Windstar (16 page)

She turned her head so she was looking into his eyes. “Just so you know,” she said, holding his gaze. “If it does, there won’t be a third chance, Boss Man. I mean that.”

“It won’t happen again,” he repeated. “I was in hell without you, Angie. Nothing and no one is worth my losing you for good.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have believed him but she did. His heart was in his green gaze. She eased her leg off the side of the hammock and stood up, steadying the canvas so he could get up, as well. She reached for his hand, took it in hers, and then started into the house, leading him to their bedroom.

“You gonna have your wicked way with me now, wench?” he asked in his little boy tone of eagerness that never failed to make her laugh.

“Yeah, Stud Muffin,” she replied. “I’m gonna do terrible things to your dangly.”

“All right!” he said, pumping his fist in the air.

In the bedroom, she turned to face him and put her hand on the buttons of his black cotton shirt. He favored dark clothing and black shirts and black pants had become his trademark on every talk show he did. Slowly, she unbuttoned the shirt then pushed it over his broad shoulders and down his muscular arms, allowing it to drop to the floor. Placing her palms flat on his hairy chest, she caressed his pecs.

“You like to do that, don’t you, wench?” he asked with a wide grin.

“Not as much as you like me to do this,” she said and bent her head to take his nipple into her mouth. She heard him groan and knew he had thrown his head back. He bit him gently and felt his entire body shudder.

“I’ll give you an hour to stop that,” he growled.

She unclasped the waistband of his pants and pushed them down and as she did, his cock jutted out to greet her. Slipping to her knees to tug the pants down, she took him into her mouth and began to draw upon his staff. His hands threaded her hair as she suckled him and ran her tongue up and down his length and across his sac.

He stepped back from her and kicked his pants off, took her shoulders and pulled her up. He tugged the cotton lounging dress she wore over her head, pushed her panties down, and then climbed onto the bed, drawing her with him.

Angela couldn’t take her eyes from the red scar on his flesh where they had removed his ruptured spleen. She worried that he wasn’t up to full strength, but when he pulled her under him and slid atop her, all other thoughts fled from her mine.

“You belong to me, wench,” he said in that husky voice. “I want you to know that always.”

The lovemaking was sweeter than it had ever been. He was gentle with her yet guided her through the most intricate and intense experience she had yet to have with him. His hands gave her so much pleasure she could barely breathe and his mouth and body stirred her to heights of passion she had only imagined. It was almost as though he was worshipping her with his beautiful body and his sensuous voice and would brook nothing but perfection for her.

Angela knew it was also his way of apologizing to her as only he could and a reassurance that he would never again risk losing her.

“I love you,” he told her as he slid that wonderfully delicious cock deep inside her. “With all my being I love you. You are my blood, my life.”

Angela wrapped her legs around him and as the gentle rhythm of their lovemaking became more powerful, more thrusting, the sweet, wild monkey sex he loved to give her rushing toward pure bliss, she put her arms around him and held him tight. The first spasm shook her, caught him to carry him along with her into sheer earthly delight.

“I love you, too, Boss Man,” she whispered to him as they both fell headlong into the throbbing, pulsing, gripping release of passion.

He was--and always would be--the love of her life, her WindStar, her glorious Rory John.

The End