21

Sweat beaded his brow. His eyes were narrow slits, and he never took his gaze from hers. He urged her closer so he could cup her breasts. They filled both palms and he rubbed the pad of his thumb over the painfully erect nubs.

“I can’t hold on,” she whispered.

“Then let’s go together,” he urged.

His hands left her breasts and he gripped her hips, lifting her and pulling her down in time with his upward thrusts. The burn spread. Tension mounted. She wound tighter and tighter until it was all she could do to hang on.

She threw her head back, her mouth open in an endless cry of agony. The sweetest, most breathtaking agony of her life.

His hands left her hips to tangle in her hair. He rose up, pulling her harshly to meet his kiss. Frantically, his hands moved up and down her back, into her hair, through her hair, over her face as if he couldn’t get enough and wanted to memorize every feature.

And then it was as if the world went silent. The wave rolled, crashed and then broke into a mill