Page 31 of Stranded With the Grumpy Mermaid

He kisses the seam again, slowly enough that I feel the drag of his lips over every sensitive inch. His hand leaves my ribs and glides down my stomach, broad and warm, stopping at my hip.

He is hard against the backs of my thighs. But he doesn’t thrust against me. Doesn’t take pleasure for himself. His hand simply rests there while his mouth moves along my neck.

Something about that makes the warmth between my legs sharpen.

I turn in the narrow bed, which involves one knee knocking into the wall and Rafe shifting half his body toward the edge to keep us both from falling onto the floor. Then I’m facing him.

His hair is wrecked. His glasses are somewhere on the floor with the rest of our clothes. Without them his eyes look softer, unfocused at the edges.

His mouth is swollen from earlier. Because of me. Because of how ardently we kissed. Because of how well he pleasured me with his tongue.

The thought sends a hot little pulse through me.

I reach for him.

My palm slides over his chest, down the hard plane of his stomach. His muscles tighten beneath my fingers. When I move lower, toward the erection pressing between us, his hand closes gently around my wrist.

He lifts my hand and presses his mouth to the center of my palm, then my wrist.

“Slowly, little water sprite.”

His lips move over my knuckles, one by one. He lets my hand go only to slide his beneath the blanket again. Down my waist. Over my hip. Across the outside of my thigh.

Then back up. Slow enough to make me ache.

His thumb passes over my nipple and my whole body tightens.

He watches my face. Actually watches it. Not admiring himself for causing the reaction. Not waiting for me to tell him how good he is. Just learning me.

He cups my breast and rolls the nipple gently between his fingers. Heat spreads low through my stomach and wetness spills between my legs. I shift closer without meaning to, and his erection presses hard against my thigh.

Still he doesn’t ask for anything.

“Rafe.”

“Tell me what you want, Neri.”

His thumb does it again. My breath leaves in a shiver.

“More.”

That is apparently all the instruction he needs. His mouth finds mine and the kiss is nothing like on the beach. Earlier, he kissed me like he’d been starving. This morning he kisses me like there is nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. Slow sweeps of his tongue. His teeth catching lightly at my lower lip. His hand moving from my breast down my stomach while I melt, centimeter by centimeter, into the mattress.

His fingers reach the inside of my thigh. I open my legs for him without hesitation.

His fingertips slide through my folds and find me already wet. A low sound leaves him against my mouth. The sound alone makes me wetter.

“Neri.”

The way he says my name is almost worse than being touched.

His fingers move slowly in one long stroke through my folds, from my entrance all the way to my tiny bundle of nerves. Then another. His thumb brushes my clit and my hips lift into his hand.

I grab his shoulder.

He does it again.

“God.”