Page 81 of Take Me Away

‘Kit,’ I whisper, not sure what I’m asking for. Forgiveness? Reassurance? More?

He answers without words, moving up my body to claim my mouth. The kiss is different from last night’s desperate collision – slower, deeper, deliberate. His tongue slides against mine, and I open for him, hands coming up to frame his face, to feel the surprising softness of his beard against my palms.

When we break apart, his eyes are serious, searching. ‘We should talk.’

‘I know,’ I agree, though I’d rather keep kissing, keep touching, stay in this bubble where the outside world can’t reach us.

But the outside world is already intruding. Sunlight strengthening by the minute. The distant sound of fishing boats heading out for the early catch. The knowledge that Maisie will be wondering where her father is, waiting for him back at their house just down the lane.

He sighs, propping himself on one elbow. ‘Last night⁠—’

‘Was amazing,’ I finish quickly, needing him to know that much at least.

A smile tugs at his lips that’s boyish and rueful. ‘It was.’

‘I thought you were going to say you regretted this. Me.’

His eyes darken. ‘Do I look like I have regrets about that?’

Before I can say a word, he shifts over me, the delicious weight of him pressing me deeper into the mattress. His mouth finds the spot just below my ear, tongue dragging over sensitive skin, teeth grazing until I gasp.

‘The only thing I regret,’ he murmurs, voice still rough with sleep and sex, ‘is that we waited so fucking long for round two.’

Heat pulses low in my belly – sharp and immediate. I arch into him instinctively, drunk on his body.

‘We could make up for lost time,’ I whisper, lips brushing his shoulder.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ he growls, dragging his mouth down my neck, biting softly at my collarbone. His teeth catch hard enough to sting, and I moan into it. ‘Actually, fuck that. Tempt me.’

His hands are already moving over my body with that firm, sure touch that turns my spine liquid. He palms me like he owns every inch, like he’s never letting go again. I reach for him and find him hard, heavy, ready, pressing against my thigh like he’s been waiting for this since he opened his eyes.

‘We still need to talk,’ I whisper – though we both know I don’t mean it. Not now. Not when my body’s already begging.

‘Later,’ he growls. ‘Right now, I need to taste you.’

He’s there in seconds, mouth hot and greedy, tongue ruthless. Like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that’s ever fed him. His stubble scrapes my inner thigh, rough and perfect, a burn that only makes the pleasure sharper.

My fingers dive into his hair. My thighs tremble. The pleasure builds sharp and fast, and he holds me steady, like he knows I’m seconds from breaking.

‘Eyes on me,’ he says, rough, demanding. ‘I want to see you when you fall apart.’

I look – and it’s too much. The sight of him between my legs, owning me with just his mouth and that goddamn look … it undoes me.

I fall apart with a cry, all nerve endings and heat, his name on my lips like a prayer and a curse.

He’s crawling up my body before I can catch my breath, mouth dragging along my skin, hands gripping my thighs. He bites my hip, then kisses the mark like an apology. His body slots between mine, and I can feel the heat of him – every hard inch – pressing exactly where I need him most.

‘Okay?’ he asks, forehead resting against mine, eyes blown wide with hunger and something else. Something quieter. Raw.

‘Don’t stop,’ I breathe.

He doesn’t.

He pushes inside with one slow, deep thrust that knocks the air from my lungs. The stretch, the burn, the fullness. My body arches, welcoming him, and he groans low in his throat like the sound is being pulled from somewhere deep.

He stills, just for a beat. Just long enough to feel it. Us.

‘I missed you,’ he says, the words breaking free before he can stop them. ‘Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt.’