Page 136 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars
Then I move back, take her hand, and continue through the foyer.
We don’t speak again while we walk through the ship. Around us, people are heading to and from the bars or the various entertainment spots. Music filters out—jazz in one bar, blues in another, and a disco beat from the club at the end. But I ignore them all, taking her down the stairs and along the corridor, back to our cabin.
When we arrive, I touch the key card to the panel, and push the door open. She goes to slip past me, but I catch her hand. Letting the door close behind me, I push her up against the wall and crush my lips to hers.
I adore naïve Elora, with her big blue eyes, her girlish giggle, and her lack of experience. But equally the thought of crushing that innocence, of stripping it away from her and replacing it with something much more adult, something darker, and sexier, heats me up in a way I can’t explain.
Up until now, we’ve been kind of reenacting our time at Greenfield, slipping back into our old roles. But we’ve changed. She’s not a girl anymore. She’s a woman, with a woman’s desires and a woman’s needs.
Who am I to refuse her wishes, when she’s been very clear what she wants?
*
Elora
Ooh, I’ve finally flipped his switch.
Linc has been holding back ever since we first slept together; I could feel it. And I’m incredibly touched that he has, for me. I knew he’d be gentle, and I needed him to be. I’d have run a mile if he’d done this to me immediately.
But things are different now. I know he’d never hurt me, and that anything we share here is private and just between the two of us. I feel safe and able to explore the desires I’ve been so curious about.
He tips his head to the side, changing the angle of our kiss, and plunges his tongue into my mouth, and I moan with pleasure as he presses up against me, and I feel the length of his hardening erection pressing against my tummy.
Language is such a curious thing. Linc swears without giving it a second thought. Words are just stones he skims across the top of a pond; he doesn’t worry that they might sink below the surface. It’s so different for me, though; I’ve been brought up to believe that words carry weight and intention, and swearing is something people do when they’re angry or frustrated and can’t find the proper words to illustrate their thoughts. My dad thinks curse words are only used by weak people.
But I don’t think he’s right. Sometimes, only a swear word will do, like when you drop something valuable, or you hit your head, or your team loses. At times like that, you need to verbalize your feelings without picking and choosing your words like flowers—you want to lob the word into the air and watch it explode like a grenade.
And in bed, I think it’s the same. Making love is wonderful, kind, tender, and affectionate. Having sex is exciting and playful. But tonight, with this gorgeous man in my arms possibly for a limited time, I want this Chaotic Neutral character to possess me and corrupt me and teach me the darker side of love. I want to use sexier language the way characters do in the movies, and express how I feel. But I’m not brave enough.
Linc’s lips leave mine, kiss up my cheekbone, and press beneath my ear. “You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs, slipping his hands beneath the hem of my top. His warm fingers brush the skin of my waist, and I shiver.
“Likewise,” I reply as he kisses back to my mouth. He’s wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and I pop a few buttons through the holes, then grab both sides of the shirt and pull him toward me. I moisten my lips, plucking up the courage to speak. Then, keeping my lips close to his, I whisper, “I want you.”
In response, he bends and picks me up, wrapping my legs around him, then carries me through the living room and into the bedroom. He tosses me onto my back on the bed unceremoniously and climbs on top of me before I can move and pins me to the mattress. Then he crushes his lips to mine again.
Delight fills me, and I tighten my legs around his waist and give a heartfelt groan as he kisses the living daylights out of me. Ohhh… this man… how does he seem to know exactly what I want, what I need?
He kisses me for a long time, his weight deliciously heavy on me, while I slip my hands beneath his shirt and run my fingers over his skin. After a while, he lifts up, undoes the other buttons, and tosses his shirt to the floor, then beckons for me to sit up. When I do, he takes the hem of my top in his hands, peels it up my body, and drops it on the floor. Then, keeping his gaze fixed on mine, he moves his hands around my back, unclips my bra, and removes that, too.
Finally, he says, “Can you take your hair down?”
Pressing my lips together, I take out the elastic bands holding up the scruffy bun and let the strands tumble around my shoulders.
He pushes me onto my back, lies on top of me, and proceeds to kiss me again.
This time, he kisses my face, my cheeks, my jaw, around to my ear, and then slowly down my neck, taking big, wet bites out of my skin, which make me groan and tilt my hips up to his as I try to relieve the ache that’s beginning deep inside me.
“Lie still,” he says with a growl when I do it again, “you’re driving me crazy.”
“I can’t help it. I ache.”
“You’re going to ache a lot more before I’m done with you. So stop wriggling, or I’ll stop kissing you.”
Surprised at his bossiness, I do my best not to squirm, but it’s almost impossible. “Linc,” I whisper, “please…”
He kisses back up to my mouth and looks into my eyes. “Please what?”
I want to make him feel the way I do, but I’m so inexperienced at this, and I don’t know what language to use, or how to phrase what I’m feeling.
