Knight's Mistress
Page 92
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Like that.
She didn’t talk for some time, intent on the successive waves of heated ecstasy rolling through her body. Dominic wasn’t interested in talking at all. Then, utterly bewitched, nirvana within her grasp, she forgot what was expected of her, said on a soft, breathy exhalation, ‘I love you,’ and knew she’d made a mistake even before he put his hand over her mouth, silencing her.
Bending his head, Dominic replaced his hand with his mouth, kissed her softly, passionately, his pulse racing, wanting to give her something when he couldn’t give her that. And after the chaos stilled, he offered her a new kind of pleasure. A particular speciality of his that required a patient dick, good thigh muscles and both his hands.
Very soon, Kate was panting again.
And life returned to normal.
A knock on the door momentarily arrested Dominic’s rhythm. A fraction of a second, no more, then he dismissed the interruption and resumed his activity.
‘Nick.’ Max’s voice outside the door was a hissed stage whisper.
‘Go away!’ Dominic shouted. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured as Kate flinched, then returned his attention to her rapidly peaking orgasm, intent on sharing the moment.
When his phone rang a few moments later, Dominic was semi-collapsed on top of Kate, his weight largely resting on his forearms, but not entirely – his climax hurricane-force powerful, his breathing still laboured.
He ignored the ‘Bring it on Home’ ring tone.
Two minutes later, when Sam Cooke’s voice again interrupted the heavy breathing in the room, Kate weakly murmured, ‘You should answer that.’
Dominic shook his head, his damp hair a cool flicker across Kate’s shoulder.
The third time his cell rang, he swore, mustered enough energy to move, pull the phone out of his jacket lying on the floor and glance at the display. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Dropping a kiss on Kate’s forehead, he eased out of her warm body and with a long-suffering sigh, pushed himself up off the couch. ‘I have to take this,’ he muttered. Walking over to the fireplace, he pushed answer and staring into the flames, put the phone to his ear.
‘Just wanted to let you know whom you’re pissing off,’ Max grumbled.
‘I’ll apologize tomorrow.’ Dominic spoke softly, preferring Kate not to hear. She worried about things she shouldn’t.
‘The president took your side, believed the business bullshit, but Antonia’s husband wasn’t in the mood to be placated when his wife took offence.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Tell Liv I’ll make up Antonia’s donation plus another couple mil. Are we good now?’
‘Except for that meeting tomorrow. In your current don’t-give-a-damn mood I didn’t want you to forget.’
‘I already did. Reschedule for Monday.’
‘Eight major players are flying in, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I’m aware of that. Reschedule.’
‘Jesus, Nick. Ricci for one is going to be seriously pissed. You know how touchy he is.’
‘I’m aware of Ricci’s temper. Last time. Reschedule. Monday at three. We’ll be on The Glory Girl till then.’ He hit end, not in the mood for more advice. He did what he did because he could. He didn’t want to think about: why now, why her? Or dissect every nuance to hell and back with Max or anyone. Right now, he just didn’t want these feelings to end.
Turning from the fire, he said, ‘How about a boat ride, baby? We’ll get away from all this crap. A little peace and quiet, just us. Sound good?’
Kate looked up as he approached the couch, smiled. ‘Wherever you are sounds good to me.’
He bent down and kissed her. ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he whispered, his breath warm on her lips. Standing upright, he said, ‘Let me make a few calls and we’re out of here.’
CHAPTER 20
The next three days were heaven or its equivalent in secular terms; bliss palpable, sensation off the charts.
They were alone on the ocean, or as alone as one could be on a ninety-three-foot vessel with a crew of ten and a full staff in the kitchen. But they rarely saw anyone, the sailors practically ghosts, Danny sharing a drink with them the first evening and then largely keeping out of sight. Dominic’s chef and sous chef supplied them with food on their erratic schedule without complaint. And when Kate and Dominic weren’t in Dominic’s stateroom screwing, they were wrapped in warm jackets and each other’s arms, lying in a hammock on the highest deck.
The stars at night filled the sky, seemed close enough to touch, dazzled, shimmered, amazed, made one conscious of the puniness of man.
The transience of human activity.
The great beauty of the world.
Dominic’s favourite song, ‘Bring it on Home’, was usually playing softly in the background, the words casually fitting, sweetly appropriate, not the ‘I’m your slave’ part, Kate realistically noted, but all the rest.
‘See, I’m not the only man who wants to give a woman money and jewels,’ he whispered, humming along with the song, kissing her softly. ‘Or the only man who wants a woman like I want you.’
‘Or the only man who can do other things too,’ she said, miming the line from the song, arching up to kiss him again.
A slow-motion kiss that took the place of the million things she wanted to say to him and couldn’t because he didn’t want to hear them. About pragmatism and the sad ache of regret. About love and longing, about the shadow of fear that was so strong it was making her ears buzz. About the rising panic of losing him.
She didn’t talk for some time, intent on the successive waves of heated ecstasy rolling through her body. Dominic wasn’t interested in talking at all. Then, utterly bewitched, nirvana within her grasp, she forgot what was expected of her, said on a soft, breathy exhalation, ‘I love you,’ and knew she’d made a mistake even before he put his hand over her mouth, silencing her.
Bending his head, Dominic replaced his hand with his mouth, kissed her softly, passionately, his pulse racing, wanting to give her something when he couldn’t give her that. And after the chaos stilled, he offered her a new kind of pleasure. A particular speciality of his that required a patient dick, good thigh muscles and both his hands.
Very soon, Kate was panting again.
And life returned to normal.
A knock on the door momentarily arrested Dominic’s rhythm. A fraction of a second, no more, then he dismissed the interruption and resumed his activity.
‘Nick.’ Max’s voice outside the door was a hissed stage whisper.
‘Go away!’ Dominic shouted. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured as Kate flinched, then returned his attention to her rapidly peaking orgasm, intent on sharing the moment.
When his phone rang a few moments later, Dominic was semi-collapsed on top of Kate, his weight largely resting on his forearms, but not entirely – his climax hurricane-force powerful, his breathing still laboured.
He ignored the ‘Bring it on Home’ ring tone.
Two minutes later, when Sam Cooke’s voice again interrupted the heavy breathing in the room, Kate weakly murmured, ‘You should answer that.’
Dominic shook his head, his damp hair a cool flicker across Kate’s shoulder.
The third time his cell rang, he swore, mustered enough energy to move, pull the phone out of his jacket lying on the floor and glance at the display. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Dropping a kiss on Kate’s forehead, he eased out of her warm body and with a long-suffering sigh, pushed himself up off the couch. ‘I have to take this,’ he muttered. Walking over to the fireplace, he pushed answer and staring into the flames, put the phone to his ear.
‘Just wanted to let you know whom you’re pissing off,’ Max grumbled.
‘I’ll apologize tomorrow.’ Dominic spoke softly, preferring Kate not to hear. She worried about things she shouldn’t.
‘The president took your side, believed the business bullshit, but Antonia’s husband wasn’t in the mood to be placated when his wife took offence.’
‘Don’t worry about it. Tell Liv I’ll make up Antonia’s donation plus another couple mil. Are we good now?’
‘Except for that meeting tomorrow. In your current don’t-give-a-damn mood I didn’t want you to forget.’
‘I already did. Reschedule for Monday.’
‘Eight major players are flying in, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I’m aware of that. Reschedule.’
‘Jesus, Nick. Ricci for one is going to be seriously pissed. You know how touchy he is.’
‘I’m aware of Ricci’s temper. Last time. Reschedule. Monday at three. We’ll be on The Glory Girl till then.’ He hit end, not in the mood for more advice. He did what he did because he could. He didn’t want to think about: why now, why her? Or dissect every nuance to hell and back with Max or anyone. Right now, he just didn’t want these feelings to end.
Turning from the fire, he said, ‘How about a boat ride, baby? We’ll get away from all this crap. A little peace and quiet, just us. Sound good?’
Kate looked up as he approached the couch, smiled. ‘Wherever you are sounds good to me.’
He bent down and kissed her. ‘That’s what I like to hear,’ he whispered, his breath warm on her lips. Standing upright, he said, ‘Let me make a few calls and we’re out of here.’
CHAPTER 20
The next three days were heaven or its equivalent in secular terms; bliss palpable, sensation off the charts.
They were alone on the ocean, or as alone as one could be on a ninety-three-foot vessel with a crew of ten and a full staff in the kitchen. But they rarely saw anyone, the sailors practically ghosts, Danny sharing a drink with them the first evening and then largely keeping out of sight. Dominic’s chef and sous chef supplied them with food on their erratic schedule without complaint. And when Kate and Dominic weren’t in Dominic’s stateroom screwing, they were wrapped in warm jackets and each other’s arms, lying in a hammock on the highest deck.
The stars at night filled the sky, seemed close enough to touch, dazzled, shimmered, amazed, made one conscious of the puniness of man.
The transience of human activity.
The great beauty of the world.
Dominic’s favourite song, ‘Bring it on Home’, was usually playing softly in the background, the words casually fitting, sweetly appropriate, not the ‘I’m your slave’ part, Kate realistically noted, but all the rest.
‘See, I’m not the only man who wants to give a woman money and jewels,’ he whispered, humming along with the song, kissing her softly. ‘Or the only man who wants a woman like I want you.’
‘Or the only man who can do other things too,’ she said, miming the line from the song, arching up to kiss him again.
A slow-motion kiss that took the place of the million things she wanted to say to him and couldn’t because he didn’t want to hear them. About pragmatism and the sad ache of regret. About love and longing, about the shadow of fear that was so strong it was making her ears buzz. About the rising panic of losing him.
