“I’d prefer you use your hands and mouth,” Rory told him, pushing his hand between her legs. She couldn’t wait, she was burning with need.
Mac’s hard, knowing fingers found her bud and had her arching her back. She felt the insistent throbbing that told her she was so very close to losing it. It took one sliding finger and she was exploding, bucking, sobbing and laughing, tumbling along that fantastically ferocious wave of pure, cosmic pleasure.
When her pleasure tapered off, leaving her lady parts still tingling, she realized she was half sitting on Mac’s thighs, his mouth was on her breast and his erection was tenting his pants. Climbing off him, she helped him push his shorts over his hips so he was free to her touch. She wrapped her hands around him and smiled at his shudder and desperate groan.
He pulled her hands away one at a time and held her wrists behind her back with one hand. “I’m so close. If you squeeze me once...”
Rory shrugged. “Not a problem.” Actually, she’d love to see him lose control.
“Hell, no,” Mac said, dropping his lips to pull the skin beneath her ear. “I want to be inside you. I need to be inside you.”
“Okay,” Rory told him, her hand drifting across his eight-pack. “God, you have the most amazing body.”
His erection jumped at her words and his mouth slammed onto hers. Pulling her down to the daybed, he lay on his back and Rory flung a leg over him, immediately settling her happy spot on his hard shaft. She was going to come again. Woo-hoo, lucky her.
“Condom,” she gasped, needing him to slide on home.
Mac lifted his hips and pushed his hand under the cushion next to his thigh. He cursed when he came up empty.
“Try the other side,” he huffed, and Rory leaned sideways to pat the space under the cushion. Feeling the cool foil packets, she pulled a condom loose, and instead of one, she held a four-pack in her hand. She looked down and then lifted an eyebrow in Mac’s direction.
“Confident, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Prepared. I have them stashed all over the house,” Mac admitted, grabbing a condom and lifting the packet to his teeth to open it. He cursed at his clumsiness and Rory took it from him.
“So, when did you put the packet of condoms there, McCaskill?” she asked as she rolled the latex down his shaft.
Mac grinned. “Ten minutes after we arrived. Though, to be fair, I’ve had this fantasy about making love to you since the day we met.”
Rory jerked at his words. Which time? Years ago or weeks ago? Then the questions disappeared as Mac pushed into her, stretching and filling and completing her.
She rose and fell, easily matching his rhythm. He filled her cold and empty spaces, she thought, as he speared up into her. She glanced down and saw him watching her, his eyes deep and dark and determined. “Come for me, baby.”
Not able to refuse him, Rory shattered around him, and from a place far away she felt his last thrust, felt him pulse against her as her followed her over the cliff.
Rory collapsed against his chest. His good arm wrapped around her as she turned her face into his neck. She inhaled the scents of the fragrant, perfumed air and sex, felt his thumping heart beneath hers, the rough texture of his chest hair beneath her cheek.
This place, here in his embrace, was the place she felt safest. Happiest. The place she most wanted to be.
Dammit.
* * *
Mac had always liked hurricanes. The power extreme weather contained was thrilling. He’d experienced two storms on the island before and neither had done much damage. He expected this storm would be more of the same.
He stood on the veranda and watched the sky darken. The wind was picking up and he mentally took inventory of his hurricane supplies. They had enough water and food for three days, adequate lighting for when the power went off and he had, and knew how to use, his extensive first-aid kit. They were ready for the storm; the boards were up courtesy of a couple of young guys from the village who’d made short work of the task. They’d also moved the outside furniture into the store rooms next to the garage and generally made themselves useful. They would be fine and if it was just him, he’d jump into bed with a good book and let the storm do its thing, but Rory was acting like it was the hour before the world ended. He turned his head and saw that she sat where he’d left her, in the corner of the couch, her arms clutching a pillow in a death grip, her eyes wide and scared.
“Relax, we’ll be fine,” he told her.
“We’re on the edge of a beach with a hurricane approaching...which means big waves and big wind. I think I’ve got a right to panic,” Rory retorted. “Will you please come inside?”
Mac lifted his face to the sky, enjoying the rain-tinged wind on his face. “I built this house to be, as much as possible, hurricane-proof.”
“Don’t you have a shelter?”
“That’s for tornadoes, not hurricanes.” Mac told her, walking back into the room. He lifted a bottle of wine and aimed the opening at her glass. “Have some wine, try to relax.”
“Huh.” Rory gulped from her glass and her anxious eyes darted to the rapidly darkening sky.
He needed to distract her or else she’d soon be a basket case. The wind howled and the lights flickered. Rory pushed herself farther into the corner of the couch. He sat down next to her, put his feet up onto the coffee table and placed his hand on her thigh beneath the edge of her shorts. More sex would be a great distraction, he thought, but Rory’s white face and tense body suggested she might kick him if he proposed that. Besides, they’d done it three times since noon. She needed some time to recover.
And that meant talking. Dammit. Not his best talent. Maybe he’d get lucky and she’d start.
He was given a temporary reprieve when his cell phone buzzed. Picking it up, he saw a message from Quinn, checking whether they were okay, and he quickly replied. He picked up Rory’s cell phone and tossed it into her lap. “I suggest you let your friends and family know there is a hurricane and you are safe. They tend to freak if you don’t. And the cell towers sometimes go down during storms so we might lose our signal.”
Rory nodded quickly and her fingers flew across the keypad. Within thirty seconds her phone buzzed and she was smiling at the message on the screen. “It’s Shay, suggesting I climb under a bed with a bottle of vodka.”
Shay...now there was a subject they’d been avoiding. He sipped his wine and rested his head on the back of the couch. “Did you take flak because we almost kissed?”
Rory tapped her finger against her glass. “You have no idea. She refused to talk to me for six months and it took us a while to find our groove again.”
Mac frowned. “Look, I admit I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming that night, I messed up in numerous ways but, God, we were young, and nothing happened!” Mac waited a beat. “Even if that open-mic incident hadn’t happened, she knew we were on our way out—”
“She’d mentioned she thought she was
