Castle in the Sand Page 4

"I love you." She touched her finger to his lips. "It'll be all right."

  Then, because she didn't know what else to do, she kissed him. He met her lips with an urgency that unnerved her at first, but as his tongue quested inside her mouth, Claire's anxiety vanished. Malcolm's mouth on hers felt too delicious. She was swept up again in her love for him. In her lust for him. She'd never loved anyone more in her life, or wanted another man so much. His smile, his touch, the sound of his voice was enough to have her wet and ready. Now she discovered his tears could have the same affect.

  Claire moved around in front of him until she could sit on his lap. She put her hands on either side of his head as she kissed him. Her fingers played in his soft, sand-colored curls. Delicately, she traced the rims of his ears, down to the soft lobes and the cool metal of the tiny gold hoop he wore in one of them. She passed her fingers down his jaw to his chin, beneath their kisses, then further down the smooth passage of his throat to his collarbone. She slipped her hands inside the open collar of his shirt then up again, to the back of his neck. All the while, kissing.

  She was lost inside his kisses. She had always been lost there. No one in her life had ever made her as happy or as furious as Malcolm had, but no matter how angry she had ever been, his kisses took it all away.

  Angry? How could she ever have been angry with him? What could he have done that was so bad? The thoughts moved through her mind like lazy clouds drifting in a summer sky. She wasn't angry with him. She had never been angry with him.

  His cock grew against the front of his trousers. Claire pressed herself against the bulge, the heat. Sparkles of desire built in her. Malcolm's hands came around to cup her ass and pull her closer against him.

  The chair creaked and wobbled as they ground against each other, dry humping. She left his mouth to allow him access to her throat, where he nibbled and suckled and licked until she thought she might go insane with wanting him.

  "Put your mouth on me." She stripped off her shirt with one quick motion and lifted her bare breasts to him.

  Malcolm mouthed her nipples and suckled gently on one of them. Claire moaned. His breath was hot on her skin. She rocked her pelvis forward and back against his erection while he flicked her tender nipples with his tongue.

  She wore no panties beneath her sleep pants. The soft flannel tugged and rubbed on her aching bud, adding to the already torturous pleasure she was giving herself from Malcolm's pants-enclosed cock. The pressure was good, but it wasn't enough. She wanted his tongue there instead.

  Claire lifted herself from his lap and sat up on the table. Malcolm's tears had stopped. Now his eyes had grown bright with desire. She wanted very badly to see his smile.

  He stood and helped her tug off the sleep pants and, without being asked, went back between her legs to lick and suck her button. The kitchen table was hard and cold under her back. Malcolm was hard and hot on her front.

  Claire lifted her hips to his probing tongue. He rolled his tongue on her clit, then slipped a finger inside her and pressed upward. Her body jerked in response. Orgasmic contractions rippled through her, but she didn't come. Not quite.

  "Make love to me," she told him and watched through love-glazed eyes as he stripped off his shirt and pants.

  Unfettered by the trousers, his penis sprang free. She sat up and scooted to the table's edge. Malcolm took his cock in his hand and nudged the tip inside her. He wet himself with her fluid and eased in an inch. Out. Back in, just a bit further. Then out again, his clock glistening with her juices, before he seated himself to the hilt.

  They both moaned at the same time. Claire's head dropped to his chest for a moment as she struggled to control the waves of pleasure washing over her. She hooked her ankles around the backs of his thighs as Malcolm began to move.

  His first thrusts were slow and easy, like the man himself. His cock stretched her. Claire looked down to where their bodies joined. Her dark curls meshed with his lighter ones. Her rose colored lips enfolded his similarly shaded penis. The pink pearl of her clit stood at attention. Every thrust moved the small button back and forth. The pink turned darker as her clit engorged.

  Claire put a fingertip to her clit and pressed gently. It throbbed beneath her touch and her vagina contracted around Malcolm's cock. She rubbed the smooth flesh in a small, tight circle. It was enough to finish her off.

  The sea rushed over her. Ecstasy engulfed her. She couldn't see or hear or think. She could only feel.

  It was over too soon. Good sex always was.Malcolm helped her off the table, then looked ruefully at the plate of eggs which had been smashed to the floor without either of them noticing. "I'll get the broom."

  She touched his arm until he turned to face her. "Are you all right?"

  He kissed her. "You love me?"

  "You know I do."

  His sigh was heavy but his grin light when he replied, "Then I'm all right."

  Still, his eyes were shadowed. His answer didn't satisfy. Claire left him to clean up the mess and make more breakfast while she showered.

  What could have made him cry? Was he sick? Was it something with his job? Or his family? The questions wouldn't leave her as she fiddled with the faucet to set the water temperature just right.

  Claire and Malcolm had known each other since their freshman year of college. They'd lived in the same dormitory. They'd had the same friends. But it wasn't until the Fellowship had all chipped in to buy this dilapidated beach house, Nonesuch, that they'd fallen in love. Still, in the time they'd been together, she'd never seen him upset enough to weep.

  Claire stepped into the shower and tipped her face to the spray. Warm water cascaded over her closed eyes. She turned to let it pound on her back while she pondered.

  If anything, she would have said Malcolm was too lackadaisical to grieve for anything. He could be brooding, even taciturn at times, but mostly he took life with all the seriousness of the grasshopper who played. Too often she felt like the ant in that fable. Working. Planning for the future. They hadn't spoken of marriage, but she'd thought about it plenty. He'd told her often enough he wasn't ready to settle down. Once, he'd told her he wasn't even ready to be tied down...

  Claire frowned and turned again to let the water wash over her face. Malcolm didn't want to be tied down? When had he said that? She could hear his voice saying those very words inside her head, clear as daylight...but when had he said them?

  Despite the hot water, her skin humped into gooseflesh. Something was wrong here. Something was not right.

  Some things change.

  And some things don't.

  Now she heard her own voice, echoing, but she hadn't spoken aloud. Her eyes flew open and the water stung them. Her hands flew up to wipe them and her elbow knocked the bottle of shampoo over. It fell and splattered on the shower floor. The scent of berries stung her nose. Nausea filled her throat.

  The smell. It wasn't right either. It should be citrus, not berries.

  Claire opened her mouth to cry out and the water filled it. Choked her. She gasped and the water entered her lungs. She tried to cough, but couldn't breathe.

  Strong hands pulled her from the shower. She spat and spat again to clear the water and the smell of berries from her lungs. Malcolm wrapped her in a towel and held her close as she shivered and shuddered. He cradled her on the bathroom floor. His hands smoothed away the tangled hair from her face, and he whispered soothing words until her body ceased its twitching.

  "Claire, look at me."

  She did. It was as though a film of plastic wrap had been laid over her. She could see. She could hear. She could even smell. But there seemed to be a barrier between her and all of that. A wall she couldn't see.

  "Claire!"

  Malcolm's voice came from far away. Claire's teeth chattered hard enough to bring blood to her tongue. It was bitter. It tasted like darkness.

  And then darkness was all she saw.

  * * * *

  "Wow, what a glorious day!" Claire stretched and
peered out the window to the glimpse of beach and ocean. "The sun is shining. The sky is blue. Looks like there are some nice waves out there today."

  Malcolm scrubbed his face with his hands and tugged at the hem of her T-shirt until she left the window and lay back down beside him. "It's too early to be talking about riding waves."

  "It's too airrrly to be talking aboot riding waves," she teased and snuggled closer. "Say it again."

  "Early."

  She giggled and ran her hand down his chest to his belly. "I'll never get tired of hearing you talk."

  "No?" He tilted his head to look at her. "Are you sure about that?"

  Her brow wrinkled. "Why? Do you want me to be tired of you?"

  "No. No," he repeated and kissed the top of her head. "I don't want that."

  Claire toyed with the drawstring of his pants. "Is it too 'airly' for riding something else?"

  At her suggestion, she felt his penis twitch.

  "Ah, no. I don't think so."

  "I love you." Claire sat up and looked at him seriously. "I know you don't like to hear it, but I had to say it."

  Malcolm's eyes looked as blue as the sky outside. He bit his lip and took her hands. "Don't think that. I want to hear you say it. Every day."

  "Since when?" Claire sat back and pretended to scoff, but his admission sent a thrill of pleasure through her.

  "It doesn't matter since when," he said so seriously her smile faded. "It only matters that I do now."

  "All right." She hesitated. "I love you."

  "I love you, too, Claire. You don't even know how much."

  That was a bit too much for her, and she moved back from him so far she almost fell off the bed. "Okay, who abducted you and replaced your brain with someone else's?"

  "No one."

  "You're serious."

  "You act like you're not happy to hear it." Malcolm sat up against the headboard. His sand-brown hair stuck up in wild spikes all over his head, and Claire restrained herself from reaching out to smooth it.

  Instead, she put her hands in her lap. "I'm just a little surprised to hear it, that's all. I mean, c'mon. We both know you--"

  "That I know nothing," he interrupted firmly. "Whatever happened before...I was a fool. An idiot. A clabber-head."

  "Clabber-head?" That earned a chuckle. "I don't know if I'd go that far."

  "I love you, Claire." He leaned forward to kiss her breathless.

  When she could breathe, she said, "I love you, too, Malcolm."

  "You said my name." He closed his eyes as though he were all at once thoroughly relieved of a great pain. "God, it's good to hear."

  "Are you all right?" She feigned checking him for fever.

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. "Say it again."

  "You act like I've never said your name before." She shook her head at his foolishness.

  "Please."

  The tables had turned. Feeling foolish, she obliged. "Malcolm. Malcolm, Malcolm, Malcolm."

  "Claire, what if I told you I'd dreamed I lost you, and that I hadn't heard you say my name in a verra long time."

  "I'd say don't eat hot peppers before bed again." She stroked his cheek. "Because that could never happen."

  For a moment, so brief she was uncertain it happened at all, his eyes looked haunted. "I wish you were right."

  Uneasiness settled in her gut like a spoiled meal. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

  He shook his head. "Like to? No."

  Suddenly, Claire didn't want to hear whatever it was Malcolm had to say. She crawled over the bed and up his body until she could rest her forehead on his. She lost herself in the endless blue depths of his eyes.

  "Let's not talk," she said.

  "Fair enough." His voice had gone husky in the way she recognized. It sent an answering thrill down her spine. "No talking."

  She brushed her lips on his, feather-soft. His hands came up to toy with the ends of her hair. Claire nudged Malcolm's chin with hers and deepened the kiss. She straddled his waist. His hardening penis bumped her butt, and she wiggled until it slipped toward her front.

  Malcolm rolled them both over until he'd settled between her legs. His mouth found her throat, her neck, and the edges of her collarbone. He lifted her T-shirt over her head and paused to gaze at her.

  His palms came up and covered her bare breasts. Her nipples stiffened. He put his mouth to the left one while his fingers tweaked the right and then switched places.

  Claire arched under this touch. "Malcolm..."

  "Yes, Claire."

  But there was no more to be said, just to say his name, as he'd asked her to. Claire said it again, his name, like a charm, a password, a talisman, to keep her safe from some distant threat she sensed but could not see.

  In the movies, clothes always seemed to simply melt away, as though by magic. In real life, it was usually more complicated. The tie of Malcolm's pants knotted and they couldn't undo it. Claire's pants got hooked around her ankle and refused to budge. Malcolm's T-shirt tore when Claire tugged it over his head, and that final snafu in their attempts at getting naked sent them both into peals of laughter.

  "Ah, it's good to hear your laugh, Claire."

  He made it sound like she hadn't laughed in a long time. "No talking, remember?"

  He laughed again, a little less heartily. "All right."

  He slipped inside her with a sigh, then closed his eyes and rested on his arms for a moment before he began to move. She loved seeing him this way, lost in the pleasure her body gave him. She loved being able to look at his body as they made love.

  The muscles of his arms bunched and relaxed as he moved. Claire put her hands on his biceps to enjoy the flexing beneath her fingers. When he lowered himself, his smooth chest teased her erect nipples. His back was smooth and muscled like his chest, and his ass, too. She cupped the firm globes of his buttocks as he thrust inside her. Her calves caressed his furred thighs and she used her ankles to push him deeper into her.

  "Claire."

  She could tell he needed no answer, as she had needed none before, but she answered him anyway. "Yes." Then again, when the twist of his hips put delicious pressure on her clitoris, "Yes!"

  Her orgasm built slowly and burst over her as slowly. Not fierce. Not harsh. It rippled through her in waves of pure desire, each one building before the last one faded away, until she was coming. Just coming, over and over while Malcolm whispered her name and she answered with his.

  * * * *

  Claire wrung out the cloth into the pail and grimaced at the filthy water. "I can't figure out why everything is so dirty."

  "There's always sand all over the place. You know that." Malcolm leaned his elbows on the table while he watched her.

  "This isn't sand. It's dirt and dust. When the others get here, we're going to have to talk about hiring a different cleaning agency."

  She went outside to throw the dirty water over the edge of the deck. It hit the driveway and darkened the sand. She looked to the sky without needing to shade her eyes. The sun had gone behind a cloud. The day was almost as black as the water.

  "No beach today," she told Malcolm as she came back inside. She paused before filling the bucket with more water. They hadn't actually been to the beach at all yet. And they'd been here how many days?