There…
She said, her voice drowning, ‘Oh, God, no—no,’ as she felt the first quivers of ecstatic abandonment rippling within her, then building fiercely to their inexorable crescendo, her muscles clenching powerfully around him.
And heard Jake’s harsh groans of rapture as he at last allowed himself to attain his own release.
She was aware of quietude and a profound peace. Of lying still wrapped in his arms, their bodies joined, his dark head against her breasts. Of sudden, unexpected tears on her face.
And, as if he was aware of this last reaction, he separated from her with the same care he’d used in his possession of her, gently drying her wet face with a corner of the sheet then stroking her dishevelled hair as he held her, his voice a soothing murmur.
Eventually, she said, mumbling, ‘I’m not sad—really, I’m not.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He kissed her eyes and her lips.
‘I wanted you to know that.’ She tried to stifle a yawn and failed. ‘Oh God,’ she added, mortified. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’ He switched off the lamp and drew her close to him, pillowing her head on his chest. ‘We could both do with some sleep.’
Sleep? thought Marin. How could she possibly do that with everything that had just happened still churning in her mind?
Especially when she’d never shared a bed before with anyone before—let alone a man.
But she hadn’t expected to find his warm body so comfortable to relax against, or the resonance of his heartbeat under her cheek so soothing, she told herself with a little contented sigh. And slept.
A pale, grey light was beginning to penetrate the room when she opened her eyes. For a moment Marin lay still, slightly disorientated, aware of little more than the delicious lassitude permeating her entire being, wondering drowsily what had disturbed her slumber.
Then she turned her head slowly and saw Jake propped up on one elbow, watching her, and realised with a lift of her heart that she’d been woken by the touch of his lips.
‘Hey,’ he said softly. ‘Remember me?’
She stretched languidly, deliberately, observing the flare of his blue gaze as the covering sheet slipped down her body. She pretended to frown.
‘I’m not altogether sure. Maybe you could—jog my memory?’
‘With pleasure.’ His hand cupped her breast, the ball of his thumb rubbing slowly across the nipple. ‘Does that strike a chord?’
‘Mmm,’ she murmured thoughtfully. ‘Something seems to be stirring in the back of my mind.’
‘Is that all?’ There was a quiver of open amusement in his voice as he let his hand slide down her body to the soft mound at the junction of her thighs. ‘Maybe—this will be more help…’
It was suddenly difficult to breathe or even to think as his fingers caressed her, lightly, teasingly. She managed, ‘If you could be—a little more specific…’
And made a sound between a laugh and a sob of delight as he pulled her towards him, under him, raising her legs to lock round him as he entered her.
Impossible, she thought, her senses in free fall as she clung to his shoulders, that she could be so ready for him. Impossible, even shameful, that she should be so eager—so hungry, enclosing him in her moist and willing heat, as her body offered the counterpoint to each firm and powerful thrust that was carrying her away with him to heaven.
Even so he made her wait, keeping her balanced for an eternity on some knife-edge of trembling desire before driving her into the harsh sweetness of orgasm. And when she cried out, her voice ragged, she heard him answer her.
She slept again, wrapped in his arms, and awoke to the first streaks of sunrise. They had moved a little apart at some point, and Marin turned on to her side, letting her eyes explore every detail of the magnificent, naked body sprawled beside her. The first time, she realised, she had ever really looked at him. Or had the leisure to do so, she conceded, a mischievous smile curving her lips.
Her first hint that he was awake and fully aware of her fascinated scrutiny was his politely uttered, ‘Good morning.’
She jumped guiltily. ‘Thank you. And an even better one to you.’ She paused. ‘So—you do have an all-over tan.’
His eyes opened and he lifted a lazy brow. ‘You mean, you’d actually wondered?’ he asked and grinned. ‘Life just gets better.’
‘No,’ she protested too hastily. ‘No, of course not.’
His smile widened. ‘Fibber.’ He rolled over, pulling her towards him and kissing her on the tip of her nose. ‘Whereas you, my virtuous angel, have clearly been wearing a bikini at some recent date—even if you wouldn’t do so this weekend. And it covered you from here…’ He trailed his lips across the swell of her breasts just above her nipples. ‘To there.’ His tongue traced her cleavage and beyond.
‘And from here,’ he added, skimming a finger from the curve of one hip to the other. ‘Down to—here.’ He paused, lingering, deliberately tantalising. ‘So—what colour was it?’
She swallowed, her skin warming helplessly at his touch. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘So I can imagine taking it off,’ Jake whispered, and began to kiss her again.
Afterwards he slept again, one arm thrown across her, but she could not. The room was golden with sunshine now, and she felt part of it, part of all that warmth and promise, her perceptions heightened—coloured by what had happened to her here. Her body felt entirely different too, her skin seeming to tingle—to glow.
Nor was it because she was quite definitely aching a little. More than a little, if she was really honest.
And, more prosaically, she was hungry.
Careful not to disturb him, she slid from under his imprisoning arm and tiptoed across to her room, retrieving her dress and briefs en route and putting them away.
Then, picking out a straight, white linen skirt, a silky black top and some underwear, she went into the bathroom. She filled the tub with warm water, adding fragrant bath-oil, and sank into it with a sigh of contentment.
She thought, I’ve lost my virginity. And paused, because that was hardly an accurate description of what had transpired last night.
‘I didn’t lose a thing,’ she told herself defiantly. ‘I gave it away, freely, willingly and quite gloriously.’
The kind of behaviour she’d always secretly condemned. And yet she didn’t regret a thing. How could she?
In retrospect it had not been exactly what she’d anticipated, mainly because she’d not expected him to be quite so considerate— so gentle. From what she’d gleaned from the giggled conversations of female colleagues, it had seemed that men, carried away in the throes of passion, could behave very differently.
And
