Castle in the Sand (4 page)

Claire undid the hooks, then shrugged out of
the filmy material. She took Malcolm's hands and put them back on
her breasts. Cupping them, he tweaked her nipples again in a way
that made the breath catch in her throat.

Claire began to move. She lifted herself with
the strength of her thighs along the length of his shaft. She
rolled her hips to take him as deep inside her as she could. They
fit perfectly. Hand in glove, cock in cunt, the last two pieces of
a puzzle that had taken too long to put together.

Malcolm thrust beneath her. Though she could
move better this way, she did miss the direct pressure on her clit.
As though he'd read her mind, Malcolm slid his hand between them so
his thumb could press against her.

She came at once, a rippling tremor that made
her belly and thigh muscles jump as her vagina contracted around
his penis. He circled her bud with his thumb and sent another shock
wave through her. She ground herself on his cock, helpless to do
anything but follow the urgency between her legs. Again she came, a
milder burst of sensation that nevertheless made her cry out
loud.

In the aftermath her clit was too sensitive,
and she grabbed his hand to move it away. Malcolm twined his
fingers through hers, so their hands were palm to palm. Claire
looked down at him, then at their hands. Yes. This is right.

He closed his eyes as she rocked on him. His
jaw clenched as though he were in pain, but she knew better. The
sight of his arousal stoked her own, until an incredible fourth
climax built inside her and burst at the same moment she felt his
entire body tense beneath her.

His cock shuddered inside her, and Malcolm
let out a low, gutteral moan. "Claire!"

His hand bore down on hers so hard it would
have hurt had the ecstasy racing through her not blocked out
everything else. His other hand held bruising-tight to her hip as
he guided her through one more stroke, two, three...and then he
slammed his hips upward until his penis hit the entrance to her
womb and his seed filled her.

Claire fell forward, her hair a curtain
around both of them. She kissed him. Tasted more salt, this time
sweat. She slid off him and moved to his side, where she curled
against him and gathered the warmth of his body around her like a
blanket.

* * * *

This time, Claire was the one to slip out of
the bed first. The sun had already found the sky when she left him
sleeping, the soft, gentle snoring still as familiar to her as the
sound of her own voice. She went to the long but narrow bathroom
and ran the shower as hot as it would run. Steam quickly clouded
the mirror, but that was all right. She didn't need to see her face
to know she wore what Dale had always called the FFG. "Freshly
Fucked Glow."

I've been well and thoroughly fucked, not
just freshly, Claire thought with a grin as she stepped into the
curtained enclosure. The hot water helped to chase away the chill
she'd felt since leaving Malcolm's side. She reached for the bottle
of scented body wash settled into the wire basket hanging from the
ceiling. It smelled like ginseng and orange and was supposed to
"make your body come alive," according to the blurb on the back of
the bottle. She didn't know about that, but it did smell good.

She squirted a generous amount onto her net
sponge and began to cover all the places that were still glowing.
Her body ached pleasantly in a dozen places, and between her legs
she was downright sore. She touched herself there and thought of
Malcolm's hands on her, and the soreness dissipated at the memory
of his tongue against her clit.

She washed her hair with shampoo that matched
the body wash, and reveled for a moment in the delicious scented
soap. She loved the smell of citrus. A thought tickled the back of
her mind, but slipped away when she tried to grab it. Something
about the soap, something about the shampoo? Something about the
smell reminded her of something, but she couldn't quite put her
finger on what.

"Good morning, sunshine!"

She jumped a little and the almost-memory
fled. She peeked out around the shower curtain at Malcolm, bare as
birth and just as unashamed. He used the toilet, and she admired
the taut curve of his buttocks and thighs. He turned and caught her
staring.

"Like what you see?"

He waggled his eyebrows, then his hips and
she started to laugh. Whatever had been troubling her thoughts
disappeared as neatly as if she'd stuffed them in a trashcan. She
laughed even harder when he whipped open the shower curtain and got
in with her.

"There's not enough room in here for two,"
she mock-scolded.

"No?" He looked around in pretend surprise,
then took her into his arms and pulled her against him. "What about
if we stand verra, verra close together?"

She tilted her head so he could kiss her.
"Mmm. That might work."

His tongue made a slow, leisurely exploration
of her mouth before he nibbled on her lips and nuzzled her neck.
"You're all slippery."

He moved his hand from her back to between
her legs. "Especially here."

She drew in her breath with a hiss as his
fingers grazed her clit, then slid along her folds. "I wonder
why?"

Malcolm's eyes looked green now, like an
emerald covered in dust. "Let's think about that, shall we?"

His kissed her again while the spray poured
down over both of them. His fingers tweaked her already swollen
clit and she gasped inside his mouth. Her hands gripped his
shoulders. He lifted her leg to pull her even closer against him.
His cock took the place of his hand, and she rubbed her clit on his
erection.

The shower really wasn't large enough for
both of them. Malcolm's elbow rapped the tile wall when he turned
her, and he muttered a hearty, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" as Claire
laughed and made him kiss her again.

"Ignore it," she told him. "The hot water
won't last forever, you know."

"Think we can be quick enough about our
business?"

His grin made her knees weak.

Looking at that smile, Claire thought their
business could be very quick indeed. Already she felt the first
pulses of climax building in her nipples and clit. "I don't know,
lover. How fast can I make you come?"

His pupils grew large and dark at her words
and he licked his lips. Before he had time to answer, she went to
her knees in front of him. She cupped his testicles in her hand.
She tilted her head to take the length of him down her throat. She
closed her eyes against the wash of water as it sluiced over
her.

He filled her. She sucked him, down to the
base then out to the tip, where she swirled her tongue along the
rim of his penis. His cock thickened in her mouth, and beat a
tattoo on her tongue and the insides of her cheeks.

Malcolm put his hands on Claire's head. He
pulled the sopping hair away from her face off her cheeks and away
from her lips. She put her hands on his hips to help guide the
pace. His thighs bunched against her breasts in evidence of the
strain he was taking not to thrust into her too deeply. Not to
choke her. She was grateful for the small courtesies, a reminder of
how much she had once loved him and the reasons why.

She let one hand creep down between her legs
to slip and slide across the top of her clitoris. It thrummed under
her touch. It had grown impossibly huge, turgid, like a small cock
of her own. She stroked it between her fingers like it was a cock.
Up and down, the same rhythm she was using on Malcolm. The pace
quickened. His hips began to move, and she no longer tried to stop
him from thrusting so deeply into her. Claire fucked herself with
her fingers, close to coming, ready to explode.

She toppled over the edge just as Malcolm's
hand twisted painfully in her hair. He let out a low cry. His body
shuddered against her. The sound of his climax made a second,
smaller orgasm ripple through her. He tasted like the ocean.After
that, it took only a moment to realize two things. Her knees hurt
badly and the water was turning cold. It seemed impossible to her
that she could ever be cold in Malcolm's embrace, but Claire knew
if they didn't get out soon, they'd be frozen in minutes. He helped
her to her feet and kissed her while the water rinsed the taste of
him from her mouth.

"You didn't wash yourself," she said. "Here.
Use my--"

Her fingers twitched on the bottle.

"Claire?"

She tilted her head to look at the hanging
basket and the bottles inside it. Something about the scent...not
of ginger and orange. Something else.

"Claire, love, are you all right?"

She reached for the bottle of body wash, but
her fingers curved on air instead of plastic. She couldn't recall
bringing any soap with her. Or anything at all, for that matter.
She drew back her hand without grabbing the bottle.

"Fine." She got out of the shower and toweled
off quickly. She dressed in a pair of fleecy sweatpants and her
college sweatshirt, added socks, then padded from the bathroom
while combing her hair.

The pervasive chill that had been briefly
vanquished by the hot shower and Malcolm's kisses crept back.
Claire went to the large bay window in the living room and looked
out to the gray sky above. It wasn't raining. Just gray. Like her
sudden mood.

"Won't it ever get warm?" she cried
grumpily.

"Ah, don't complain." Malcolm, clad only in a
towel, sauntered to the window and looked over her shoulder. He
slipped his arms around her waist. "Gives us an excuse to stay
inside and make out on the couch while we watch old movies."

His words didn't do much to cheer her. Claire
turned and pressed her face to his bare chest, still damp from the
shower. He nuzzled her neck.

Some things change.

And some things don't.

Again, the words echoed in her mind, but no
matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn't figure out what they
meant.

* * * *

Claire slid the omelet and toast onto a plate
and called over her shoulder. "Breakfast!"

She turned to put the plate on the table and
jumped, hand over her heart. "You scared the life out of me!"

She put the plate in front of him and bent
closer to peer into Malcolm's eyes. "You don't look good. Are you
all right?"

"I'm fine."

Concerned, she put her hand to his forehead.
"You're on fire! You must have a fever. You should go--" He reached
up and arrested her hand with his, then brought it to his lips and
kissed it. Today his eyes were gray with matching shadows beneath.
"I've no fever, Claire. Don't worry about it."

Claire took the seat across from him, her
hand still captured in his. "Then what's wrong? You look sick."

He shook his head in reply. "Every
day..."

"Every day what?" Claire asked when he didn't
go further. "What's wrong? Can't you tell me?"

His look was naked in its sincerity. "Do you
love me, Claire?"

She sat back in her chair. "Of course I do.
You know I do. Haven't I always?"

Malcolm's face dropped into his hands and he
sobbed. Alarmed because she had no idea what she'd done to so upset
him, Claire got up and put her arms around him. His shoulders
heaved. His tears wet the thin cotton of her T-shirt. His face
worked against her throat. She held him as tightly as she could,
not knowing what had caused his pain, but wanting to take it
away.

"Tell me what's wrong? Please?"

He only gripped her more fiercely. Claire
smoothed his hair and pressed her cheek to the top of his head.
"Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

That made him lift his head. His gray eyes
were now rimmed with red. He looked haggard. The scruff of his
beard showed glints of silver, and Claire had to blink to be
certain her eyes weren't deceiving her. Surely those stray strands
must be blond?

"I love you." She touched her finger to his
lips. "It'll be all right."

Then, because she didn't know what else to
do, she kissed him. He met her lips with an urgency that unnerved
her at first, but as his tongue quested inside her mouth, Claire's
anxiety vanished. Malcolm's mouth on hers felt too delicious. She
was swept up again in her love for him. In her lust for him. She'd
never loved anyone more in her life, or wanted another man so much.
His smile, his touch, the sound of his voice was enough to have her
wet and ready. Now she discovered his tears could have the same
affect.

Claire moved around in front of him until she
could sit on his lap. She put her hands on either side of his head
as she kissed him. Her fingers played in his soft, sand-colored
curls. Delicately, she traced the rims of his ears, down to the
soft lobes and the cool metal of the tiny gold hoop he wore in one
of them. She passed her fingers down his jaw to his chin, beneath
their kisses, then further down the smooth passage of his throat to
his collarbone. She slipped her hands inside the open collar of his
shirt then up again, to the back of his neck. All the while,
kissing.