The Trouble With Paradise

even more insects buzzed, and the birds continued to chirp and squawk. Coming in all around them was the damp, warm night air, making everything seem too close.

Too intimate.

“Fresh water,” he marveled, their feet sinking into the heavy, wet growth beneath them.

It looked like heaven on earth, and drawn to it, she took a step forward, only her foot went right through the thick growth and sank into the sand at the edge of the water.

“Watch it.”

Watching it didn’t seem to be her forte, but instead of letting her fall, he tugged her back against his nice, hard chest, which was beginning to be very familiar.

“You need a keeper, you know that.” Arms still around her, he leaned back, spine to the tree behind him, chest damp and hard, he stuck to her everywhere they touched, which was in some very interesting places. “Tell me you didn’t just twist your other ankle.”

She took quick stock. Nope. In fact, held against him as she was, her spine to his torso, backs of her thighs to the fronts of his, her bottom snugged to his crotch, everything felt pretty darn warm and fuzzy and happy.

Very happy. “Ankle’s good.”

“And you didn’t lose that purse.”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not. You didn’t even lose it in a shipwreck, so what am I thinking.”

She had no idea what he was thinking, but she was thinking damn, it felt good to be held against his body, good to forget, even for a minute, the hell they’d found themselves in. Twisting to face him, she opened her mouth to apologize for this whole mess. But he kissed her.

She’d figured maybe they’d talk through their grief, but as a grief release, this worked, too. This worked just fine. Their hands grappled for purchase on each other while their tongues did the tango. When he slid a hand beneath her tops and found her nipple with his thumb, her knees buckled… “I can’t stand,” she gasped.

Without missing a beat he whipped her around so that she was pressed to the tree, held there by his body. “How’s that?”

“Good.” Incredible.

“Good.” And he kissed her again.

Her flashlight dropped to the ground and skittered away, the beam shining off into the distance as his hands claimed her breasts while his mouth attached itself to her throat.

A freight train of lust surged through her veins. It’d been a long time, too long. Over a year ago she’d gone out with a guy five times before he got this far, and in his haste to get to the good stuff, he’d removed only the essential clothing on both of them, and had touched her breasts almost by accident as he’d made his way to ground zero (which he’d missed by a good three inches), getting inside her with just enough time to go off like a bottle rocket.

Leaving her over-revving her engine at the starting gate, and once again faking it.

But Christian seemed to have a whole other agenda going on, and she didn’t have to fake anything, certainly not her reaction. He wasn’t panting like a lunatic, whispering “Oh God, please don’t let me come too fast…”

In fact, he wasn’t saying a word, but that might have been because his mouth had other things to do. As he kissed her, long and wet and deep, she felt herself slipping under his spell, her body coming alive so that it practically shivered with anticipation, humming with a pleasure she couldn’t quite contain. The sound of it escaped her with every whimpering breath.

Truth was, he had her halfway to orgasm without doing much more than kissing her, which made her as pathetic as her last date. She’d be mortified later, because right now her body had taken over and was demanding the rest. “Hurry.”

God, again with the out loud thing, but he didn’t make fun of her. Instead, he slid a big, warm hand up her back, his fingers encircling her ponytail so that he could lightly tug, better angling her mouth to his. His other hand curled around her breast, his fingers rasping over her camisole-covered nipple, coaxing another gasp out of her. “Hurry,” she said again.

“Why? Is there a race?”

“My body thinks so,” she managed as he dragged his mouth along her jaw, to her ear, which he sank his teeth into, yanking yet another gasping moan out of her.

“Shh.” He laved the spot with his tongue, then shifted, bending his head to her throat, her collarbone. “Unless you want to be rescued by the others.”

She shook her head wildly. She did not want to be rescued, not from this. He glided his tongue over her skin, heading toward her breasts, licking her through the cotton, and she couldn’t help it, she made a noise of sheer lust.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes, his own dark, so dark with heat, his mouth wet from kissing her.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Very, very sure.”

He nodded with intent, a wicked, naughty intent that made her go damp. Or damper. “You still have that box of condoms?”

Oh, God. “In my purse.”

“I’m beginning to like that purse.”

She fumbled to get to it while he went back to what he was doing. She’d been holding on to him for all she was worth, but at the first touch of his tongue, she cried out. Damn it.

A man of his own means, he took her hands and gently pressed one finger to her mouth. She nodded. Shh. She really was trying, but-“Ohmigod,” she whispered when he tugged the spaghetti straps off her shoulders so that his clever, talented mouth could have more freedom. “Ohmigod.”

Without a break in the wet, open-mouthed kisses he was trailing over her, he pressed her fingers to her lips again.

Right. Quiet. She was doing her best, but she was only human here, and her body had shifted to high, hopeful alert status, quivering with it, in fact. She peeked down at his dark head, at the direction he was heading with purposeful intent-which were her nipples, covered only because her tops had snagged on them.

Then he tugged again and her breasts were bared to the night air and his hot, hot gaze.

She had to close her eyes. She slapped her hands to the tree trunk on either side of her hips, needing the handholds. “Christian.”

Again, he stroked a finger over her lips, then his hand covered her mouth, because apparently she wouldn’t possibly remain silent with him now crouching down before her, her camisoles gathered at her waist, his fingers slowly pushing up her skirt. Her hands dropped from the tree to his shoulders and dug into the muscles there, and when he’d bunched the entire skirt up past her hips so that he had an eyeful of her panties, she went utterly still, torn between wondering why she’d put panties on today at all, and what would have happened if she hadn’t.

Then he slid his fingers beneath the elastic edging at her hip, tracing it down… His knuckles brushed her center and she jerked at the touch. “Um-”

He tugged and words failed her. Then her brain failed her as well when he leaned in and kissed her.

There.

Oh, God. All she managed was a squeak.

He grabbed both her hands, having to peel them off his shoulders, and reaching up, again put them to her mouth. He pressed gently, silently encouraging her to shut the hell up.

So she held her hands over her own mouth and panted for air while he stroked her with his tongue, her head thunking back against the tree. She saw stars, felt the earth move, heard fireworks going off in her brain, the whole shebang, and it was most definitely not from hitting her head, though she did spare a second to think that next time she had wild tree sex she should really wear a helmet.