Heart of Ash (6 page)

Oh, it had been nice. It had been pleasant. And there had been that bit of bliss when he’d toyed with her…down there. But then he’d climbed on top and pushed his way inside her and he’d been huge and, well, it had hurt a bit.

Maybe she’d done something wrong.

But he’d seemed to enjoy it. A lot. Huffing and grunting and howling her name.

She shouldn’t be disappointed.

If nothing else, she’d finally
done
it
.

It had to happen sometime and wouldn’t she want it to be with a man like him?

She feathered her fingers through his hair and held him close. If it was going to be anyone, she was glad it was Ash.

Because she liked him. She liked him a lot.

His kiss, his laugh, his sense of humor. The glowing aura that always seemed to surround him. Everything. She liked everything about him.

And now that she’d finally done it, on her own terms, there was nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore.

He kissed her, a brief buss, and rolled off. She gusted out a breath. He settled beside her, punching his pillow under his head so he could gaze at her. “That was great,” he said.

She smiled shyly and pulled the covers back up. “Thank you,” she said, hoping for another kiss.

But he didn’t kiss her. He rolled over, showing her his back, and punched his pillow again before settling down. Within moments, a low snore rumbled through the room.

She glared at him—only because he couldn’t see.

Seriously?

She knew she’d read far too many fairy tales as a child and far too many romances as a young girl. She knew her expectations were unrealistic and fanciful and, all right, a bit naïve.

But she had never, in the whole of her life, imagined her Prince Charming would snore.

Emily woke up in the morning feeling achy and stiff. She glanced over at Ash, to see he was still asleep. She slipped from the bed and visited the bathroom, relieved to find several wrapped toothbrushes in the cabinet.

When she was finished with her ablutions, she padded back out into the main room and found her panties in the tangle of sheets. Though she blushed at the memory of what they’d done last night, she didn’t bother with her bra.

He continued to snooze even though she made a bit of noise fixing coffee in an old metal percolator, which she set on a rack over the fire she’d built. She whipped up a batch of pancakes, cooking them on the same makeshift grill over the fire in a heavy iron skillet. It was kind of fun. Like camping, only indoors, and without all the mosquitoes.

By the time the pancakes were ready, he’d roused.

“Morning,” he mumbled, propping himself against the back of the sofa bed.

“Good morning,” she said, flipping a pancake on to a plate. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

She was thankful that he tugged on his briefs before he padded to the table. Oh, certainly they’d been wound together in the bed last night, and he’d been nearly naked then, but breakfast was another thing entirely. She didn’t think she could sit here and eat next to a man who didn’t have any underwear on. Propriety would be offended.

He took a sip of his coffee and groaned. “Excellent,” he said. “But these pancakes need syrup.”

She shrugged and cut into hers, popping a bite into her mouth. “I didn’t see any.”

He grunted and stood, heading across the room to the pantry. He bent and opened one of the lower cupboards, one she hadn’t noticed, over to the side, and pulled out a bottle of syrup. Her fork froze, halfway to her mouth. How had he known that was there?

“Have you…have you been here before?”

He stilled. “Ah… Once or twice. Do you want more coffee?”

“Please.” He brought the pot and topped off both their cups, though his was nearly full. He set the pot on the table, plopped back in his chair and wolfed down his pancakes.

“These are really good,” he said.

“There’s more.” When he glanced up at her, she smiled. “I made extra. I figured you’d be hungry.”

“Oh, I’m hungry.” His expression made it clear he wasn’t talking about pancakes. “You look cute in that big shirt.”

She blushed. “Someone popped off a button,” she said, thumbing the gaping spot. She’d buttoned it all the way up. Though they’d made love last night, she wasn’t comfortable enough around him to wander about flashing her private bits.

“Someone should have ripped off more.” His foot nudged hers under the table. She thought it was an accident, but then it made its way up her calf. Over her knee. Up her thigh.

“Ash,” she laughed, scooting back. “It’s breakfast.”

“Perfect time for it.” He waggled his brows.

“I think not,” she said primly, though she loved his playful mood. She cut a precise slice out of her pancake, doused it with syrup and popped it into her mouth. Then she licked the fork clean.

He snorted. “Do you know what that makes me want to do?”

The light in his eyes stunned her. “W-what?”

“Come here.” Even as he said the words, he reached around the table and grabbed the base of her chair, scooting her over next to him. The wood legs screeched across the floor. He pulled her onto his lap and she shifted to get comfortable. A firm bulge surged against her hip.

He yanked open her blouse, sending buttons skittering across the table. “Ash!”

“Hush.” He picked up the bottle of syrup and drizzled it over her chest.

She gasped. “Ash, you’re getting it all over me.”

He grinned. “That would be the point.” His tongue was like slick velvet as he licked the sticky substance from her breasts. And then he decorated her with more. And feasted on her again. His touch made shivers ripple over her skin. Made her shudder. Made her quake.

“Humph.” He grunted around the nipple in his mouth.

“What?”

He didn’t respond. He merely lifted her in his arms, despite her squeal, and carried her to the bed. She bounced as he tossed her on the mattress. “Hold still.”

She did not. She leaned up on her elbows and watched as he padded back to the table and grabbed the bottle. “Oh no! Oh no!”

“Oh yes.”

She tried to wriggle away, but was laughing too hard. He leaped onto the bed, held her down and kissed her. He tasted sweet and sinful.  “Hold still.”

He arranged her on the bed, and she held as still as she could…but for the quivering. When he set her arms over her head and spread the lapels of her shirt, she allowed it, but when he nudged her knees apart, she resisted. He shot her a wicked, seductive glance. “Come on, Emily. I want some more breakfast.”

“I am not breakfast—“ Her protest ended in a squeal as he dripped a healthy serving of syrup…all over her panties. “Ash!”

“Mmm. I love syrup.” He swooped in and lapped.

Every muscle clenched. “Ash.”

He lifted his head and stared at her. His jocularity melted away. Something dark and hungry flickered over his features. He lowered his head again. This time, his foray was far more deliberate. Far more intense.

He found and dabbed her sensitive center. As he teased her through the lace, heat rose in her womb. He worked her, cleaned her with diligent attention, and before long she was nearly mindless with need. She wiggled her hips. “Please,” she panted. “Please.”

The look in his eye made her quiver. He drew her panties down, opened her with his thumbs and went back to work.

She nearly came out of her skin as he traced her slit, then delved deeper, nudging the folds of her labia. When he suckled her, delicious sensation shot through to her core, sending ripples of exquisite pleasure shimmering out in waves.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Yes.” This was it. This was the bliss she’d felt last night…and more.

He slid a finger in and she winced. She hadn’t liked that much last night. Not at all.

But this… Oh. But this! Nuzzling her swollen clit, he eased in another and explored her depths. She wailed, groaned, flailed as he found a spot, over to the side that sent a dull thrum rippling through her.
More
, she thought.
More. More
.
More.

He gave her more, moving around in a hypnotizing rhythm, filling her, withdrawing, and then filling her again. Tapping that spot, scraping it, making her wild with need.

“Ash,” she panted. “Ash. Please.”

He came over her, kissing his way up, a quick, impatient journey.

She cupped his cock, annoyed at the cotton she found. He yanked his underwear down and she fisted him. Ah. He was hard and warm and smooth. She pumped his length. He gave a growl, so she did it again.

“Emily.” He adjusted his hips and nudged her center. Taking her nipple between his lips, he sucked as he pressed in.

She nearly swooned.

This was different. This was…better. So much better.

“Yes,” she cried as he lunged in, sinking deep.

He sucked in a breath as she closed around him. She tightened her muscles, testing his girth. His nostrils flared. “Shit,” he muttered. She clenched harder and he groaned. Buried his face in her hair. “Jesus.”

He yanked out—she nearly howled—but then he thrust deep again and God, it was glorious. He nudged her knees further apart and began a series of long slow slides. Each one sent her higher and higher, into some ethereal realm. She curled around him, her arms, her legs, her everything. Curled around him and clung as he worked away inside her.

Just when she thought she might scream, when she could no longer bear this agonizingly deliberate pace, his tempo increased, grew in intensity. He found that spot again and aimed for it, pounding into it with each manic thrust. And with each stroke, she lost a little of herself, spinning faster and faster, higher and higher, like a whirling dervish.

And then she spun free, sailed into space and floated, suspended in a welter of mindless rapture as absolute bliss consumed her.

She’d never known. Never imagined. Never dreamed…

He swelled inside her. Filled her even more, massaged her even more completely and, unbelievably, she shot even higher. The dam broke. Her core liquefied. A warm wet heat flooded her.

He continued moving, after the ecstasy had peaked, drawing it out, sending tingles upon tingles through her quivering body. And then he slowed. Stopped.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her with the most gentle, loving look. She smiled. He smiled back. And he kissed her. And she knew.

Yes. This was the fairy tale. This was the dream come true.

He was her Prince Charming after all.

Chapter Six

This time, when they tried to start the Jet Ski, it worked.

They’d cleaned up after their passionate tryst, putting away the sheets and folding up the bed, tidying up the pots and pans and putting things back where they’d found it. And then they’d dressed and headed back to the beach.

It was early morning; the marine layer curled over the water in a delicate mist. But it was time to go back, he said, and Emily couldn’t protest. Her friends would be worried about her, if they’d realized she was missing. She had dropped her stuff in the small bedroom in the garret, so the others might have assumed she’d gone to bed early. They might not even have noticed she hadn’t come home.

She hoped they hadn’t noticed. If she could sneak back into the house and slip into bed, it would avoid so much explaining.

Ash powered the craft back to his beach and moored it. When he cut the engine, the silence was deafening. He handed her up on to the dock and then followed. They stood there, staring at each other. She hated the awkwardness of the moment, but it was probably a moment many women had experienced.

After.

“Well,” she said.

“Well.” His gaze flickered.

“I suppose I should get back?” She hadn’t intended it as a question, but really, it was.

“Probably a good idea.” Why her mood plummeted when he agreed was a mystery. Or not. They walked to the end of the dock and stepped onto the beach.

“I…ah… Thank you for the ride.” She tried not to wince at the idiocy of her statement but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

His lips quirked. “Thank you…for the ride.” She didn’t understand his words at first, but then his meaning percolated through her brain and she colored.

“Ahem. Well. I’ll see you around this weekend?” Another question that shouldn’t have been one at all.

“Yeah,” he said. “See you around.”

And then, to her dismay, he shoved his hands in his pockets, spun on his heel and headed up the path to his place.

Okay. She hadn’t expected a declaration of undying love. But a kiss would have been nice. Or a hug. Or a smile. Something.

She hated that she watched until he disappeared from view. She should have turned away, just as he had, and gone straight home instead of mooning after him like some lovelorn calf.

She grimaced when she realized she’d left her hat at the cabin.

Damn it all. It was her favorite hat.

Surely that was why tears pricked at her lashes.

That and nothing else.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bella bellowed as Emily opened the back door.

So much for slipping in unnoticed. They were all there in the kitchen, Holt and Bella and Kaitlin and Jamie and Tara. It was like the cast of
Ben Hur
in that kitchen. “I went to your room this morning and your bed hadn’t been slept in.”

“I told you she was safe,” Kaitlin murmured.

“Damn it Emily,” Bella’s voice rose into a wail. “We’ve been worried sick.”

Emily winced. She disliked yelling. Did not allow it in her classroom. And Bella could really yell. “I’m sorry. Ash took me out for a ride on his Jet Ski last night—”

“Last night?” Tara parroted.

Bella’s nose curled. “Ash?”

“And the motor conked out.”

Holt bristled. “The motor conked out?”

“We-we had to spend the night on the island.” A blush crept up her cheeks.

“You had to spend the night on the island?” This, Holt ground through his teeth.

“It was getting dark. And it’s too far to swim back. And the tide was going out…” Ooh. She didn’t like the feral glint in his eyes. His muscles bunched, even when Bella set a hand on his arm. “There’s a cabin there,” she finished lamely.