Castle in the Sand (3 page)

He sat up, his face surprised. "You still
wear this?"

Her hand went to her chest, where a small
charm nestled between her breasts. She tugged it and felt the chain
from which it hung pull against her neck. The seashell pendant.

"You gave this to me." She sounded as
surprised as he looked. "I thought I--"

She stopped, an image rising in her mind.
Sand. The sea. Waves slapping the shore. A twinkle of gold in the
air as she flung his gift into the ocean.

She'd been about to say, "I thought I threw
it away," but amended her words. "I thought I lost it."

She didn't have time to think about it again
because he'd bent to kiss her breasts through the lace of her bra.
Claire's nipples thrust against the thin material, and Malcolm's
mouth found the twin buds. He suckled first one, then the other,
while his hands cupped her rounded flesh.

She arched her back. He unhooked the front of
her bra and it fell open. She waited, breathless, eyes closed, for
his lips on her bare skin. When she felt them, she moaned and
tossed her head from side to side.

She had never had another lover after him,
and now she was glad of it. She had been waiting for the right man
to bring her again to ecstasy. To discover that man was Malcolm,
her greatest love, felt right. Like slipping into a pair of soft
slippers after a day spent in toe-pinching high heels. Perfect
pleasure.

His mouth closed around one of her nipples
and he tugged gently with his lips while his tongue flicked the
sensitive flesh. Her clit pulsed. She moved her thighs and felt the
slickness of her arousal.

Malcolm left her breasts and moved down her
belly. His kisses tickled and aroused her, and she squirmed. His
hands gripped her hips to keep her still.

His breath puffed on her belly button as he
untied the drawstring of her loose linen trousers. The waistband
loosened, he pushed the pants over her hips, down past her ankles,
and off.

Without his heat to warm her, the air seemed
cold again. Claire shivered, but in a moment, he was back between
her legs. His mouth unerringly found her plump clit, even through
the soft cotton of her panties. His tongue pressed on her firmly.
She was already so wet for him. He kissed her clit, over and over,
until her panties were soaked from his mouth and her juices.

Claire lifted her hips and urged him to take
away the barrier between them. She was so ready, all it would take
was another puff of breath and she'd go over the edge.

He didn't give in to her silent request.
Malcolm pressed his finger to the swollen bump and circled it
slowly. Gently. He found the rhythm she liked, the pattern of
pressure and release that made her clit swell and throb and her
thighs begin to tremble. He eased off, then put his mouth to her
again. The time, he didn't move his lips or tongue against her. He
only kept his lips pressed to her clit, tight, while he slipped a
finger under the elastic of her panties and stroked her slick
opening.

She was already open to him, but now Claire
tilted her hips a fraction higher. The angle changed. Malcolm slid
his finger inside her and pressed upward as his mouth continued to
press without moving on her clitoris. For a second, he didn't move
at all.

Claire heard the roaring of the ocean in her
ears and realized she'd been holding her breath. She let out the
air in her lungs and gasped. Her body moved, even if he didn't, and
the first slow waves of orgasm rippled through her. Almost
there...

Malcolm nibbled her clit through her panties
while he slid his finger in and out of her slick tunnel. He twisted
it inside her as his mouth kept up the relentless pressure. She was
going to come.

She wound her fingers in his hair. He lifted
his head and her clit thrummed from the new sensation. Before she
knew it, Malcolm had pulled down her panties. The warmth of his
breath caressed her bare flesh. His finger slid and twisted inside
her. Claire waited as the roar of the ocean grew louder, and she
forced herself to take another breath.

He touched his tongue to her and she
splintered. He licked her and she broke. Waves of pleasure crashed
over her. Claire's entire body tensed with the power of her climax.
There was nothing but ecstasy. Nothing but the mindless pleasure of
his tongue swirling on her throbbing clit.

She cried out once, and then again, when a
second wave of contractions rippled through her. Her pussy bore
down on his finger, and she wished desperately it were his penis
filling her.

Malcolm pressed a gentle kiss to her still
twitching bud, then rested his head on her belly. His hand cupped
her love-swollen flesh.

Some things change.

And some things don't.

The spasms faded, and Claire no longer had to
force herself to try and breathe.

* * * *

She must have slept because, when she opened
her eyes, the room had faded into darkness. Claire stretched and
scissored her legs beneath the blankets. He'd taken the time to
cover her. Why then did she still feel so cold?

She reached up and turned on the small lamp
clipped to the headboard. The circle of light woke her enough to
get out of bed. She found her suitcase, set on top of the dresser,
but not yet opened, and pulled out a flowing sundress. She'd packed
for a week at the beach, not a ski-slope, but now she wished for
the warmth of a roaring fire and a cup of cocoa.

She settled for her battered college
sweatshirt instead. Once it had been the most expensive shirt she
owned, and the thought that a forty-dollar sweatshirt had once
stretched her wallet to breaking made her shake her head with a
rueful laugh.

Some things change.

And some things don't.

The words echoed in her mind and stole the
grin from her lips. Another chill skittered down her spine, despite
the thick sweatshirt's protection. Claire shrugged off the feeling
of unease with an effort and went downstairs.

"Hello?" She called, though it was plain the
house was empty. It had that empty-house feeling. Her footsteps
sounded too loud. The darkness was too black. The silence too
all-encompassing.

Abandoned. That's how the house felt. Damn,
she thought morosely. That's how she felt. Where could he have
gone?

Thin and impotent anger burned her like a
cord drawn too quickly across a palm. He'd left her. Taken her to
bed, then left her again! And he expected forgiveness? The
bastard!

Claire went to the kitchen, slammed open the
door and went to the deck outside. She looked down to the sandy
driveway, but saw only one dark hump. One car--hers. He'd really
gone.

"Shite!" she cried, but shite was Malcolm's
word. "Fuck!"

That was his word, too. She'd often teased
him about the way he let the word Americans often viewed as the
worst slip off his tongue without regard for the ears of those
around him. Except in Malcolm's voice, the word was "fook." He even
made swearing sound charming.

"Damn son of a bitch," she muttered, but got
no satisfaction from the epithet.

She slammed open the door and stalked into
the kitchen. She went to the cupboard and grabbed a glass, then
went to the sink to draw some water. Not to quench her thirst, for
she had none, but because she needed something to focus on to take
away her anger.

"Claire?"

At the sound of her name, she jumped. The
glass slipped from her fingers and hit the porcelain sink, where it
shattered. Water splashed her shirt. She whirled, her heart
pounding so fast and hard it made bright sparks bloom in front of
her eyes.

He wore different clothes. Khaki pants and a
tight-fitting white T-shirt. No shoes. His sand-colored hair was
tousled and damp, like he'd just stepped out of the shower.

Claire slapped him. "You scared the life out
of me!"

He reached for the hand that had left its
imprint on his cheek and held it. "I'm sorry."

"Where were you?"

He shrugged and pointed over his shoulder.
"In the bathroom."

"Your car is gone." She sounded accusing,
though she wasn't quite sure what she was accusing him of.

"It's parked around the other side of the
house, that's all."

They stared at each other until she felt
foolish. Her emotions swam too close to the surface, like her skin
was too thin. She hadn't always been that way.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"I woke up, and you were gone. I didn't know
where you were." She turned back to the sink and sighed at the mess
she'd made. She reached for the dustpan and brush hanging on the
wall and began to clean the glittering shards of glass. "I thought
you'd left me again."

He came close behind her. His whisper brushed
her neck. "I didn't leave you."

She turned her head. His lips nuzzled her
chin. He turned her in the circle of his arms and kissed her. Then
he put his forehead to hers.

"I didn't leave you."

She sighed. "I overreacted."

His smile took her breath away. "You
did."

She put her hands on his chest and tucked her
head into the curve of his shoulder. They stayed that way for a
while, content in their silence.

Gradually, she realized they were moving.
Dancing to an unheard melody. In another moment, she heard first
his soft hum, then the words as he sang to her.

"Oh, the summer time is coming, and the
leaves are swift returning. And the wild mountain thyme grows along
the blooming heather..."

Slowly, they danced, Claire safe and warm in
the circle of Malcolm's arms. He kissed her again, with a hunger
she matched immediately. She walked him backwards toward the living
room, then turned to go through the arched doorway beyond. Heavy
draperies provided privacy for the room, which had been originally
been a dining room. She pushed him through the thick fall of fabric
and it slid across them like hands welcoming them in.

Claire pushed Malcolm backward to the house's
only queen-sized bed. She stopped when his knees hit the mattress.
The kisses had become fiercer, more desperate, with tongues meeting
and twisting, dancing in a mirror of how they had danced a few
moments before.

Claire put her hands to the hem of Malcolm's
T-shirt and pulled the cloth free of his waistband. It was over his
head in a second, tossed to the floor in another, and in one more
she had her palms pressed flat to the smooth skin of his chest. His
nipples pebbled tightly beneath her palms. His skin was hot. She
twisted her wrists to point her fingers downward and slid her hands
to the tautness of his belly. The line of hair, darker than on his
head, tickled her fingers.

Her hands found his snap and zipper. She
opened them and pushed his pants over his hips. She stepped between
his knees and pushed the pants all the way to the floor. She was
urgent, yet everything seemed to be moving in slow motion, like a
dream.

If this was a dream, it was one she didn't
want to wake from. Claire pressed herself against his lean body.
His cock rose between them, hotter than his chest even through the
layers of material from his boxer briefs and her sundress. All at
once, it became unbearable to have anything between them.

Without leaving his mouth, Claire got rid of
the briefs the way she had the pants. Then she pushed him back.
Together, they fell onto the bed. Before she straddled him on her
knees, she struggled out of her panties. His hand pulled her dress
into accordion folds at her waist, and she seated herself on his
penis, their mouths still joined as intimately as their bodies.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Her clit
pressed against the ridges of his belly, while his cock stretched
her so deliciously, Claire thought she might come from that
pleasure alone.

Malcolm's hands slid down to cup her ass, but
he didn't urge her to move. He stroked her skin, which drove her
wild. Their mouths still locked, Claire rolled her hips. She rocked
gently and pressed her clit further against him. Up and down,
barely moving, then in a small, tight circle that had him pulsing
inside her while her clitoris throbbed in time with her
heartbeat.

Claire left the bliss of his mouth for the
greater ecstasy of freedom of movement. She sat up. Her hair fell
down, across her back and shoulders, but her dress and sweatshirt
blocked the sensual touch. She fisted the material at her hips and
pulled dress and sweatshirt off together, then threw them to the
floor. Now the tickling of her hair on her skin felt like fingers
touching and caressing her, and Claire let her head loll back.

"You're beautiful."

His voice, the softly lilting brogue, brought
her back to herself. Claire opened her eyes to stare down at him.
She touched his cheek. "I've waited a long time to hear you say
that."

"Not as long as I've waited to say it." He
put his hands on her hips and slid them upward to the sheer nylon
of her bra. Malcolm thumbed her nipples until they stood out like
buttons.