The Virginity Mission (8 page)

Does that mean he's not with Fiona? A smile creeps across my lips. Happiness begins to bubble inside me. There's no time for clarification. A lull in the guys' conversation brings a huge silence. I can't ask more, someone might hear.

“Damien, how come you guys got out of your walk so quickly? I thought you were saying twenty days?” Jason's voice breaks the silence. Sam leaves to join the dancers.

“I don't know. The last two days we covered a hell of a lot of ground. The pace picked up.”

“You smelled the finish line and hiked it?”

“Something like that.” Damien shrugs and looks at me. “Was it easier going at the end, Mac?”

“None of it seemed easy to me.” I'm not going to admit I pushed myself to breaking point at the end, not to Damien. My exhaustion may explain my desolation when Jason wasn't here and my overreaction to Fiona. Or am I clutching at excuses?

“I bet it wasn't that bad.” Jason laughs and pokes a foot into my leg. I roll my eyes.

“It sure wasn't easy.” Damien's admission is a relief. I thought the boys weren't as pushed as the girls but as he tells Jason about the trip, discussing the terrain, the difficulties we had especially with the maps and the rationing of food, it's different things that stretched their limits. I occasionally add to the discussion if something's directed at me, but mostly amuse myself watching Jason's face.

He tries to keep his attention on Damien. He's fighting with himself—almost turning his eyes to me then flicking them back. Sometimes, if Damien says something odd, Jason glances at me and his lips twitch, like he wants my confirmation or opinion. He looks like a man interested in me. But no sooner do I think that, then his eyes flick to Fiona and I'm not sure of myself. His looks at Fiona are dark and intense. I can't decode them. Something isn't right but it doesn't look like I'll find out tonight.

The evening draws late, the music's too loud and has to stop. The party breaks up. I'm taken, Belinda on one arm, Fiona the other, back to our site. It's as if they're making sure I leave Jason. That's the last thing I want and Belinda is sharing my tent, having given hers to Fiona. I'm not alone. I have no hope of finding Jason tonight and I wonder if I ever will. At least I tried to talk to him. And I threw him a desperate look over my shoulder as I was dragged away. His smile and wave warmed my heart.

Fiona stays for four more torturous nights. She seems to have a sixth sense about me finding Jason alone. Each time I get there, the whole team arrives. Frustrating doesn't go close to describing it. He gives a twisted smile, maybe a wink. I silently seethe.

During the day, she's funny and we manage to get along quite well. It's the nights where she drives me insane and I can't ask what she's about without showing I like him, and I'm not about to do that. As assistant QM, she's on the expedition leadership team, so won't approve. She'll be enforcing the rules. Rules I can't be seen breaking. Besides, I'm uncertain about this sex/relationship stuff. I think he likes me but how can I be sure? Until I'm sure, no one's going to know I'm interested. I'm not exposing myself to ridicule.

Finally, Neil arrives and takes Fiona away with him. Never have I been so relieved to see someone go. Sure she's been fun but there are undercurrents around her, like she's constantly spying.

The night after Fiona has gone is quiet and lazy. After dinner, the eight of us lie in a row in the grass watching flying foxes swoop over the campsite. Jason's here. Tonight he hasn't left right after dinner. He's lying beside me in the line. When everyone's lying still and the light isn't on us, our fingers brush against each other and sometimes interlace. If anyone moves, our hands whip back beside us. It's thrilling to be so close to him, to know he wants me. As much as I love lying here chatting, I wish everyone would go to bed.

After tiring of flying foxes and stars, the group decides to go to the caravan park pool for a late evening swim. Swimming takes too much effort so the lazy ones, that's how we freely describe ourselves, pile into the spa—me, Annie, Harry and Jason. It's heaven to lie back with the gurgling swirl of water flowing over my still aching muscles. All day we're jumping between mangrove roots and boats which must use completely different muscles to scaling hills. Mangrove root jumping causes a bit of the rock-hopping fear and adding the crocodile-lying-in-wait-beneath-you fear, I'm jumping pretty well, with adrenalin surging constantly.

I'm across the spa from Jason. I tried to be beside him so I could link my hand in his but it didn't work out. He took his singlet off before he slid into the spa and all that expanse of chest had me gaping, even in the half light. Gaping made me miss my chance of sitting beside him. I may not be able to hold hands but I can look my fill. His eyes are half-closed and heavy lidded. He looks asleep and he's gorgeous. His forehead is broad and high, enhanced by the military buzz cut. His hair has grown in the past three weeks so it's no longer cropped close but almost long enough to bend over. I bet I could run my fingers through it and feel it move between them rather than beneath. His strong jaw makes his chin jut and I want to skim my fingers along each stubbled hair until they meet at his chin. I want to taste those lips again. I want to lose myself in his kiss. But there are people. Always people.

Annie and Harry are talking. They keep trying to draw me in to their conversation and it's interrupting my fantasies. I wish they'd leave but it doesn't look like they're leaving anytime soon.

Watching Jason is sheer pleasure. The top of his chest and upwards is all that's visible but it's keeping me occupied. His uninterrupted, huge breadth of shoulders, rounding to strong arms has my stomach turning to mush. I wish I could see more. My gaze roams freely over his face. There's no embarrassment when he's not looking. He has tiny lines at the corners of his lips and eyes. A small bump in the middle of his nose. A tiny scar at the point of his chin. But the most arousing thing is the dark stubble running along his jaw, across his top lip, and over his cheeks. I can almost feel the roughness beneath my fingertips as I dream of touching him. My fingers itch to reach over to him.

A foot brushes my ankle. I move my leg, thinking I'm in the way. Moments later, the foot grazes my calf. I jolt. Jason's still asleep. I'm completely puzzled. Annie and Harry haven't paused in their conversation and neither look like they're moving. Whose foot is it?

The foot strokes my leg again, sending goose bumps over all my skin. Surely it isn't for me? Is it?

My heart's paused but ready to gallop in an instant. Every muscle is tense. I look at Jason again. His eyes are still half closed but from under heavy lids he meets my gaze. He smiles. His gaze is deep heated passion.

Oh. My. God.

He looks half asleep yet he has me more awake and alive than I've ever felt. Did I read that gaze right?

The spa stops. The foot is gone before the bubbles subside.

Harry stands up and climbs out. “I'm out of here guys. Do you want me to push the button again?”

Annie and I answer together. I say yes, she says no. We laugh. Annie stands and lifts herself out. “I'll leave you to it,” she says as she presses the button and the bubbles resume.

Finally.

I am alone with Jason.

The swimmers have left. There's no one here but us. My pulse is erratic. My breathing no better. I think I need to pee.

His foot moves along my leg, stroking slowly, softly. Forget peeing. I'm not moving. Every cell in my body focuses on that foot stroking my calf. Nothing has ever felt so erotic. His toes run along my calf, dip beside my knee and move higher to slip between my thighs. I offer no objection. I'm incapable of anything but savouring.

I'm so hot I could heat the spa on my own. I should be erupting from the water like the bubbles. I'm delirious from his touch. I lay my head back on the side of the spa and soak up every swirl of water, every brush of his foot, every moment of silence, every tingle in my body.

A noise drifts across the spa, over the gurgling swirl of bubbles and the vibration of the motor. It's a sound of intense pleasure. A moan full of lusting promise. I look up at Jason and he's smiling. I'm making the noise.
Oh my God. I'm moaning.

His foot slips away and he moves across the spa, coming closer to me. Lying on top of me, he's weightless. The water holds us cocooned. His hand slips between my legs and touches my inner thigh. A shudder ripples through me. His hand strokes, inflames, soothes. I'm under his spell. The world ends where his body does. I'm focussed only on him. His breath touches my mouth. I draw in that breath, hungry to taste him. His lips meet mine. A gentle touch of flesh against flesh. But it seems to ignite us. Our lips open together, heads move, the angle changes and our kiss suddenly devours. Days of waiting erupt into frenzy. I want everything. I want to lose myself in him. I want to know it all. I want sex and I want it now.

He pulls back a touch, slides his body a few inches away from mine and softens the demand of his lips. Everything slows.

Lips move against one another, breaths intermingle, bodies move closer. The passion builds again. My hands become more daring, gliding over his chest exploring muscles. His hand cups my breast through my one-piece swimmers. He rolls my nipple between his finger and thumb, making me arch and open my mouth to his darting tongue. I suck on his tongue loving how his taste fills my mouth. My breasts swell under his touch. They feel larger, womanly. I arch against him, rubbing my body against his, my mouth trapped in the pleasure of his and I'm going to burst.

He slides his hand over my stomach, eases the kiss to soft nibbles against my lips before pulling back and staring at me with a soul consuming stare that scares me. I think he's going to stop, even though he told me before we wouldn't be. But his gaze is too intense to be stopping. He breaks the heated gaze and his lips drop to mine, kissing me almost reverently. The kiss builds in power again. Mouths open, tongues lapping then lashing and we're devouring each other again. His fingers close around my nipple, tweaking until I pull away from the kiss, moaning his name in my need for more. He pulls back again, until our bodies no longer touch. The fever cools. The water swirls around me. His look sears me and then he leans down and his lips graze mine, again. The cycle of burning need continues.

Instinct drives me. I follow where he leads. Since he's touching my nipples, I explore his smaller ones, rubbing them with the pad of my finger, flicking them, my nail scratches over the top. When his hands stroke down my arms, my hands splay over honed muscles. The journey across his chest is joy for my palms and then fingertips. The exploration of his shoulders, collarbones, arms and neck are pure bliss. At times I bathe in the glory of his touch, other times I'm the one touching. I hope my touch is as decadent as his. His touch heats me to the point where I could combust. Touching and kissing are burning me alive. Our time alone is an inferno. We've smouldered for so long, we're blazing. Sitting in a pool of water, I'm on fire.

I can hardly believe this is happening. What a turnaround from a few days ago. I thought I'd never have sex, or Jason, and now I'm hopeful on both counts.

This time when our kissing slows and Jason stares at me, his gaze drifts across my face, over my neck and stops at my breasts. My breath lodges about where his gaze is. Fingertips stroke my shoulders before sliding my swimmers' straps over them. I don't stop him. I don't hesitate. I revel in the heated darkening of his eyes, the widening of them that I hope shows his interest, the crinkles at the edge deepening with his smile. I suppose I should be shy and hesitant but there's no way I can. I've waited too long for this.

His fingers are gentle as he peels my swimmers to my waist. His head dips so I can no longer read his expressions. Tepid water slides like silk across my tight nipples. I look down to see my breasts floating like pale globes. Jason's hands swirl the water around them. He's not yet touching, but from the heat of his hands they're close. The water parts and his hands cup both breasts. His fingers find my tight nipples. There's a sound, that's neither a scream nor a moan, and it comes from me. His flesh on mine almost undoes me. I thought it was good through lycra but hell, flesh on flesh is far better. The dark tan of his hands against my creamy paleness is arousing even without the skin contact.

He pinches and rolls my nipples, stretches them, catching each moaning scream in his mouth. I arch and rub against him, twisting away from the ache his fingers create but not enough to get away from him. I want it to stop, but I don't. I'm beyond thinking. He torments and teases. My nipples are stroked, pinched, twisted, flicked. My breasts are lifted, squeezed, kneaded and cupped. His touch liquefies me.

When I can hardly hold myself upright, he lifts me on to his lap, facing him. The cool night air rushes across my exposed, sensitised breasts. I shudder and hiss. Without waiting, he clamps his mouth over a nipple, while his hands cover my breasts. A guttural groan rises from deep inside. Hot, wet pressure. Never has anything felt so good. Each new experience is better than the last. My head whirls and sensations pound me.

He squeezes my breasts together and laps across each nipple with his tongue before the cooler air strikes and burns. When I'm sure that will kill me, he sucks them both into his mouth, rolls his tongue across them, and squeezes them tightly between his lips. His tongue is soft and rough at once. My nipples are swollen, over-sensitive and aching, yet I can't ask him to stop. I writhe on his lap. If I had any energy I'd scream but I'm focussed on my nipples and have no strength to scream.

When his mouth gentles and his hands slip to my waist, I manage a coherent thought. “That's so good.” I sound like me. I'm surprised this lust haze hasn't turned me into someone else.