Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

“No.” She looked up at him. “I really thought… never mind.”

They didn’t move, letting the water warm and soak them. Finally, she looked up at him. Her lips weren’t blue at all anymore. They were pink and wet and parted, and he ached for their warmth. Tunneling into her soaking hair, he pulled her up to meet his mouth and kissed her.

She folded right into his arms, the only thing between them a stream of warm water and her very wet pants, which molded to his body. She stood on her toes, opened her mouth, and kissed him back, still shuddering.

One hand stroked his face, as if she were kissing him out of continued concern, but her hips nudged forward and her breasts pressed against him in a way that had nothing to do with concern.

He slipped his tongue between her lips, slanting his head, which only sent more water cascading down their cheeks and into their mouths, the sensation sexy enough to make his whole lower half tighten.

Flattening one hand on her back, he pulled her harder against him, the heat and wet and womanliness of her body like an elixir, sweet and irresistible.

She finally broke the kiss, but her eyes stayed closed and she swayed a tiny bit in his arms.

“Now who’s disoriented?” he asked.

“I’m just… warm.”

He kissed her forehead and tilted her face up so that she opened her eyes and he could drink in the whiskey color, her lashes thick with water, her pupils wide with arousal.

“That’s the idea,” he said. “Body warmth.”

“This is your cure for hypothermia?”

He smiled. “Don’t knock it.” Once more, he kissed her, harder this time, not even trying to fight the rush of blood or the response. With one hand, he reached behind her and twisted the knob of the shower, stopping the spray.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, opening the door and grabbing a towel. He was back in the shower in an instant, as much to get close to her as to keep the warmth and steam captured around them.

He wrapped the towel around her shoulders like a cape. “Hold this on you.”

She did, clutching it with both hands as he moved to untie the drawstring of her pants.

“These have to go. They’re soaked and you’ll freeze in them,” he explained, giving the wet string a good tug and finally freeing the knot. He pushed them over her hips, the sopping material taking her panties with it.

“You’ve seen me naked twice now,” she said.

He dipped lower as he dragged the pants down, his face eye level with the towel, and then her hips and the dark tuft between her legs.

“Gets better every time.” And different. No fear of acid burns this time, no certainty that he had the target of his investigation. This time, he had a woman who’d just risked her life-and her objective-to save his life.

The thought shot through him, hardening an already stiff erection even more as he crouched on the balls of his feet in front of her.

He had the pants to her ankles, lifted one of her feet out, then the other. She backed into the fiberglass wall. He didn’t look up. He wanted to, wanted to see if there was invitation or warning in her eyes, but the gentle pressure on his shoulders told him what he’d see.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, softly, and heard her exhale a slow breath.

“Con.”

He kissed the other thigh, this time stroking the flesh with his tongue in a slow, small circle.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, so he licked higher, closer to her center, a long, slow trail of tongue on skin that tasted so sweet and warm he let out a soft groan of his own.

Her womanhood glistened in front of him. Beautifully pink, slightly swollen, scented with remnants of saltwater and sex. He inched back, looking up to meet her gaze.

But her eyes were closed, her head was back, and her hands gripped his shoulders as though they were the only thing that could keep her from falling into his mouth.

Getting closer, he put his fingers on the soft flesh of her inner thighs, easing them further apart, as he took the first delicious swipe over her.

Her legs buckled, but she hung on to him, rocking her hips forward. He licked her again, curling his tongue in the folds of her flesh, tasting warmth and salty, tangy woman.

Closing his hands over her hips, he crouched lower, to get under, get his tongue in deeper.

“Con.” She dug her hands into his head. “What… are…”

He sucked gently, kissed the inside of her thighs, adjusted his position to kneel right in front of her.

“Hypothermia treatment,” he said softly, glancing up and letting his eyes do the smiling. “To be sure you’re warm.”

He curled his tongue inside her again, magnetically drawn to the taste of her, his cock throbbing a full erection from the sight and smell of her woman’s body. He wanted to be inside her.

“I’m… oh… warm.”

Snap .

His head jerked back at the sound.

“Wha-”

“Shhh.” He held up a hand to silence her question, rocking back and propelling himself up to a stand.

The click of a latch was barely audible over the blood in his ears, but Con was up in an instant, using every cell in his body to pinpoint the source of the sound.

“I didn’t hear-”

“Don’t move.” He spun and shoved open the head door and stepped into the cabin, his attention on the knob as it turned. He held up his hand to silence Lizzie behind him, walking to the door, wanting the full impact of surprise on his side.

The hatch slowly creaked open, separating from the rubber strip with a suction sound.

Charlotte Gorman’s nose peeked in first, then her face, her eyes popping at the sight of Con. “Oh.”

“Can I help you?”

Her gaze dropped over his torso, her color rising as she jerked back behind the door in embarrassment. “I was looking for Lizzie.”

Lizzie bounded forward, the towel wrapped under her arms and knotted now, passing Con with a quick look. “It’s only Charlotte.”

He held her back with one hand, pointing to the scepter on the bed, the silent message clear. Don’t let her in .

“Let me just talk to her,” she whispered, nodding to assure him she wouldn’t let her in.

“She was breaking in.”

“She has a key .” She stepped to the opening, keeping it cracked just enough to peek out. “I’m, uh, kind of busy, Char. What’s the matter?”

Con stood right behind Lizzie, glaring at Charlotte, who ignored him. “It’s Sam. He’s really sick.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. He’s been moaning. He has chest pains.” The older woman’s eyes looked pained, with deep circles and a feathering of lines all around. “Can you come and see him, Lizzie?”

Lizzie glanced over her shoulder at Con. “Would you know the signs of a heart attack?”

He nodded.

“Then…” She faltered. “Could you check on him?”

“Lizzie.” Charlotte reached to take the woman’s hand. “I need you there. Please. I’m scared.”

Con pulled Lizzie deeper into the cabin, against his chest. “Give us a minute, Mrs. Gorman. One of us will be over in a minute.”

She finally looked at him, her expression a mix of pain and relief and a little distrust. “Sorry to interrupt. But I’m scared.”

“We’ll be right there,” Lizzie assured her. “You go stay with Sam. If we need to get him to the mainland to a doctor, we will. We’ll do whatever we have to, I promise.”

When she left, Lizzie turned, but Con didn’t move.

“We have to help her,” she said.

“She was breaking in.”

“Con, she has a key to my cabin. She’s my friend. And her husband’s sick.” She pushed by him and started lifting up random clothes looking for something to wear.