"Shall we take breakfast down to the beach?" Daevyn asked, lifting the paper bag from between the seats. "It seems a shame to waste a morning like this."
She wanted out of the car and away from the awkwardness that had fallen between them. She slipped out before he could come around to open the door for her. By the time he joined her he had gathered the coffee cups and breakfast, offering her one of the croissants as they started down the weathered timber steps.
She smiled and shook her head.
He accepted the refusal without comment, tearing off a piece for himself instead. At the bottom of the stairs, he dropped the empty coffee cups into a rubbish bin before reaching for her hand almost absent-mindedly, as though it had already become the most natural thing in the world.
She liked that.
The beach stretched away in a long white curve, empty except for a handful of gulls picking at the retreating tide. The breeze carried the scent of salt and kelp, lifting loose strands of hair from her ponytail and blowing them across her face. They wandered where the sand was firm beneath their feet, just beyond the reach of the small waves folding lazily onto the shore.
His phone rang.
Daevyn glanced at the screen before releasing her hand. "If you'll excuse me." He fell a few paces behind.
Lysara continued walking.
She had no desire to overhear another person's conversation, yet the wind carried fragments towards her despite itself.
"I can't talk now."
A woman's voice answered, too distant for the words to reach her.
"I know."
There was a pause.
"I know." The second reply sounded more tired than impatient.
She kept her eyes on the wet sand, tracing the edge of the surf with the toe of her trainer as though the shells scattered there deserved her complete attention.
"I'll call you later."
Silence.
Then, almost immediately, the phone rang again.
She heard it stop abruptly.
Daevyn caught up with her moments later, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
He looked out towards the sea before answering. "It will be."
She hesitated only briefly. "Aurora?"
His head turned sharply towards her, surprise crossing his face before fading into resignation. "Yes." The admission came easily enough. Things are... difficult. I broke the cardinal rule of mixing business with..." He trailed off, his cheeks coloring. "I have arranged for her to record a single, and am in the process of getting financial backing. If my instincts are right, it will be a sound investment.”
She studied him quietly.
There was no defensiveness in his voice.
No attempt to pretend the call had been from anyone else.
Only the weary acceptance of someone dealing with consequences he had already chosen.
"She seems rather... determined."
A short laugh escaped him. "That is one word for it."
They walked on in companionable silence until the broad sweep of beach narrowed beneath the cliffs, the sandstone rising around them in weathered pillars shaped by centuries of wind and tide.
It was there, as though only just remembering, that Daevyn spoke again. "Sterling has invited us to his house tomorrow afternoon."
She looked across at him. "Us?"
"A picnic." His mouth curved faintly. "There will apparently be music."
"And?"
"Dancing."
She smiled. "Now you're speaking my language."
"I rather hoped I was." He returned the smile, the expression in his eyes shifting so that her heart skipped a beat and a blush heated her cheeks.
He used his hold on her hand to pull her towards him, and wrapped his arms around her.
His lips brushed the curve of her neck. It was magic, she thought, that the slightest touch of the warmth of lips and breath to her skin there sent spirals of sensation throughout her body, as if the very cells of her recognised the touch of her mate.
“I have been thinking about how your body felt beneath mine since I woke this morning,” he whispered and continued kissing his way along her neck.
His hands came to rest on her hips, the heat of his palms burning through the thin material of her gym shorts, before his fingers slipped beneath the elastic waistband, finding her skin.
His other hand and worked its way beneath the loose tank top to cup her breast through the crop top that she wore. “Shall we see if I can improve on great?” He breathed into her ear as he slid his fingers into her, the heel of his hand pressing against her clitoris.
“Oh, god,” she whispered her eyes going to the curve of the sand automatically looking to see if they remained alone.
“You are slick,” he purred the words, and his hand squeezed her breast making her moan. “I want you on your knees, Lysara,” he told her, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel the press of his cock against her arse as he pushed up against her. “But first I want you to take my cock into your mouth.”
She turned almost as soon as his hands released her and looked up at him. The wind had worked most of his hair free of the hairband and it framed his face like pale golden silk as he looked down at her.
Her hands released the top button of his jeans, and he closed his eyes, his face softening in pleasure at her obedience. “Good girl.”
She went to her knees as she eased the fly down. Like the rest of him, his c0ck was a thing of perfect beauty, she thought. She cupped his heavy balls in one hand as she dragged her tongue from base to head along the seam, before sculpting a circle around his tip with the point of her tongue.
His fingers cupped her skull, and he hissed out a breath of pleasure that the wind stole away. She wished she could see him through an artist's eyes without losing herself to the moment. She wanted to commit him to paper exactly as he was—the elegant arch of his body, the taut line of muscle through his shoulders and back, his head tipped towards the sky so that his throat lay exposed, every trace of guarded composure dissolved into unguarded pleasure. It was the sort of pose no model could ever hold, because it could never be performed. It had to be stolen.
She took him into her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she dragged back, slickening him with her saliva. His hips rocked, small movements aiding her to fuck him with her mouth. She was drooling but she didn’t care, focused on his pleasure, seeking to bring him to orgasm. As she felt the beginning of quickening in him, his hands released her head and he gripped his cock around the base, pinching his orgasm off.
“Shorts off, Lysara, and turn,” he was breathless.
She brushed the back of her hand across her mouth as she rose, her gaze sweeping instinctively along the empty shoreline. The beach remained deserted. Even so, her pulse fluttered with the delicious recklessness of what they were doing. Drawing a steadying breath, she eased her shorts and underwear down over one leg, stepped free of them, then turned back to kneel on the sand.
He followed, kneeling behind her, tugging her hips back to him, and she felt the press of his cock against her before, slick with her saliva, he thrusted into her, curving over her, one hand bracing into the sand next to hers, whilst the other reached around her to capture the pearl of her clitoris and rolling it between finger and thumb.
“Oh, fuck,” she moaned, closing her eyes as the pressure and touch speared pleasure through her body. “Oh, fuck…” He knew precisely how to touch her, she thought, as if he owned the manual to her body, better than her own hands did.
His thrusts were deep and hard against her, causing him to grunt with effort, and she responded to the sound of his pleasure instinctually, feeling the fission along her skin a moment before she came. The roll of his index finger and thumb did not ease, pushing her boundaries and dragging the orgasm out until he came, pushing deep.
They were both panting and sweating, she thought. His heart raced against her back in counterpoint to her own. He eased back, withdrawing, and fixed his trousers before helping her to stand and shake sand from her clothing, balancing her as she threaded her leg back into her clothing.
He laughed. “Better than a gym class?”
She grinned up at him. “Much better.”