Velika Island — Fisher woman’s Cottage, Isla’s Bedroom.
The little bedroom smelled faintly of salt and woodsmoke as Nathan laid her down, his breath hot against her throat. His hands roamed her sides slowly, almost reverently, as though memorizing every curve.
Isla’s fingers tugged impatiently at the buttons of his shirt.
Isla
(whisper) You’re overdressed for a storm like this.
Nathan
(chuckles low, but his voice is tight) Careful, Isla… once I start, I don’t stop.
She arched up into him, her eyes flashing defiantly even as her pulse thundered in her ears.
Isla
Then don’t stop.
Something in him snapped at her words. His lips claimed hers again, rougher this time, more demanding. His weight pressed her down into the mattress as he slid her shawl off and tugged her dress over her head, baring her skin to the cool air.
His mouth trailed lower, tasting the soft hollow of her collarbone, then further — coaxing breathless little gasps from her lips.
Nathan
(murmuring against her skin) You’re so damn beautiful.
Isla
(softly, with a smirk) Flattery won’t save you.
Nathan
(grins darkly) I’m not trying to be saved.
Their laughter melted into moans as he kissed down her stomach, his fingers deftly working at the waistband of her skirt. She arched her hips for him, her breath catching as his touch grew bolder.
The storm outside howled, but inside it was nothing but heat — his mouth and hands worshiping her, her body writhing beneath him, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer.
When he finally sank into her, slow and deep, her back arched and a soft, shattered cry escaped her throat.
Nathan
(groans) You feel… perfect.
Isla
(panting) Don’t you dare stop.
And he didn’t. Not through the wind, not through the thunder, not through the long, breathless hours of the night as they crossed every line they thought they’d never dare to.
Comments