Waterlocked
Page 6
He started at the back of her knee, trailing his tongue up and over the inside of her thigh as he whispered, “Smuggling, eh?”
Gemma let out a slow breath. “It’s been a problem for years. But it’s gotten worse in the last six months or so, from what I’ve been able to find out.”
He bent down, flicking his tongue for a quick taste before he continued up the crease of her thigh, circling her navel as he murmured, “Then why hasn’t she come to us before? Leonor knows we have shared interest along that coast.”
She grasped his head as he bent to lick first one breast, then the other. “No woman wants to appear weak. Certainly, not to her allies or those under her aegis.”
Terry reached down, positioning himself at her center as he kissed her and drove in with one hard stroke. “Is that so?” He held still for a moment, until the haze cleared from her eyes and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Yes,” she moaned. “That’s so.”
He began a slow, steady rhythm, a maddening one he knew would drive her out of her mind. Whatever problems his heart faced, in his bed, Terry had always known how to master her. He was an ardent pupil of Gemma’s pleasure, an expert at reading her body, even if he couldn’t read her mind. He locked his eyes with hers as she tried to push him to move faster.
Terry smothered a smile. It was a night for scheming, and he had plans of his own.
“Gemma, luv?”
“Yes!” She clutched at his neck, arching closer as he lifted the small of her back to change the angle.
“It seems as if our lives are about to get more complicated.”
“I… agree. There, right there.”
“Is that so?” He slowed and bent down to kiss along her collarbone as she gave a tortured moan. “It seems like it might be best to get a few things taken care of then. Before things get… distracting.” He circled his hips in a practiced motion he knew she loved. Particularly when he was slow.
“Take care of… things. Yes. Good idea.” Her tension was building again; he could feel it in every nerve as she clutched him closer.
Terry let his mind drift to the pure pleasure of their joining. The one place they had always made sense. Maybe it wasn’t clear to her, but Terry knew with every drop of his immortal blood. Gemma Melcombe was the love of his life, the only woman he had ever wanted with this kind of fierce desire. And he didn’t just love her, he needed her. More, he needed her to love him back. He wanted it with the same burning ambition that had caused him to seize power when others hesitated.
And Terrance Ramsay got what he wanted.
“Gemma,” he groaned, forcing himself to slow again.
“What?” She ground her hips into his and dug angry fingers into his biceps.
He pressed his body down until they lay, skin to skin. His hands framed her face and he stared into her eyes as he thrust slowly. They moved in sync, and the water in the room drew to his skin. His amnis caressed hers, twining around her limbs.
“Marry me, Gemma.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve already said yes.”
He could see tears in the corners of her eyes, the pleasure held at bay for too many torturous minutes.
“Next week?”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
He ground into her and his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. She cried out in surprise as he captured her lips again, swallowing the groan that wanted to escape his lips. “Marry me next week. I’m tired of waiting.” And so are you, my love.
“Next week?” He could see her trying to object, so he pushed up and drove into her with another hard stoke. Her back arched in pleasure as she cried out.
“Yes. Next week.” Sweet lord, he was about to explode. He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on her face. There it was. The hitch in her throat. The quiet gasping breath. He could hear the rush of the blood in her veins. “Yes, Gemma?”
“Yes.” She let out a harsh breath as the tension drove her to the edge.
“Yes?” He wasn’t quite sure what he was asking at that point, but a ‘yes’ from Gemma in his bed was never a bad thing.
Her eyes rolled back. “Yes!”
“Oh yes.” His hips thrust one more time as he felt her climax with a spectacular scream. It shattered the last of his control, and he let himself come with a shout, closing his eyes and letting the amnis spark around their bodies. He slowed, then bent down to whisper a kiss across her mouth. It was slack with pleasure as he rolled to the side and curled his body around hers, trailing his lips along her shoulders, which were damp with water from his power. Finally, hidden from her keen eyes, he let himself grin.
Gotcha.
Chapter Two
“Gemma, the plans for the new shelter need approval from the architectural firm.”
She nodded at her assistant, still paging through the proposal from the charity in Birmingham that was petitioning for funds. “Put them on my desk, Mina. Then call Carl. He had some questions about security matters for the… wedding.”
“Of course.” She pretended not to notice the satisfied smile on Wilhelmina’s face. She’d employed the woman for almost thirty years and had utter and complete faith in her professionally. She was also probably the closest thing that Gemma had to a friend. Her sisters, Deirdre and Isabel—as close as they were—did not count. “Have you finished your shopping? How about your dress?”
Gemma let out a slow breath. “It’s been a problem for years. But it’s gotten worse in the last six months or so, from what I’ve been able to find out.”
He bent down, flicking his tongue for a quick taste before he continued up the crease of her thigh, circling her navel as he murmured, “Then why hasn’t she come to us before? Leonor knows we have shared interest along that coast.”
She grasped his head as he bent to lick first one breast, then the other. “No woman wants to appear weak. Certainly, not to her allies or those under her aegis.”
Terry reached down, positioning himself at her center as he kissed her and drove in with one hard stroke. “Is that so?” He held still for a moment, until the haze cleared from her eyes and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Yes,” she moaned. “That’s so.”
He began a slow, steady rhythm, a maddening one he knew would drive her out of her mind. Whatever problems his heart faced, in his bed, Terry had always known how to master her. He was an ardent pupil of Gemma’s pleasure, an expert at reading her body, even if he couldn’t read her mind. He locked his eyes with hers as she tried to push him to move faster.
Terry smothered a smile. It was a night for scheming, and he had plans of his own.
“Gemma, luv?”
“Yes!” She clutched at his neck, arching closer as he lifted the small of her back to change the angle.
“It seems as if our lives are about to get more complicated.”
“I… agree. There, right there.”
“Is that so?” He slowed and bent down to kiss along her collarbone as she gave a tortured moan. “It seems like it might be best to get a few things taken care of then. Before things get… distracting.” He circled his hips in a practiced motion he knew she loved. Particularly when he was slow.
“Take care of… things. Yes. Good idea.” Her tension was building again; he could feel it in every nerve as she clutched him closer.
Terry let his mind drift to the pure pleasure of their joining. The one place they had always made sense. Maybe it wasn’t clear to her, but Terry knew with every drop of his immortal blood. Gemma Melcombe was the love of his life, the only woman he had ever wanted with this kind of fierce desire. And he didn’t just love her, he needed her. More, he needed her to love him back. He wanted it with the same burning ambition that had caused him to seize power when others hesitated.
And Terrance Ramsay got what he wanted.
“Gemma,” he groaned, forcing himself to slow again.
“What?” She ground her hips into his and dug angry fingers into his biceps.
He pressed his body down until they lay, skin to skin. His hands framed her face and he stared into her eyes as he thrust slowly. They moved in sync, and the water in the room drew to his skin. His amnis caressed hers, twining around her limbs.
“Marry me, Gemma.”
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve already said yes.”
He could see tears in the corners of her eyes, the pleasure held at bay for too many torturous minutes.
“Next week?”
She blinked rapidly. “What?”
He ground into her and his hand tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. She cried out in surprise as he captured her lips again, swallowing the groan that wanted to escape his lips. “Marry me next week. I’m tired of waiting.” And so are you, my love.
“Next week?” He could see her trying to object, so he pushed up and drove into her with another hard stoke. Her back arched in pleasure as she cried out.
“Yes. Next week.” Sweet lord, he was about to explode. He clenched his jaw, keeping his eyes locked on her face. There it was. The hitch in her throat. The quiet gasping breath. He could hear the rush of the blood in her veins. “Yes, Gemma?”
“Yes.” She let out a harsh breath as the tension drove her to the edge.
“Yes?” He wasn’t quite sure what he was asking at that point, but a ‘yes’ from Gemma in his bed was never a bad thing.
Her eyes rolled back. “Yes!”
“Oh yes.” His hips thrust one more time as he felt her climax with a spectacular scream. It shattered the last of his control, and he let himself come with a shout, closing his eyes and letting the amnis spark around their bodies. He slowed, then bent down to whisper a kiss across her mouth. It was slack with pleasure as he rolled to the side and curled his body around hers, trailing his lips along her shoulders, which were damp with water from his power. Finally, hidden from her keen eyes, he let himself grin.
Gotcha.
Chapter Two
“Gemma, the plans for the new shelter need approval from the architectural firm.”
She nodded at her assistant, still paging through the proposal from the charity in Birmingham that was petitioning for funds. “Put them on my desk, Mina. Then call Carl. He had some questions about security matters for the… wedding.”
“Of course.” She pretended not to notice the satisfied smile on Wilhelmina’s face. She’d employed the woman for almost thirty years and had utter and complete faith in her professionally. She was also probably the closest thing that Gemma had to a friend. Her sisters, Deirdre and Isabel—as close as they were—did not count. “Have you finished your shopping? How about your dress?”
