Strokes Vol #3 (18 page)

He grunted, not fond of the company, not wanting the big consortium to intrude into their bedroom, but what she said held merit. “Perhaps. But we had the choice of how to spend the down-time, Mary.”

She began to move, slowly at first, inching up, then down. His cock warmed inside her snug hollow. When a wave of heat swept through him, tensing his belly and his balls, he decided he’d let her savor the ride another day.

He flipped them, relishing her cry of surprise. Without pausing he stroked into her, clutching her buttocks to hold her close so that each roll of his hips tunneled deeply. The push-pull of his motions drew sighs and groans. Her legs moved restlessly, inner thighs rubbing his legs, then rising higher until she gripped his waist.

Her small hands pushed against his chest, and he lifted himself, bracing on his arms, increasing the length of his strokes and giving each forward thrust a snap that shoved her body up the bed. Before long, the bed frame groaned, pounding against the wall.

Mary’s breaths were shallow, open-mouthed. Sweat slicked both their bodies as they writhed together. When the first internal flutters heralded her blooming orgasm, Colm pounded harder, deeper, not satisfied until a garbled scream ripped from her throat.

Only then did he let go, giving his own hoarse shout of triumph. His thrusts slowed. Her legs eased from his waist. He sank over her, tucked his face into the corner of her shoulder and released an agonized sigh.

She giggled beneath him. “That tickled,” came her throaty complaint.

He raised his head, centered her face between his palms and gave her a hard kiss. “Will you melt if you get wet?”

Her brows shot high. “Too late on both counts.”

His snort jerked against her chest. “I meant, would you mind taking a walk in the rain?”

A gentle, cleansing
rain fell upon them. Clouds obscured the sun, but enough of its rays filtered around the edges that rainbows formed. The first she’d ever seen outside of storybooks. The colors were deep, magnificent.

“Do you think everyone feels like we do?”

“And what do we feel?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“Happy. Hopeful.” She glanced sideways, hoping he didn’t think she was foolish.

His gaze held steady on her face. “If they’re very lucky, they feel exactly as we do.”

He held her hand as they walked beside the stream bank. She liked the way his large hand engulfed her own. Another reminder of his largeness, which she’d so thoroughly enjoyed.

The place between her thighs felt hot. Her nipples raw. But she couldn’t wait for nightfall to beckon them back to bed. As odd as it seemed, she was already in love with Colm O’Riordan. Head over heels—with a man who’d arrived in manacles just a day ago.

Rain continued to mist down on them. Their clothes and hair were soaked, but they continued to walk. She didn’t mind the exercise or the comfortable silence.

“It’s like we’re the only people on this planet,” he mused after a while. “It’s so quiet. Restful.”

“The first week I was here, I wondered what was missing. Whether my ears weren’t working right. I was so used to the constant noise in the dome, the hum of the fans.”

They neared the bend of the stream. Mary halted, eyeing the object clinging to the edge of the bank. “Is that a tree?”

“A bush, perhaps?”

He let go of her hand, and they both walked toward it and knelt beside the spindly plant.

“They planted orchards further north,” she said, touching the edge of a green leaf.

“They aren’t going to be able to control every element of this new world. Life will find a way to flourish.”

“Or they’ll cut it down.” Suddenly, anger burst inside her. She raised her head. “Maybe we should replant it near the house.”

A smile quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Are you suggesting we nurture rebellion?”

She grinned. Maybe he was rubbing off on her. “A quiet one. It’ll give the house shade when it’s larger.”

Colm laughed. “Ever practical.” They dug with their hands around the shallow roots and pulled up the sapling. Then he took off his shirt and wrapped it around the roots.

Saving the sapling seemed somehow momentous. Important. And it was the first decision they’d made together. Her smile stretched. Warmth filled her chest at the growing certainty they’d build a happy life together.

When Colm captured her hand again, they headed home.

About The Author

Delilah Devlin is a prolific and award-winning author of sexy romance, erotica, and erotic romance with a reputation for writing deliciously edgy stories with complex characters. Whether creating dark, erotically-charged paranormal worlds or richly descriptive historical and contemporary stories that ring with authenticity, Delilah Devlin
“pens in uncharted territory that will leave the readers breathless and hungering for more…” (Paranormal Reviews).

Ms. Devlin has published over a hundred fifty erotic stories in multiple genres and lengths, and she has been published by Atria/Strebor, Avon, Berkley, Black Lace, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Grand Central, Harlequin Spice, HarperCollins: Mischief, Kensington, Kindle, Kindle Worlds, Montlake Romance, Running Press, and Samhain Publishing.

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