“
Do you--should you radio…anyone?” he said, gasping slightly when she nipped at one nipple through his shirt.
“Mm--hmm,” she murmured, leaving a trail along the side of his chin with her tongue.
He turned her around inside the blanket so her back was to him, then tugged her up against him, sliding his arms around her waist and keeping the blanket around them, the opening now in front of her. He leaned down and gently bit the side of her neck, then whispered, “Well, you might want to take care of that right swift, luv, because you’re about to be ravaged.”
She moaned when he nipped her, wriggling a little, giving a delightful giggle at the last part, which made him grin. Kerry wasn’t typically a giggler. He now had a vested interest in seeing her become one. She’d clearly let go of all the worry, the tension, the fears about what might happen, and was doing exactly what he was doing: grabbing on to what they had right now and leaving the future to settle itself.
“Ravaged, am I?” she said, tipping her head back against his shoulder to look up at him. “Are we playing pirate on the high seas, then?”
“Aye, my saucy seafaring wench, ’tis true. I’ve boarded yer lovely vessel to see what treasures you have worth pillaging.” He leaned down, nipped her earlobe, then tugged the blanket so it snugged tightly over her breasts as he tucked her backside against his hips. “It appears I’ll need to board yer personal vessel to discover all your riches.”
She laughed at that outright, then wiggled against him quite deliberately, making him grit his teeth. “Careful now, wench, or you’ll be spilling my doubloons all over the deck.”
She let out a choked laugh at that, then bumped him back with her hips, and it was his turn to groan as her firm derrière came into contact with an even firmer part of him. “Why don’t you and your doubloons go on belowdeck so I can catch my breath long enough to send out an all’s-okay to Thomas without him thinking I’m doing what I’m about to be doing? It was mortifying enough to have to brazen it out in front of him when I showed up in this--what was it you called it? A glorified napkin? I’ve always thought of him as kind of a secondary grandfather. I’m not sure which of us was more in danger of that heart attack.” She glanced over her shoulder with a dry smile. “I think my femme fatale days are over.”
“Oh,” he said, tossing the blanket toward a side bin so he could run his flat palms down the center of her back, then frame the swell of her hips, which were tightly wrapped in that glorified napkin. “I don’t know about that,” he said in all sincerity. “At least the fatale part.
”
”