Page 31 of Betrayal In Calusa Cove
Only, before he could pry his lips from hers, she had her hands undoing the zipper of his pants. “Whoa,” he managed. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of the noise.” She yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it across the kitchen, before lifting her sweatshirt off, revealing the fact she had absolutely nothing on underneath but her boxers.
Her bare skin shimmered under the kitchen light, a subtle beckoning that sent ripples of anticipation through Fletcher. Her scent mixed with a hint of salt from the sea breeze that wafted in through the window. His hands instinctively sought the warmth of her skin, tracing the contours of her round breasts with a kind of reverence that made her gasp.
He leaned down, his lips finding the delicate curves of her neck, his stubbled cheek grazing against hers.
“Fletcher,” she whispered his name like a plea, an invitation, or maybe both.
Fletcher didn't answer. He didn't need words just now. His hands spoke for him as they roamed over the expanse of her body, tracing a carnal map along the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips—promises of the intimate exploration to come.
Gently lifting her onto the kitchen counter, he stood between her parted legs. His eyes drank in Baily's form unabashedly, a predator eyeing its prey. A chuckle escaped past Baily's lips at his avid gaze, forcing him to glance up at her face and meet that laughing smile with his own bemused grin.
“Like what you see?” she challenged him.
“Do I really need to answer that?” He licked his finger before tracing a delicate circle on her tender flesh. He watched her face as her lips parted, and her eyelids fluttered.
Maintaining his gaze, he leaned closer, breathing in that familiar scent of salt and sunshine that was so unique to Baily. It landed somewhere close to addictive.
He lapped at her tender folds, sucking in all her sweet juices as she squirmed on his kitchen counter, her fingers digging into his scalp. He would never tire of pleasing her. She was the air that he breathed. The water he drank. She was his world, and all he wanted was to make hers right again.
“Fletcher,” she moaned out his name like it was some sort of sacred chant meant for only him to hear. She tasted like heaven.
He glided a finger inside, and she immediately clutched around him, her hips rolling against his mouth, her moans coming louder, driving him crazy.
“Yes, yes, yes…” She dug one of her heels into his shoulder, leaned back on the counter, and tightened her grip around his finger as her climax spilled out. “Please. I need you inside me now.”
As quickly as he could, he shimmied out of his jeans, lowered her to the floor, turned her, and bent her over the counter. He smoothed his hands over her round ass as he eased inside.
Baily’s breath hitched as he filled her completely. His hands gripped her hips, anchoring her against him as he sank in deeper, reveling in the pleasure coursing through him.
“Fletcher…” Her voice was a soft whisper carried on the morning air as she turned her head over her shoulder, catching his gaze with her feverish eyes.
With a slow, burning thrust, he withdrew, pausing near the edge before driving back into her welcoming warmth with a grunt. This wasn't about raw desire; it was primal yet tender—a silent promise inked on their entwined bodies.
Each thrust ignited their shared heat, a dance as old as humanity itself. Fletcher watched his reflection in the kitchen window. His brow screwed up in concentration as he pumped into Baily with all the loving force he could muster. The sight of her bracing herself against the countertop, her body accepting him so wholly, nearly pushed him over the edge.
But not yet. He battled for control against his own impending climax, wanting to draw this moment out—as if somehow time could ease their troubles away.
Baily's moans grew louder each time he buried himself inside her. Each gasp punctuated by his name was a testament sent straight through his core, confirming that this—she alone—was where he belonged.
Her body trembled against the counter, fingertips gripping at the surface. Her climax washed over him in waves, triggering his own eruption. He was falling over the precipice, tumbling into oblivion with her whimpered name on his lips.
He ran his hands up and down her back, kissed her neck, all while trying desperately to catch his breath.
She dropped her forehead to the counter and sighed. “Well, now. I think I’m hungry.”
He laughed. “That’s one way to work up an appetite.” He turned her, kissed her tenderly, hopefully showing her just how much she mattered.
When they finally pulled apart, she gave a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He smiled and went about finding their discarded clothing. Once they were both decent again, he leaned against the counter. “And next time you need to curse someone out, I’ll be happy to let you use me in every room in this house…or you can take out your aggression on the punching bag in the garage.”
She laughed softly, tension melting from her shoulders. “Might take you up on that…the punching bag, that is.”
“I kind of hope you’re joking.” He tugged her toward the living room. “But for now, you’re gonna sit your ass down, put your feet up, and let me make you something that passes for food.”
“You cook now?” she teased, with a softness that hadn’t been in her voice fifteen minutes ago.
