the one he’d wrongly accused her of having. “For now, let’s just say that like this boat, we’re on an island. An island where reality dares not to intrude. Let go of my hand, and I’ll feed you. You’re going to need all your strength for what I have in mind.”
“I’ll drink to that. Here, you’re going to need some energy yourself.” With that, he held the peeled banana to her lips. “Eat up.”
She closed her lips around the soft, sweet fruit, licking its smooth surface the way she wanted to devour Sam’s big, throbbing cock. Funny. She’d never cared much for giving him head before, but now she could barely wait to take him in her mouth and love him. She chewed and swallowed, her gaze on his growing erection as she imagined doing with him the few acts she’d never shared with anyone else. Acts that to her seemed more personal, more intimate than taking a cock into her pussy and fucking it to a mutual release.
She met his amused gaze. “I want to suck your cock.”
“I won’t complain. Later. We’ve got hours before the tide rises. A whole night before we’ve got to head for Tampa. There’s nothing I don’t want from you…with you. I intend to have it all.”
“All right.” Just as it had seemed right last night to put her safety—her life—into his hands, now it seemed right to submit. To follow his lead, enjoy his body while he sated himself on her. “Another grape?” She caught one between her teeth, then joined their open lips.
His tongue darted out, caught the small globe and bit into it, sending sweet, tart juice into her mouth and his. Sending shards of sexual excitement to her brain, and from there throughout her body.
A day out of time, for feeling and loving and living in the present. No past and no future. Tomorrow would be time enough for recriminations. Now Marcy would let go, bask in desire, affection, and—she’d admit it to herself if not to him—love for the man Sam was today that had nothing to do with nostalgia or survival or anything but what lay buried in her heart.
Intent on arousing him fully, Marcy picked up the cucumber and sucked it into her mouth, her gaze never w
avering from his smiling face.
Soft, full lips, pink and inviting, closed around the dark-green flesh of the cucumber he’d brought along for a salad. Sam’s cock swelled at the thought of her taking him that way. His pulse accelerated at the memory of her tonguing him last night as they’d lain in the eye of the storm not knowing if their next moments might be their last. The urgency was gone now, yet the passion remained. With every lazy motion of her mouth on the lucky vegetable, he grew harder.
Wanted her more. For a moment he imagined dragging her home, locking her away for no one’s eyes but his. No one’s cock but his. His heart pounded in his chest. Damn it, no one but Marcy had ever engendered such fierce possessiveness in him, such an animal urge to claim her, hold her as his own.
“You’re wasting it on that cuke. Come down here and suck on me. Let me feel your hot, wet mouth. Swallow my cock. Make me come if you can.”
Pouting prettily, she withdrew the cucumber and bent over him, her lips brushing his chest, each ridge of his tensed abs. Then she sucked him into her mouth the way she’d sucked him into her life from their first date. Sexily, sweetly, with warmth and infinite care, as though this was a new and wondrous experience.
His balls tightened when she tightened her lips on his shaft, took more of him. When he spread his legs she caressed them briefly, then stroked the insides of his thighs. She remembered. He liked being stroked there, and on the backs of his knees. Something no other lover had discovered.
But then with other lovers he’d been scratching an itch. With her having sex had always been making love. Still was, in spite of everything. Sam shoved away the regrets that bubbled up inside him, concentrating instead on the heat of her mouth on his cock, the soft yet incredibly arousing touch of her soft fingers, the rake of her nails. The moist heat of her breath on his belly and the brush of pale damp strands of her hair along his hipbones.
