it had warmed. Leaning his forehead on hers, he paused. For nine years, he’d fantasized about being with her again. It was happening, and fast. This moment, he touched her slick skin, her warmth and curves pressed near, her tropical scent bringing summer to his snowed-in heart.
“Joe,” she murmured, her voice heavy with desire.
He lifted her up, pressing her closer. With a shimmy, she eased his shaft into her. Pulling her down, he thrust himself deep. Her tight wetness quaked around him as he rocked inside her.
“Ariella,” he groaned. Nothing, no one compared to this, to her. All he’d remembered, fantasized, was pale and cold compared to her tanned, glowing skin, her heat.
Her breath came in little gasps as she followed his movements. She wrapped her legs tighter around him while she covered him in kisses, caressing each spot she could reach.
He thrust harder, faster, the need for her flaming like a speeding fuse. But she tensed, her hands stilled. He refocused, on her, her needs. Returning to his slow pace, he rocked in her again and again. At this pace, he could go longer, watch her come over and over. He grinned, wider when she relaxed her torso and eased her hands over his back.
She leaned into the wall, releasing a long breath. Her inner walls contracted around his shaft. Smiling, she relaxed more. He took her weight gladly, watching her, heat coursing through him at the bliss of her expression, the freedom of her body.
“Joe.” The way she said his name in a low, thick whisper, made him harden more. His skin tingled. With languid movements, she wrapped her arms and legs around him again. Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples hardening at the friction.
He kept a steady pace, but only with the strain of focus and determination. She kissed his neck and moved to his ear.
“Joe, come, come inside me,” she whispered. With a sensual tilt, she brought him closer, deeper.
They rocked together, their bodies slick. He sped his pace, her words—“come, come”—a racing beat he matched.
“Yes.” She met his gaze.
He nodded and gave into his need for release. His back jerked with the pleasure of her and her caresses. Their gazes held, as intimate as their movements, their closeness.
He kissed her, easing his fingers through her hair, down her shoulder and arm. With a sigh, she dropped her arms and legs. They stood, wrapped together. Her body began to tighten, losing the relaxed freedom she’d had while she was orgasming.
“Better get cleaned up,” she said.
He eased out of her, his smile wiped out. “We’re not dirty.”
She shook her head, her gaze on the far wall. “I need to get myself together before everyone gets back.”
He rolled his shoulders and disposed of the condom in the small covered can outside the door. She brushed past him, padding toward the changing area. Okay, he got it, she had a daughter. But they’d just been intimate, intensely together. What was with the distance?
He strode to where she slid on her robe. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want anyone to find us like this. I need to...” No glance. She walked to the tub and picked up her bikini.
“What do you need?”
She knotted her robe tightly. Her gaze sparkled with tears. “I need to be strong, for Layla.”
He tugged up his boxer briefs and grabbed her arm. “You are strong. But doesn’t Layla need to see that you’re human, that you accept help when you need it, that you have feelings?”
She pulled herself taller, her features tightening. “She knows I love her.” Her gaze softened. “I’m not used to these feelings. I don’t want Layla to be affected. I need to be sure what we’re—I mean, what I’m doing.”
He nodded. Though his current impulse was to shout it to the world, his joy in this woman, he got it, her need to be cautious. He wasn’t impulsive, except when it came to her.
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Layla. But she’s your daughter.” He
“Joe,” she murmured, her voice heavy with desire.
He lifted her up, pressing her closer. With a shimmy, she eased his shaft into her. Pulling her down, he thrust himself deep. Her tight wetness quaked around him as he rocked inside her.
“Ariella,” he groaned. Nothing, no one compared to this, to her. All he’d remembered, fantasized, was pale and cold compared to her tanned, glowing skin, her heat.
Her breath came in little gasps as she followed his movements. She wrapped her legs tighter around him while she covered him in kisses, caressing each spot she could reach.
He thrust harder, faster, the need for her flaming like a speeding fuse. But she tensed, her hands stilled. He refocused, on her, her needs. Returning to his slow pace, he rocked in her again and again. At this pace, he could go longer, watch her come over and over. He grinned, wider when she relaxed her torso and eased her hands over his back.
She leaned into the wall, releasing a long breath. Her inner walls contracted around his shaft. Smiling, she relaxed more. He took her weight gladly, watching her, heat coursing through him at the bliss of her expression, the freedom of her body.
“Joe.” The way she said his name in a low, thick whisper, made him harden more. His skin tingled. With languid movements, she wrapped her arms and legs around him again. Her breasts brushed against his chest, her nipples hardening at the friction.
He kept a steady pace, but only with the strain of focus and determination. She kissed his neck and moved to his ear.
“Joe, come, come inside me,” she whispered. With a sensual tilt, she brought him closer, deeper.
They rocked together, their bodies slick. He sped his pace, her words—“come, come”—a racing beat he matched.
“Yes.” She met his gaze.
He nodded and gave into his need for release. His back jerked with the pleasure of her and her caresses. Their gazes held, as intimate as their movements, their closeness.
He kissed her, easing his fingers through her hair, down her shoulder and arm. With a sigh, she dropped her arms and legs. They stood, wrapped together. Her body began to tighten, losing the relaxed freedom she’d had while she was orgasming.
“Better get cleaned up,” she said.
He eased out of her, his smile wiped out. “We’re not dirty.”
She shook her head, her gaze on the far wall. “I need to get myself together before everyone gets back.”
He rolled his shoulders and disposed of the condom in the small covered can outside the door. She brushed past him, padding toward the changing area. Okay, he got it, she had a daughter. But they’d just been intimate, intensely together. What was with the distance?
He strode to where she slid on her robe. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t want anyone to find us like this. I need to...” No glance. She walked to the tub and picked up her bikini.
“What do you need?”
She knotted her robe tightly. Her gaze sparkled with tears. “I need to be strong, for Layla.”
He tugged up his boxer briefs and grabbed her arm. “You are strong. But doesn’t Layla need to see that you’re human, that you accept help when you need it, that you have feelings?”
She pulled herself taller, her features tightening. “She knows I love her.” Her gaze softened. “I’m not used to these feelings. I don’t want Layla to be affected. I need to be sure what we’re—I mean, what I’m doing.”
He nodded. Though his current impulse was to shout it to the world, his joy in this woman, he got it, her need to be cautious. He wasn’t impulsive, except when it came to her.
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or Layla. But she’s your daughter.” He
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