Knight and Day (The Knight Erotic Trilogy, book 3 of 3) (7 page)

“So how are we gonna play this thing, English?”

Kara accepted the steaming coffee mug Dylan held out and cradled it between her palms, still naked beneath the sheets of his ridiculously comfortable bed after a scant few hours of sleep. She leaned her head back against the padded headboard.

“Straight down the line,” she said.

“I don’t want to put you in a compromising position with Sophie and Lucien.”

She shook her head. “You won’t. They knew I was coming here last night.”

“You told them?” He looked up from stepping out of his jeans, surprise in his clear green eyes.

“Of course.” Kara shrugged. “Why not? I’m a big girl, they trust me to make my own decisions.”

She didn’t go into the fact that she and Sophie had sat down for a good hour yesterday evening talking it through, debating whether Kara was really ready to let someone close again after Richard’s betrayal. Sophie and Lucien had scraped her up off the floor last summer and pieced her back together, a slightly more complicated puzzle than she’d been beforehand. She frowned a little, not appreciating thoughts of Richard intruding on her first Sunday morning wake-up with another man since their split.

Placing her coffee down, she let the sheet fall to her waist.

“Breakfast?” She smiled sweetly and raised her eyebrows.

Appreciation flared in Dylan's eyes as he sat down on the side of the bed. He tugged the sheet away, revealing her naked body to his greedy gaze.

“The full English, sir?” she said, letting him look his fill.

He moved closer to stroke her breasts. “You have a smart mouth.”

“Do you like it?”

He snaked his tongue along her bottom lip. “I like it plenty.”  His hands tracked over her rib cage and settled on her hips. “I like all of you plenty.” 

His easy Californian accent softened his sensual words so that Kara found herself instinctively running her hands over the breadth of his shoulders, enjoying his body. “You’re not so bad yourself, Sailor.”

“In the interests of honesty, I feel I should tell you that I don’t actually own this boat, and I’ve never sailed in my life.”

Kara stroked her fingertips over his collarbones, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed that the Love Tug wasn’t a direct reflection of Dylan’s tastes.

“I’m still going to call you Sailor.”

“Good. I like the way you say it.”

“Sailor,” she said, deliberately husky, letting her fingers trail down the definition of his stomach, enjoying the way his cock reacted with interest.

“Did you offer me breakfast?” he said, sliding his hand between her legs. “Because I’ve decided what I want.”

“Hmm. What might that be?”

He opened her with his fingers, dropping his other hand down to explore her exposed sex.

“You.” He kissed her shoulder. “This.” He concentrated his attention on her clitoris, and she parted her legs wider for him. “Now.”

Dylan bent over her body and placed butterfly trails of kisses over her inner thighs, then lay down on his side, rolling her onto hers too. He rested his head on her inner thigh when she lifted her knee, and gave a small sigh of appreciation when she mirrored the position, inverted between his thighs. 

“I’m hungry too,” she murmured, wrapping her arm over his hip, holding him close and loving the sight of his cock so close to her mouth. He was the most tempting breakfast she’d ever had before her.

He kept her waiting, letting her expectations heighten as he stroked the curves of her bottom and thighs, his lips everywhere but where she really wanted them to be. She repaid him in kind, massaging the firm cheeks of his ass, letting his cock brush her throat when she leaned in to lick the lines where his torso met his thigh.

And then he paused, splaying her sex wide with the fingertips of both his hands. Kara held her breath, her teeth grazing his inner thigh, waiting. He made her wait longer still, his fingertips massaging tiny circles where they pressed into her flesh.

“I’m not gonna rush this, English. I want you to remember it forever.”

Was it possible to come just from being looked at, from anticipation and longing to be touched? Kara could feel Dylan’s gaze heavy between her legs, and she thrilled at the heady, hard evidence of his arousal in front of her eyes. She cupped his balls, needing to touch him almost more than she needed him to touch her, gratified by the catch in his heated breath over her clitoris. She moaned out loud with giddy relief when his fingers finally slid over her, moaned louder still when the warmth of his open mouth lowered over her sex, his tongue and his fingers working his own unique brand of leisurely, sensual magic.

He took his time, and she wanted him to stay there forever.

Kara’s hands explored his hardness, and she closed her eyes with pleasure when she took him into her mouth. Dylan’s shuddering sigh of satisfaction vibrated from his tongue onto her clitoris, and she slid him in deeper as he screwed two fingers inside her.

They lay body to body, lost in the intimacy of giving and receiving. Of building and backing off, only to build again, a little higher each time. Kara’s arm over his hip held him close, her fingers sliding over his butt cheeks, between them, pressing against the tightness there as the orgasm she’d tried to hold back flooded through her body like a tsunami. Surrendered. Euphoric. He clamped her against him, thrusting his cock into her mouth as she came against his relentless tongue. She read his fraught movements, knowing he was going to come, wanting to taste him when he did. He was granite-smooth and swollen in her mouth, and she gave him everything. Sliding her hands. Swirling her tongue. Tight, hot suction.

He wanted her to remember this forever.

She wanted him to never forget how she made him feel.

When she pressed her finger deeper between the firm cheeks of his ass, his hips jerked violently and his arm clamped her to him. He was gasping. Raw and laid bare, coming in her mouth and in her arms, his face pressed hard into her inner thigh.

Afterwards, Dylan twisted around and gathered Kara against him, his hand moving warm and languid over her breasts as their heartbeats slowed.

He reached up and traced his finger over the richly decorated ceiling, from planet earth across to the silver of the moon.

“To the moon and back, English.”

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Hey Mom,

Just checking in to make sure you’re okay. How’s Justin doing? Don’t cover for him - if there’s any trouble, you let me know, okay?

Remember I can be home within a day if you ever need me.

M x

To: [email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Stay where you are, son, Ibiza sounds like it’s going to suit you.

You’ve done enough for your brother. More than anyone had any right to ask of you. Justin is… he’s Justin, he’ll never change.

I heard on the grapevine at Lorn’s that Suzie is pregnant. Did you know?

Mom xx

Dylan stared at the screen for long minutes, the untouched cup of coffee in his hand going cold.

He could clearly picture his mother sitting under the dryer at Lorn’s salon, her hair in rollers, reading some out of date magazine while the town’s latest tittle-tattle flowed around her. Her sons had provided a rich seam to mine for the local gossipmongers over the years, and she’d become accustomed to wearing her silence and serenity like an invisible cloak. It was that or fight back, and with sons like her boys, that was too much fighting for any one woman.

Suzie was pregnant.
Dylan closed his laptop and looked out over the Mediterranean from the open fronted cafe, remembering his coffee and finding it unpalatably cold.
Was he bothered?
On some level, perhaps. He didn’t want to analyse his own feelings where Suzie was concerned; she hadn’t been his girl for a while now. They’d both moved on, through choice on her part and necessity on his. He’d filed her away, along with all of the other associated bad memories, in a seldom-visited box at the back of his brain. The box was dirty. Battered, as if it had been kicked around in a temper. Padlocked with a big rusty lock that he’d deliberately lost the key to because he never wanted to have to open it again.

This was home now. Ibiza. Sunshine. Sand. Sea. Sexy girls in cowboy boots.

He hadn’t expected to find sanctuary on board a boat kitted out with its own private glitter-ball, or in the arms of a girl with wild curls and questionable taste in footwear. But then he'd learned the hard way that life throws you curveballs, and sometimes the best thing to do is just try and catch them, hoping like hell that no one guesses you don’t even know the rules of the game.

Sophie turned off the webcam, tears on her cheeks from blowing kisses to Tilly and her parents after their daily catch up session. Being apart from their daughter was proving hard on her heart, even if she was clearly having the time of her little life being spoiled rotten by her grandparents.

Lucien handed her a chilled glass of wine and stroked a tender hand down her hair.

“Don’t cry on your birthday, Princess. She’ll be here next week.”

Sophie placed her hand over his on her shoulder and turned to kiss his knuckles, knowing that Lucien missed their little girl almost as much as she did.

“Being here alone has its compensations,” he murmured, taking her hand and tugging her to her feet. “Come with me. I made dinner reservations.”

“You did?”

He rolled his eyes. “Come with me.”

Sophie let him lead her, her eyes drawn as always to the lone wolf inked across his naked, sun bronzed back, brought to life by the subtle shift of his muscles as he moved. At thirty-six, he was a man who turned the heads of women in any room he walked into, yet whose own head was turned by no one but her. His loyalty and lust were for Sophie alone, a thrill that never got old for her.

“I need to go and get ready,” Sophie said veering off towards the stairs down to their suite.

“No you don’t.”

Lucien didn’t turn around, just kept hold of her hand and led her out onto the terrace and down the warm stone steps at the side of the villa. Heady, scented honeysuckle meandered along the wall beside them, loading the air with sweetness as anticipation warmed Sophie’s bones. Lucien had assumed an air of mystery, which usually meant nothing but good things. Sometimes wild things, sometimes shocking things, but always, always good.

He turned to her at the bottom of the steps, reaching into his jeans pocket and producing a large, old key. “This way.” He slid the key into an arched gate in the wall, then shouldered it open. Sophie glanced past him to see what lay beyond. She hadn’t ventured past that point, in truth she hadn’t given any thought to what was on the other side of the gate. Cliff, she’d vaguely assumed.

Lucien stepped through and set off down the rocky, uneven path, Sophie following close behind him.

“What’s down here?”

“Dinner.”

She glanced dubiously around the small slice of wilderness. “Do we have to catch it with our bare hands?”

“Would I make you do that on your birthday?”

He wouldn’t, she was almost certain.
Almost
. Previous birthdays had involved many things: surprise trips, private movie screenings, jewels that had made her gasp. This was a different approach, very different. Picking her way down a dusty Ibizan cliffside like a mountain goat was definitely unusual.

“Nearly there,” he said, then turned unexpectedly and drew her against him for a slow, sizzling kiss. For a few seconds Sophie didn’t give the slightest thought to where they were heading, because being kissed by Lucien was utterly immersive. His hand drifted over her breast, and she felt her nipple ripen for him through her flimsy sundress.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” he murmured, drawing his thumb around the nipple.

“No.”

He ran an experimental hand down her spine and over her backside, checking if she had anything at all on beneath the cotton. She didn’t. She gasped when he unexpectedly lifted the dress up, grasping the seams as he tugged it off over her head.

“Lucien,” she breathed, feeling exposed and instantly hot for him.

“If it was up to me you’d never wear clothes,” he said, his hands back on her breasts as his tongue moved lazily in her mouth. He stopped when she slid her hands down his abs and popped the top button on his jeans.

“Not me, Princess. Just you.”

He stepped away from her and inclined his head towards where the path ahead of them curved out of sight.

“Dinner is just around the corner.”

Panic warmed Sophie’s cheeks. “I’m not going to find a table full of people round there, am I?” She’d taken Kara at face value when she’d said that she was spending the night with Dylan. Had she been covering for Lucien’s birthday surprise?

He glanced back to her. “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

“Because you know I’d die of embarrassment?”

He must have caught the genuine anxiety in her voice, because he stopped and turned again, his palm soft against her hair.

“Just us, Princess. I promise.” He traced a fingertip from her lips, between her breasts, over her stomach, and came to rest just above the crevice between her legs. “No one else gets to see you like this.”

The possessive edge to his softly spoken words served only to make them sexier. He was a caveman in all the best ways. He moved his finger inside her folds for the most fleeting of seconds, his eyes knowing on hers as he skimmed her clitoris before turning his back to lead her on to dinner.

She came to an abrupt standstill when they rounded the rock, completely taken by surprise at what she saw.

“I never even realised this was here,” she said, her palm flat against her breastbone.

“I know. I wanted to keep it a surprise.”

She stepped forwards into a natural, totally private alcove worn into the rock, so deep it made a room in itself, enclosed by its three rocky walls. A four-poster day-bed nestled in the space, made of simple plain driftwood dressed with gauzy white drapes and sheets. Beyond the alcove, the cliff dropped away down to the sea below. In the distance the huge peach sun sank slowly into the horizon. Candles flickered on the natural ledges around the alcove, and a table stood beside the bed topped with silver domes. For a few seconds Sophie forgot she was naked. Lucien’s birthday surprise had completely enchanted her.

And then he moved in close and dropped to his knees in front of her, and she remembered again, really fast.

“So, it’s your birthday,” he said, wrapping his arms around her thighs and kissing her stomach. Her shoulders touched the smooth, cool stone wall behind her as Lucien hooked her leg over his shoulder, opening her sex to his eyes. He cradled the cheeks of her ass in his hands and looked up her body. “Let me give you something.”

His eyes were hot, never leaving hers as he tipped his face up and opened his mouth over her. He loved doing this. He’d told her often, so many times when his head had been buried between her legs just as it was now.

Sophie moaned, instinctively stroking a hand over his hair as he went to work on her, probing her delicate folds, using his fingers to expose her clitoris to his waiting tongue. He knew her body so intimately, knew how suckling her right there built her orgasm like quicksilver. He suckled her then, swirling his tongue over her nub as his hands massaged her backside. She didn’t try to hold her orgasm back as her body started its delicious tremble. Life with Lucien had taught her that her next orgasm was never far away… and it was her birthday, after all.

He read her signs and swirled harder, tighter, fast little circles that made her hips rock into his face. He answered by lifting her against his mouth and clamping her there, giving her so much stimulation that her orgasm erupted through her body like a firework, spangling every nerve ending with hot glitter. He loved her through it with his mouth and his hands, and when it was over he lowered her down onto her knees and gathered her into him.

Sophie wound her arms around him, clinging to his strength, and his warmth. “I love you,” she mouthed against his shoulder, feeling him say it back against her hair. And she did, she really did. He was the owner of her heart, the father of her child. They shared everything.

Except for one final thing. A thing she mostly tried not to think about. But the moment was too perfect. She was brave enough. She would say it today. She looked up at him, connecting with his gaze, her eyes steady and intimate.

“You know what I’d really like for my birthday, Lucien?”

“Anything,” he murmured, and she knew that he meant it. He’d move mountains to give her what she wanted. She paused for a few seconds, but her eyes didn’t waver.

“I want to be your wife.”

She felt him still. It was the only thing that they didn’t talk about. When she’d met Lucien, she’d been unhappily married to someone else and his opinion on matrimony was in the gutter. So much had happened over the intervening years to heal both of their wounds, yet still it was not an easy subject to raise. It was their last taboo.

Lucien reached for her hand and moved it between their bodies until it settled over his heart. “I’m already yours, in here.”

“I know that,” she said, easing back to look him in the eyes again.

“Then why?” It wasn’t a confrontational question, more of a genuine need to know. Marriage just wasn’t Lucien’s idea of an expression of love.

Sophie placed her hand on his cheek. Her man. Her beautiful, beautiful man.

“Because I want to be your wife. I want to take your name. I want to wear your ring. I want to call you my husband.”

She watched his eyes as she spoke, saw them soften with each new declaration.

“I don’t care where, or when, or who else is there, Lucien. I don’t need a big party or a flashy diamond.” Sophie’s voice cracked. “I just want to marry you.”

Lucien looked at the woman he loved, kneeling before him on her birthday, asking to become his wife. He'd always known that marriage held more relevance for Sophie than for him, but hearing her say that she wanted to take his name, to wear his ring… it stirred feelings in him that he didn’t even know he possessed. He
hadn’t
possessed them before Sophie. ‘I want to be your wife,’ she’d said, catching him unawares, as ever the girl who surprised him.

“Stand up, Princess.”

A flicker of apprehension crossed her brow as she took his hand to steady herself as she stood.

That was better. His girl wanted to be his wife, and she was going to get the proposal she deserved. She was not the one who should be on her knees.

“I’m not down on one knee, Sophie. I’m on both.” He held her hands, and could feel them shaking. “I’m kneeling because you humble me. I’m kneeling because you light up my life from the inside out. I’m kneeling because you’re the most fucking beautiful woman in this whole world, and an amazing mother to our amazing child. You’re the love of my lifetime.”

She gripped his fingers hard, damp cheeked and shiny eyed in the candlelight.

“Every now and then I forget how spectacular you are, Sophie.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it, her skin warm, her scent familiar beneath his lips. “You just reminded me.”

And then he said the words that he’d never once imagined he’d say.

“Marry me. Please?”