“I’d feel really good about it, except for Raul.”
He groaned softly. “He’s asleep, right?”
“He was sleeping hard when I came up here. But if he wakes up and comes looking for us…I’d rather have some clothes on.”
“That’s all right. I can work with clothes.” His head disappeared beneath the sleeping bag and a moment later she felt air on her belly and breasts. He shoved her thermal shirt above her collarbone, and covered one nipple with his mouth.
She made a squeak, which she quickly buried in the crook of her arm.
“You okay?” he murmured from the area of her chest.
“Yes. Don’t stop. I’m just trying not to make too much noise.”
“I want to hear your noises.” He released her nipple with a soft wet pop, then circled his tongue around the achingly sensitive flesh. “Another time. If I’m lucky.”
She clenched her jaw against the onslaught of sensations he was generating with his mouth and tongue. The man was magic. Staying quiet was going to be the challenge of a lifetime. She choked back another moan when he slid his hand under her waistband. For sleeping, she’d chosen a pair of sweatpants with glittery letters reading “One Hot Mama” across the rear.
Tristan sure made her feel like one.
With delicate fingers, he explored her most private area. Mound, outer folds, inner flesh, and then, so deliciously, her clit. She closed her eyes, letting the world go from the dark gray of oncoming dawn to the star-spangled black behind her eyelids. The pleasure intensified with the absence of distraction.
He moved his mouth to her other nipple and lavished it with wet strokes of his tongue. She started to cry out, then remembered and choked it back. Be quiet. Keep it down, young lady.
He seemed to have gotten the lay of the land between her legs, even in the dark cramped space of the sleeping bag. With total confidence, his fingers surrounded her clit and danced across it. Oh yes, right there, she told him mentally, hoping he’d understand. Certainly he’d understand the way her legs fell open to let him in. And the way her inner thighs trembled and strained.
As she sighed and twisted under his fondling, her right hand went on an exploratory mission of its own. Hard, flat belly. An arrow of hair pointing the way. Elastic waistband. Divots in his skin from the waistband. Moist heat and thickening curls, rough and springy. Her heart pounded in her mouth as she touched the velvety hard shaft that lay rigid against his hipbone.
She took hold of his erection and wrapped her hand lightly around it.
“Condom’s in my bunk,” he murmured softly. “This is all for you.”
He stroked her clit with a deliberate thumb. Then pulled it from her and licked it himself. Put it back where it was and oh God. The added moisture nearly made her scream.
“Pull out?” she whispered. It wasn’t as safe, obviously, but she trusted Tristan in so many ways, why not this one too?
He shook his head. “Not in here. Besides, safety first, princess. Just lie back and enjoy. Pretend I’m your valet or something.”
Choking back a laugh, she ran her hand up and down his shaft. “Valets are for men. But you can be my lady’s maid if you insist.”
“As long as I get to do this, you can call me whatever you want.” Still stroking her clit, he slid a finger inside her.
She squeaked again, writhed from the pleasure.
No, more than pleasure. This was something more. It was the way he touched her, both strong and sensitive, with a kind of command that told her he wasn’t stopping until she reached her climax. It was the way he concentrated on her. The way his breathing sped up to match hers. The way he worked her body as if he appreciated everything about her. It all sent flames streaking across her skin and along her nerve endings.
“Can we promise each other one thing?” she gasped.
“What’s that?”
“That we do this again, at least once, with a condom. I want to feel you inside me.”
His voice deepened so it seemed to come from somewhere in his chest. His heart, maybe. “I can promise I want to. I can promise I’ll fucking try. But that’s about all I can promise, the way things are going.”
He had a point, she thought through a haze of dizzy pleasure. “Yes. Me too. Oh god. Oh god.”
After that, they abandoned themselves to the silent grunts and soft gasps and wet strokes and searing pleasure. She clung to his upper arms when she came, those hard muscles the only anchor as she spun into a sky filled with stars. She floated there for a timeless moment as he stayed with her. Touching her, holding her, murmuring to her.
Lulu, beautiful Lulu, brave Lulu. And, maybe most important of all, I got you, Lulu. I got you.
Nineteen
Few things in life were more satisfying than watching a woman orgasm against his hand. Tristan soaked in every moment of Lulu’s spectacular but silent climax. It would have to do for them both, because this situation was complicated enough without taking a risk like condom-free sex.
He didn’t even mind that much, he realized with a smile. Watching Lulu—sorry, Louise Charlotte Victoria—come would give him fantasy material for a long time. And he couldn’t even see her that well in this pre-dawn light.
But how she felt…her soft skin, her long limbs, her eager movements, her swollen nipples…yeah, he could come right now just thinking about those details.
That promise they’d made to each other? He’d be moving heaven and earth to keep that one. Maybe they could give the kid some headphones and a video game and take their chances.
As her eyes slowly opened, he savored their sex-dazed expression. “Feeling good, princess?” he asked, because he knew the answer to that.
“Mmmm. But I’m sorry to say that I reject that endearment. I’m not any kind of princess.”
“You’re my princess,” he declared. “And I’m a Del Rey, so I’m royal-adjacent myself. It’s right there in the name.”
Apparently too satisfied to argue, she snuggled her head back into the nook between his shoulder joint and his chest. It could have been designed with her in mind, that’s how perfectly her head fit there. “Now that we got that out of the way, how about we get back to the important stuff?”
“Excuse me?” He had no idea what she was talking about. What could be more important than a righteous orgasm on the deck of the Desperado?
“Your dream. You said you’d tell me all about it if I told you my full name. I did that, and then you started touching me and so forth. And it was all one enormous distraction. But I didn’t forget.” She turned her head to kiss him on the chest. “I nearly forgot my own name, but I didn’t forget that.”
“Your name is pretty damn long,” he pointed out.
Her soft giggle sent a tickle of air against his skin.
“But I’m right up there with you when it comes to long names.”
“Really? What’s your full name?”
“Tristán Izquierdo Antonio Del Rey.” He let it roll of his tongue with a little extra Chilean flair.
She laughed, the delighted sound mingling with the murmur of waves against the hull of the Desperado. “Now that’s a name. But I thought your father was Danish.”