Chapter Thirty-three

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Daphne shuddered. Rafe’s mouth shaped hers, owned hers, while lust shot through her entire body in sharp, shooting sparks. He had moved down to where she sat on the bed and she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning into the kiss with everything she had. Who cared how this had started? All she knew was that she wanted it to continue. She wanted to make love with Rafe. She wanted to be his wife in every way.

What happened next was most likely the doing of two very fuzzy heads because five moments later, Daphne’s shirt was over her head, her breeches unbuttoned and yanked free of her body, and the linen wrapping her breasts was gone. She lay in the bunk naked. She was completely exposed in a way she had never been in front of any man before but all she could feel was… happiness and excitement.

Rafe was gazing at her, his eyes full of desire, his breathing completely unsteady. His hand rested on her knee, hot, heavy. His fingers traced up the inside of her thigh, the outside of her hip, along her rib cage.

He gently, lightly touched the outside of her left breast. Then his fingertips skimmed over her nipple and she shivered with desire. His hand traveled up to her collarbone, her neck, her cheekbone. Daphne closed her eyes and reveled in the feel of his rough touch along her sensitive skin. He had the hands of a man who had worked for a living. Not the soft hands of Lord Fitzwell. Rafe had actually done things like throwing knives and shooting pistols and riding horses and nearly dying for his country. He was right. He was nothing like Lord Fitzwell. Nothing at all.

Rafe groaned deep in his throat and lowered himself over her. He was still wearing his breeches and stockings. His hot bare chest pressed intimately to hers and made Daphne moan. The friction between them was so good. She wrapped her arms around his neck again and he kissed her deeply. Daphne’s head remained fuzzy and she was a swirling mass of lust. The spot between her legs ached and throbbed.

She pushed her legs apart and clenched her eyes shut. Cass and Lucy had mentioned that the first time would hurt a bit. “I’m ready,” she announced, scrunching up her nose and bracing a hand against the wall.

Rafe’s laughter was the last thing she expected. But it was there, loud and melodious, bouncing off the wooden sides of the small cabin. She cracked open an eye. “What’s funny about this?”

He nudged at her with his nose and kissed one eyelid, then the other. “Nothing, my darling.”

“Why are you laughing?” she asked, chagrined, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to push him away. His hot hardness between her legs and the warm heat and weight of his chest against hers were too compelling.

He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t quite— Let’s just say there’s more to it than my pouncing on you. Not to mention if I were to make love to you, I might find myself in a thousand little pieces once your brother finds out.”

She wiggled against him and Rafe closed his eyes briefly. “Daphne, please,” he whispered.

“I didn’t expect you to pounce, but aren’t you supposed to…?” She trailed off in abject embarrassment, not even certain of the right words to use in such a circumstance. She wasn’t worried about Julian. She had no doubt that getting Rafe to this point was all she needed. There’d be little chance he’d stop if they continued to do what they were doing. “I have no intention of telling Julian anything about this,” she said with a coy smile.

Rafe leaned down and kissed her again and all the thoughts fluttered straight from her brain. “Whatever we do, it’s supposed to feel good… and happen naturally,” he said. “Most importantly, feel good.”

“I like the sound of that,” she admitted, kissing the cleft in his chin softly.

He pushed a curl away from her ear and leaned down and traced the outline of it with his tongue. Daphne bucked against him. “Let me make you feel good, Daphne,” he whispered.

“Yes” was her only reply.

He moved down, his lips a hot brand against her cheek, her neck, her collarbone. Daphne wrapped her arms around his shoulders. How could his mouth on her neck feel so good? She’d never imagined it. His lips moved lower, next. They nipped at the top of her breast. Then Daphne gasped as the hot wetness settled over her nipple. “Oh my God,” she moaned. His smile burned against her soft skin. His mouth played with her, biting and tracing small patterns against the fevered skin of her breast. “You’re perfect, do you know that?” he whispered.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.” He sucked her nipple deep into his mouth and Daphne decided she was done arguing with him. The wet heat between her legs was driving her mad and the sensations in her breast were zipping through her body and pulling at the juncture between her thighs. She wanted him on top of her. She wanted him inside of her. “Please, Rafe,” she whispered, her lower body squirming against him.

“Wait, Daphne. Just wait for it.”

His mouth continued its gentle assault on her breast while his left hand moved down to her wet warmth. Her chest rose and fell with each of her labored breaths. His hand teased her, barely touching the springy curls between her legs. He traced her cleft, running one long finger down her center. She pressed up against his hand, wanting more, but not knowing exactly what.

Rafe parted her and pressed a finger between her legs. He moved it into a spot that made Daphne cry out. He stroked her there, slowly, so slowly. Then he began to circle the spot, using only his fingertip, and Daphne cried out. “Rafe!”

He covered her mouth with his other hand. “Shh. We don’t want the crew to hear.”

“At the moment I don’t give a damn,” Daphne breathed against his neck.

“Just feel, Daphne. Don’t think.”

Daphne moaned. All she was doing was feeling. And the feeling made her want to sob. His finger circled her again and again and again. Her hips moved of their own accord in a primal rhythm along with his finger. The tug of his mouth against her nipple and the circling of his finger between her hips made her want to scream. She bent her head to his hair. He smelled so good, like soap and rugged man. He nudged at that perfect spot between her legs, again, again, again. Daphne squirmed beneath him. Her legs were taut, open to him, but clenching with all her might to feel more of the sensation he was offering. Her hands were tangled in his hair. His mouth still owned her breast. He nipped her one more time.

“Rafe, I want—” But she didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“Just wait, Daphne.”

His mouth left her breast and moved down, down, down. Her mind in a fog, she didn’t realize what he intended until his finger left its spot between her legs. She sobbed, but nearly as quickly as it had left, his mouth replaced his hand and this time she moaned for an entirely different reason.

“Oh God, Rafe, no,” she cried.

“Yes,” he breathed against her most intimate spot.

Her face was aflame with embarrassment but the moment his tongue began tracing the little circles where his fingers had been, Daphne ceased to care. There was no more embarrassment, only raw, hot, wanton need . She needed him. In a way she had never needed anyone before in her life.

His tongue circled her again and again. The tip poked at her most sensitive spot and she cried out. “Rafe, I’m going to—” But she didn’t know how to finish that sentence, either.

“Yes, Daphne. Yes.” His hot breath covered the nub between her legs, and when he licked her in deep, wet strokes, she fell over the edge of an abyss she’d never known existed. “Rafe, oh, Rafe,” she called, clutching the back of his head to her, never wanting him to stop and not caring if the entire harbor heard her.

She surfaced from her lust-induced haze several minutes later and looked down to see Rafe’s face at her belly. He grinned up at her with the most self-satisfied smirk she’d ever seen.

“Proud of yourself?” she asked, on a laugh, but zigs and zips of pure pleasure were still racing through her body.

“Yes,” he answered, his grin unrepentant.

She grinned back at him. “You should be. If I had known you were capable of doing that, I would have demanded my marital rights long, long ago.”

He heaved himself up to kiss her lips. The kiss was long and deep and Daphne wrapped her arms around his neck. Rafe wasn’t satisfied. She knew that. He’d ensured that she was satisfied before he saw to his own pleasure. The thought stoked something deep within her—protectiveness, caring, love?

She shook her head. She didn’t have long to contemplate the thought because Rafe was making her wet with lust again by stroking between her legs once more. She parted for him. She wanted to feel him… inside of her. She had never wanted anything more in her life.

“Daphne, I—”

“I know it’s uncomfortable, the first time,” she admitted with a shaky smile. “Cass told me.”

“No. It’s not that.”

“I told you, I won’t tell Julian.”

Rafe smiled at her and traced her ear with the tip of his finger. He kissed her nose. “It’s not that, either. If we do this, I’ll have to be man enough to face your brother. I can do that. But I want to make certain it’s… what you really want.”

Daphne stared up at him. She hoped he couldn’t see all the emotions she felt for him in her eyes. At the moment she didn’t care. She didn’t care about Julian, or the blond, or even their future. All she cared about was being in Rafe’s arms. Giving herself to the man she had always wanted. “I do want it Rafe. Truly,” she promised him.

“Are you certain?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and nodded.

He kissed her cheek gently. “I’ll do my best to keep from hurting you.”

“I know you will.” She lifted up and brushed a kiss to his forehead.

Rafe sat up and quickly divested himself of his breeches. Once they were gone, he moved back and settled atop her. He kissed her deeply, his mouth shaping hers. With his knee, he pushed her legs wider. Daphne held her breath. Then his hard hotness was between her legs, nudging at her wet warmth, seeking its place.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Daphne’s eyes went wide. The knock on the door shocked her. “No!” she whispered fiercely against his strong neck.

Rafe groaned and rolled to his side.

“What is it?” he growled. “And by God, if it’s anything other than this ship being on fire, I’m going to—”

“Captain,” came Salty’s voice. “The men from the tavern. They’re here. They rowed out and have asked to speak with you immediately.”

Rafe’s second groan was painful. He vaulted from the bed in a lightning flash. “Daphne, I’m sorry but there’s no time for you to dress. You must hide in the closet.” He pulled his shirt over her head to hide her nakedness. “I’d meet them on the deck but if they say anything you can interpret—”

“I understand.” She nodded jerkily.

“Show them in,” Rafe commanded Salty. Rafe grabbed his breeches and yanked them up over his hips. Then he ripped the hammock from the beams and shoved it into the cabinet.

Daphne moved from the bed on legs that felt like water. Somehow she managed to gather her clothing from the corner and rush into the closet with the wad of fabric in her arms. Just before she pulled the door shut behind her, she saw Rafe jump into the mussed bed. Apparently he would pretend he’d been sleeping.

She held her breath. She knew what she must do. Not draw attention to herself. If the Russians opened the door and discovered her hiding and holding boy’s clothing, the entire ruse would be up and she and Rafe might be killed on the spot. Not to mention she must listen to hear if they said anything to each other in Russian. But standing there in the closet, shivering and fearful, was hardly conducive to spying. She held her breath so tightly she thought her ribs might crack.

She heard the door to the cabin open and the footsteps of the two men entering the room. “Good evening, Captain.” It was Anton’s voice. “We do hope we’re not interrupting anything.”