Stella Cameron - Out of Mind

“Have you ever made love in a hot tub?” he asked.

“No. Have you?”

He tilted his head as if in deep thought. “Actually, no. I was waiting for you.”

“I’m burning up, Ben, and it isn’t the water.”

Ben tipped her on her back and floated her around the small pool. When she automatically put her hands over her breasts, he moved them away and kissed her in every place that ached for his touch. But when he shifted his mouth to fresh territory, he only left a deeper ache behind. Willow moaned and tried to grab him.

He raised her hips to make a straight path for his tongue, straight to delve into the folds between her legs.

“Stop it!” She writhed.

“You don’t mean that,” he said and carried on until waves of sweet agony broke over her.

Willow panted and scrambled to get her arms around his neck. “Your turn.” But she got nowhere with her attempt to get his feet off the bottom, other than to make him shout with laughter and subdue her as if she were a doll.

“I’ll make a deal,” he said. “Let me have my way first, then you can see if you can do better.”

“Who’s the judge of better?” she said, sliding her fingers over his hips, across his belly and grabbing him before he could stop her again. Not that he tried very hard.

But he was ahead of her. In one swift motion, he gathered her legs and wrapped them around his waist. “Well,” he said through his teeth. “What are you waiting for?”

Staring into his eyes, Willow put him where they both wanted him to be, and they moved together, first slowly, eyes closed, heads falling on each other’s shoulders. Then ever faster, and their cries kept pace with the searing reactions that would always be part of them—their own electrical currents.

The release came, long, raw, filling them up but not enough.

For minutes they hung together. “Don’t let me go,” Willow whispered. “I’ll drown.”

He ducked and sipped at her breasts, stood with her legs over his shoulders and made wicked arches of his eyebrows. His mouth closed on that vulnerable place, but first he said, “I love you, Willow. You are mine, so make the best of it.” And he carried on to his target.

Willow tossed. “I’m yours, I’m yours,” she cried. “I give in. And you’re mine. But if we’re going to do this forever, you’d better save something for next time.”

Ben saved nothing, not then, or the next time. And Willow was his match.

Much later, when the sun set behind the folded, lush green mountains around Hanalei Bay, red, lemon-yellow and purple streaked the sky. They watched rosy chips sparkle along a gold path on the water. But not for long.