Page 79 of Take Me Away

A prayer.

My mouth is on hers, her lips opening beneath mine, letting me in, a warm stroke of her tongue as she twines her fingers into my hair. I groan and stumble further into the cottage so I can kick the door closed with my booted foot.

I can’t get close enough. Warm enough. The frost that’s been living within me is seeking out the warmth of her. Our tongues slide, I tilt her head back so I can reach in further, tasting every stroke. Her chest rises and falls, pushing the shape of her into me, and my entire body springs to life, heat in my veins, strength and desire washing through every cell that makes me human. Makes me exist.

‘Isla.’

‘Kit.’ She catches my face, holding me tight, like she’s scared I’m going to disappear. ‘I want you so much.’ Her declaration is stolen by the kiss she frantically places on my mouth. ‘I’ve never needed anything the way I need you right now.’

I pull back, finding her gaze, sweeping across the flushed spots of her cheeks. She’s breathless, wild, lips parted. ‘It’s got to be you, Isla.’ It makes so much sense to me now. That she had to come back, she had to be the one to make me feel again. ‘It’s just you.’

She nods and bites on her lip. ‘I know.’ It’s just a whisper. Then she tilts her chin. ‘So what are you waiting for.’

I catch her in my embrace, pulling her in, mouth back on hers, hungry and demanding. ‘Bedroom.’

Her smile against my mouth, I swear, is the sexiest thing. We stumble back, one step at a time, heading for the stairs, until I remember her ankle and lift her, throwing her over my shoulder and pacing up the creaky old stairs. ‘Which room?’

‘Front,’ she huffs against my back, stealing in a giggle as I accidentally knock her against the doorframe. In the room with the old brass bedstead, I launch her onto the mattress, leaning my weight into the space between us, wanting to absorb it and make it disappear until I don’t know where she ends and I begin. My mouth is back on hers and her hips tilt, grinding against the hardness I’d forgotten I could even create. I’m watching as her eyes blink shut at the feel of me. I drop a kiss to her throat, the spot behind her ear that twelve years ago made her groan. It still does now, a breathy little gasp that shoots right through me.

‘Top off.’ I can barely speak. I’m just vibrating with this intense need. This heat that’s burning through me. She nods, and I shift just two inches so I can help her draw it off. She’s braless and perfect beneath the T-shirt. Bending, I catch a nipple in my mouth, sucking it in and rolling it with my tongue.

‘Fuck.’ She clutches the back of my hair, pushing my face closer to her flesh. I don’t answer, just swap to the other one, leaving a trail of wet kisses across her beautiful skin. When her hips start to rise and fall in little desperate circles, I pull at the waistband of the tracksuit pants, slipping my hand underneath, hoping she’s … fuck yes, knickerless and fucking wet for me. I slip a finger through her core. She’s slick, warm and perfect. ‘Oh my God.’ She pushes into my hand, almost feeding herself onto my fingers. ‘Kit.’

I slide one finger in, then another, watching her face, eyes closed, mouth parted. With my thumb circling her clit, pressure on, pressure off, I use my fingers to bring her to the edge, but then pull my hand away, remove the tracksuit bottoms completely and gaze down at this woman who is more beautiful than the finest work of art. Slipping off the sofa, I spread her knees and kneel in reverence, gazing at the glorious sight of her pussy wet and gleaming. Her hooded gaze watches me as I tug her hips down the cushions, dropping my face between her legs, tongue seeking her out.

‘Kit, I can’t.’

‘Sure you can.’ Although whether she can hear me as I feast on her, the taste of her, the smoothness, the intoxicating scent, is up for debate.

I’m all in as she bucks her hips, fingers pulling my hair, my nose pressed into her, tongue deep as she comes into my mouth and I continue sucking and licking, getting it all. Her legs tremble, shuddering, and I glance up across the smooth flat of her stomach, her small pert tits, and find her sobbing.

‘Fucking hell, why are you crying?’ I shift back, closing her legs, rising so I can see her face, and smooth her hair from where it’s stuck in strands across damp cheeks. ‘Baby?’ Her gaze meets mine, brilliant blue pools of watery lapis.

‘Call me that again.’

It takes a moment. I tilt my head. ‘Baby?’

She nods, sobs again, reaching for me, pulling me down. ‘Now, fuck me properly.’

Chapter Eighteen

ISLA

Morning light filters through curtains I forgot to close, painting stripes across Kit’s bare chest. He’s still asleep, one arm flung above his head, the other curled possessively around my waist. His breathing is deep and even, face softer in sleep than I’ve seen it since returning to Sea Salt Bay.

I should move. I should slip away, make coffee, pretend we’re civilised adults who can handle the morning after a night that changed … everything? Nothing? I’m not sure yet.

But I can’t bring myself to leave the warmth of his body, the weight of his arm anchoring me to this moment. So I stay, studying him with the greediness of someone who’s been given unexpected access to a long-locked room.

The Kit Harding beside me is both familiar and foreign. The slope of his shoulder, the curve of his jaw – these I remember, though time has carved new lines, added definition, hardened boyish features into something more substantial. I was sixteen when we crossed from friends into the tentative uneven ground of teenage lovers. Kit was eighteen, already tall and broad, a shelter I loved to cling to as the summer nights grew cooler and I knew our time was running out as August slipped away. I can still see him in the slopes and lines of his body. The feel of his skin is surprisingly familiar, like it’s just been waiting for me to come back and touch it again. I remember our first night together, all those years ago, the breathlessness, the heat of our skin where it touched, how I felt like I’d never touched anything so warm, so perfect. I wanted more and more. He was gentle, tender, but also bold and so very Kit. The flash of his smile, the challenge in his gaze.

The scar on his collarbone is new, a jagged white line against tanned skin. His beard – that delicious, surprising beard that left burns in places I’ll feel all day – is definitely new.

The sheets tangle around our legs, and memories of last night flood my senses. His hands, calloused and sure, mapping my body like territory both remembered and rediscovered. His mouth, hungry and determined, drawing sounds from me I’d forgotten I could make. The weight of him, the heat, the way he said my name – half prayer, half demand – against my throat.

‘Stop thinking so loud,’ Kit murmurs, eyes still closed. ‘I can hear the gears turning from here.’

My cheeks heat. ‘Sorry. Overthinking is my fatal flaw.’