((Contains references to adult situations.))

It seemed an age ago that Rhys had intimated in a crowded Parisian nightclub that he wanted to go somewhere hot, away from the worries of the world, where no demon would think to look for them and no danger could find them for at least two weeks. A honeymoon seemed as good a time as any to try for that, and they had discussed it at length before unleashing Nat's - and now Rhys' - considerable resources upon finding somewhere to suit.

The island of Grenada proved to fit the bill beautifully - a perfect blend of deserted white sand beaches, high-class accommodation, and enough night life to keep them both entertained at whatever they chose, if they ever managed to tear themselves away from the luxurious beach-side suite they had been directed to upon arriving. The sun was warm, their little stretch of beach empty, privacy assured off-season, and as many little luxuries included in their honeymoon as the Spice Island Resort had been able to cram in there. It was a world away from the mundane where they had met, and the mystical where they had married. One might almost say it was perfect.

The slow drift from morning to afternoon was the hottest part of the day, though newly-weds had plenty of ways to fill that time in the air-conditioned suite. But as the air cooled enough to enjoy the outdoors once again, Nat had insisted on leaving the beautiful cinnamon suite to enjoy a little of the beauty of the beach beyond before they made a decision about what they would do that evening. Startlingly dressed down for perhaps the first time he had ever seen her, in shorts and shirt over a bright bikini, she was walking now along the wet line of the surf, bare feet smoothing over dry sand and wet alike as she shaded her eyes to look out over the crystal blue water. It was wonderfully peaceful here, and so quiet. So easy to believe they were the only ones on the island.

Though the island was supposed to be a resort and geared toward romance and relaxation, Rhys had been like a kid hyped up on too much sugar ever since they'd arrived, anxious to dig his toes into the sand and take a dip in the ocean. In all his thirty-some odd years of life, he'd never really taken a vacation, and the closest he'd ever come to the ocean had been a trip or two to Coney Island. Was it any wonder then that he was so obviously excited to be here" He'd even weathered the flight well, chattering away non-stop with anyone who would give him the time of day, a bundle of nervous and excited energy. His energy was bound to run out eventually, and he'd collapse in bed, but for the time being, he was enthusiastically soaking up the experience.

Deeply amused by her husband's seemingly endless enthusiasm for something so simple as a beach, Nat turned away from her contemplation of the sea, her eyes seeking him out where he had managed to corner the assistant manager. The poor woman had only come down to make sure everything was to their satisfaction, and had been sucked into at least twenty minutes of over-excited babbling with the man of the house. And Nat wasn't going to help - as much as she loved Rhys, letting him babble to someone else for a little bit was a welcome relief. Laughing to herself, she moved back up the sand a little way, dropping her flip flops down beside one of the recliners and setting about removing shirt and shorts. As long as Rhys was distracted, she might as well soak up some of the gorgeous heat from the sun.

Rhys had only meant to ask a question or two, but before long it had become an entire conversation, rife with every question that popped into his head. Did you really get cramps if you went for a swim right after eating" Could they really order champagne any time of day or night' What about pizza and burgers" What kind of beer was on tap" How late were the nightclubs open" Did they have live bands" How did they arrange to go snorkeling" And the questions went on and on, until the assistant manager finally had to excuse herself, telling him all the answers to his questions could be found in the many brochures and booklets in their suite. Rhys looked slightly chagrined by this, but only momentarily, thanking the woman with an enthusiastic handshake before turning to locate his newly-wed bride, who'd somehow managed to escape him.

By the time the assistant manager had extricated herself and was hurrying away, Nat had stretched out, eschewing the recliner in favor of a towel laid on the heated sand that covered the beach. Her shirt and shorts lay on the seating, discarded and forgotten as she breathed in the myriad scents on the trade winds that brushed over the island, blissfully unaware for now that her husband was coming to find her again.

"Nat!" he called, lifting a hand to shield his eyes, as he scanned the beach for his Other Half. It wasn't hard to find her, considering they were the only ones occupying this stretch of sand and surf. She'd had to find creative ways to occupy him up until now, as anxious as he was to soak up the sun. Fair-skinned and freckled, she knew he'd burn to a crisp in no time and had applied a liberal amount of zinc oxide to his freckled nose and sunscreen to the rest of him. He'd complained of smelling like a coconut, but had allowed it, since it did involve her having to touch nearly every inch of him. He now came marching across the beach toward her, the expression on his face more reminiscent of a nine-year old boy than a full grown adult. "Can I go swimming now?"

She laughed, lifting a hand to shade her eyes as she looked up at him, wondering if he had any conception of how very cute he was right now. That wasn't a word she'd been able to apply to him until they'd reached Grenada, but it certainly described him near perfectly at the moment. "I am not your mother, milaya," she chuckled up at him, choosing not to comment on the fact that if he stayed where he was too long, she'd have the shape of his head tanned in shadow on her stomach. "Or are you asking me to come swimming with you?"

"You can do what you want, but the ocean is calling my name!" he declared with a grin, sweeping an arm toward the tide that was washing up over the sand with rhythmic precision. His gaze moved over her bikini clad body and he whistled appreciatively. It wasn't like he'd never seen her this scantily-clad before, but never in a bikini on a beach sunning herself. "Nice itsy bitsy teeny weeny bikini, Mrs. Bristol." He'd been calling her that on and off ever since they'd left Avalon, as if he had to keep saying it in order to remind himself that it was real.

Another thought came to mind and caused a small frown to turn the corners of his mouth down, a question he hadn't thought to ask the poor harried woman who'd made the mistake of asking if there was anything they needed. He turned his gaze toward the ocean again, shielding his eyes from the sun. "You don't think there are any sharks out there, do you?" he asked, worriedly. It probably seemed a silly worry for a guy who tangled with demons on a regular basis, but he was only human, after all, with human faults and failings.

She sat up, rolling her eyes laughingly at his whistle and the comment passed on her chosen attire. She had no idea it was a pop culture allusion, unfamiliar with the song, but it made him smile, and that was always worth it. "No, Mr Bristol, I do not think there are any sharks out there," she assured him. "I doubt they would let anyone swim if there were." She didn't mention jellyfish, having already checked to be sure it was the wrong season for them, and frankly if he stepped on a stingray, he deserved to get jabbed for his trouble. The water was too clear not to be able to see where you were putting your feet. She held a hand up, wriggling her fingers at him. "Would you like me to hold your hand, just in case?"

He frowned, pouting a little at the insinuation that he couldn't manage to take a swim without her help. He had been battling demons most of his life, hadn't he" He could manage one little swim in the ocean. "No, Mom, I think I can handle it. You can stay here and work on your sunburn." Not suntan, but sunburn. In truth, he would have welcomed her company, but he wasn't going to admit it. He gazed out at the expanse of ocean, in more than a little wonder. "It looks like it goes on forever, doesn't it?"

His pout only made him more adorable, frankly, but again, she wasn't going to mention that, pushing herself to her feet with a gentle laugh. "It does," she agreed with his assessment of the ocean, running her fingertips teasingly up along his spine. "Do not let me forget to cover you in cream when you get out of the water, though. I love you, milaya, but the thought of you covered in sunburn is a scary one." She blew him a kiss, and abruptly landed a sharp spank on his rear, lurching out of his reach as quickly as she could.

He narrowed his eyes momentarily at the thought of her slathering him full of that disgustingly cold and slimy lotion that was supposed to protect his pale skin from the sun. It was hard to tell if Rhys' fair skin had ever weathered the sun in his entire life. There wasn't a tan line on him, and he was fair and freckled enough to burn to a crisp in a matter of minutes, not hours. "I already smell like a girl," he complained, though in truth, there was very little that could ruin their holiday - except maybe a very bad sunburn. His eyes widened at the whack to his rear, and he jumped forward a step, losing a sandal in the sand. "You are asking for it, my little dumpling!" he warned with a smirk, sweeping an arm toward her to catch hold of her.

Significantly smaller than her husband, it was pretty much only his arms around her keeping Nat from being washed away by the time he paused, her feet dangling at least a foot from the seabed he was comfortably standing on. Not that she cared. Rhys was kissing her, and that meant the whole world, its mother, and its pet canary could go hang until he was done. "Are you enjoying your vacation, milaya"" she asked him fondly, each word brushing his lips with tender affection as she lolled in his grasp, enjoying the contrast of warm skin and cool water.

He knew the power those kisses had over her, how quickly she could dissolve into putty in his hand. It was hard to resist the urge to pay her back for her mischief on shore, and he wasn't sure he wanted to resist. It was a private beach, after all. Who was going to notice" "I am, are you?" he asked, as his lips grazed her neck, his hands sliding up her back.

She knew she was due some payback at some point, though with Rhys it was hard to predict when or how that retaliation was going to come about. Curled close to him, she drew her fingertips through his hair, over the strong curve of his shoulder, her head tilting as his lips traced the line of her neck. "Mmm, very much so," she promised him, her voice a soft purr against his ear.

"You love me, Natalya?" he asked, his lips teasing the soft tender flesh just beneath her ear, as his hands crept oh so innocently higher up her back, as if to hold her snugly in his embrace so she wouldn't float away from him in the buoyant waters.

Her lips parted in a warm smile as he spoke, feeling the smooth creep of his hands over her back as her own arms tightened about him lovingly. She breathed teasingly against his ear, taking advantage of the current that held them in the water to slip a knee between his thighs with deliberate intent, murmuring against his ear in return. "Would you like me to prove it right here and now, Rhys?"

As tempting as that thought was, and as much as it was affecting a certain part of his anatomy, he had something else in mind, something devious and irresistibly mischievous. "You can prove it to me later, my dumpling," he breathed against her ear, tugging the string of her bikini top loose and with a quick sweep of his hand, snatching it away from her and pushing off with his feet to launch himself backwards and out of her reach, breaking into a fit of laughter as he turned the tables on her and gave her a little harmless payback.

"Rhys!" It wasn't just the burglary of her bikini top that brought that loud squeal from her lips - the water felt particularly cold on certain sensitive parts of her anatomy that responded to the sensation with aching enthusiasm. Abandoned in the water, she flailed for a moment, disappearing under a wave only to burst up spluttering and trying not to laugh at the mischievous delight on his face as he launched himself away from her. "You get back here!" she demanded with a laugh of her own, striking out in pursuit, half embarrassed and half amused by his little trick.

He backed away, making sure to keep himself just out of reach of her pursuit. "Say please!" he called back, dangling the teeny weeny top in the air above the waves. "It would be horrible if the waves took it, wouldn't it?" he asked, dropping it into the ocean with an "Oops," but snatching it back up just as quickly with his free hand. "Oh, look....Nattie's got titties!" he called, singsonging at her like an eight-year old. "What do you think" Is it my color?" he asked, standing up in the water and holding the little top up to his chest with a stupid grin.

Indignant at his playing, but hardly holding it against him, she struggled along in the water until her feet found purchase, just barely shoulders above the lapping waves that played against her body. She'd never seen Rhys quite this free to play before, thoroughly enjoying the sight of it despite the fact that it was at her expense somewhat. "I think you would look better in pink," was her grinning response to his suggestion, giggling at his silly expression for a moment. "Although if you truly wish to know if it suits you ..." There was a pause, her arms lowering beneath the water, and she held up the other half of her suit, winking at him. "You should try both parts on."

He audibly gasped as she played along with him, and dangled the other half of her swimsuit in front of him. He really shouldn't be all that surprised. After all, this was the same woman who'd inducted him into the Mile High Club the same day she'd met him. He'd been accused of being incorrigible, but if the truth be told, she was just as bad, if not worse. "I am shocked at your lack of good sense, Mrs. Bristol. Someone might see you!" Yeah, right. Like he cared about that. Neither of them had ever been known for their modesty.

"Well, perhaps you should get over here and do something about my modesty then, Mr Bristol," was her chuckling response. She balled the skimpy bottoms in her hand and threw them at him, ducking beneath the clear water with a grin. And didn't come back up again ....not until he felt hands on his shorts, pulling downwards once again.

He caught the skimpy bottoms that were thrown at him, too surprised to react but for a single, "Yipe!" as he felt her hands tugging at his shorts, and he backed away again. "Hey! That's the only pair I've got!" He balled up her swimsuit and slung it onto the sand. They hadn't come so far out into the water that he'd chance missing, unless the waves came in and took it out to sea.

She rose from the water at his back, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing close, teasing her lips behind his ear as she laughed softly. "You started it," she reminded him cheerfully, disregarding her misbehavior on the beach as nothing to do with this. "We will get you another pair if these ....disappear." Her hands slid down over his chest, over his stomach, to take advantage of what she'd uncovered, even if his shorts were still on his person. Just.

It didn't occur to him until she mentioned it that he could probably just buy another pair. He wasn't really accustomed to living the good life. He'd spent most of his life just getting by, struggling to make ends meet most of the time. It was a strange feeling to not have to worry about money for a while, or possibly ever again. "Uh..." he muttered uncertainly, as she slipped around behind him, her hands moving over him, dipping lower. He made no effort to stop her now that they had traded places again, her efforts rewarded with a sigh of breath, his stomach tightening uncomfortably with eager anticipation. It felt strangely liberating to be nearly naked in the ocean, the water lapping around them, no one around or in sight to watch them or to care.

Nat slipped beneath the water once again, easing his legs free of the suddenly constricting cloth. This time, when she broke the surface, it was to throw his shorts up onto the sand with her own suit, circling him with one of those sweetly suggestive smiles playing about her lips. Her fingers skimmed his chest, a thumb brushing over his nipple as though to make a gentle point of the shock he'd given her when he'd absconded with her bikini. "There is no one here to see us," she murmured reassuringly, easing closer in the lapping water, one arm looping about his neck. "And even if there were ....we are on our honeymoon. We are not supposed to be behaving ourselves."

It wasn't his nipples that were being shocked by cold water, but an appendage that was a wee bit larger. He did smirk as she made her point though, an arm circling about her waist as she eased closer. "You want to..." He arched both brows questioningly. Though it seemed apparent what she wanted, he still questioned it. "Here" Now?" He just hoped he didn't get a sunburn on the parts of his body that hadn't been slathered with sunscreen.

Given where those parts were, it was unlikely he was going to have to suffer the indignity of sunburn there, but Nat would have laughed if she'd known that was what he was thinking. She smiled at his hesitation, stroking her palm over his shoulder. "We don't have to," she promised him, understanding that it was, perhaps, a little too far for him in the middle of the day. "Perhaps later." Nuzzling her lips to his, she gently nipped him, simply enjoying the freedom of being bare and close beneath warm sunshine.

Oh, yes, can't forget the rubber sandals that cost all of about $2 to replace, unlike his shorts that had been washed out to sea. "Um..." he muttered as he got to his feet, one hand attempting to cover his otherwise naked appendage, while he caught her shorts with the other. "This aren't going to fit, Nat!" he called over to her, his brain a bit slow from the heat of the sun and the afterglow of their lovemaking, his skin starting to pinken in the sun.

"I don't mean you to put them on," she laughed, tugging the hem of her shirt down, though it was still indecently short. Her eyes skimmed him impishly. "I just do not believe your hands are sufficient to the task, that is all." How was that for a roundabout compliment' She scooped her own flip flops up from the sand, crooking a finger for him to follow her as she headed back toward the little suite that was their own for the next two weeks.

"Oh!" There went his eyebrows again arching upwards, a smile spreading across his face as he realized the compliment for what it was. "Oh, well..." He shrugged, somewhat immodestly. He covered himself as well as he could with what little she had given him, searching the beach for his flip flops, one having gone one way and the other another. Of course, there was nothing to cover his backside, which was going to burn to a crisp if he wasn't careful, not to mention moon half the beach.

He wasn't the only one mooning the beach, though he was the only one with a good view of his wife for the time being. Nat could feel her own skin beginning to warm uncomfortably, glancing back at Rhys with a raised brow. "If you do not hurry up, you will burn," she pointed out, seeing the reddening of his skin with a little concern. "And I do not believe you would let me cover you in vinegar to take the sting away."

"I'm not smelling like a salad!" he shot at her across the beach, as he finally located one sandal and fit his toes into it. Now for the other. Not that it mattered really. After all, it was a beach. They didn't really need footwear. "First I smell like a pina colada and now she wants to make me into salad dressing," he muttered to himself as he lumbered across the sand. "Found it!" he declared at last, as he reached for the sandal and held it up triumphantly.

"All right, let me put it like this," Nat conceded, rolling her eyes at his stubborn insistence on risking a burned backside. "If you do not hurry up, I will not let you cover me in lotion. In fact, I may just call a member of the spa staff and make you watch instead." And knowing her, there was a definite risk that this was exactly what she would do.

He gasped, dropping the sandal in the sand at her threat. "You wouldn't!" he hissed. Sandal or no, he wasn't going to let someone else slather lotion all over his wife's body. The thought of doing it himself was making it difficult to keep himself covered behind the small bit of cloth that was her shorts. He bent over again, having to take two swipes at the sandal before his fingers caught hold of it and he was marching back up the beach toward their suite.

Mission accomplished, she thought to herself, only just managing to hide the smirk as she resumed her own stride to the suite. It was a relief to pass from the heat of the sun and into the shade of the trees that bordered the beach, and even better to step up over the open porch and into the air-conditioned goodness of the living room. She glanced over her shoulder at Rhys, letting him see her more than playful smile now, as she dropped her sandals and reached for the phone, apparently to do just as she had threatened to unless he managed to stop her.

His mouth dropped open and he broke into a wobbly sprint toward the suite, one sandal on and one sandal off, having enough trouble just trying to keep her shorts in place. He lost the sandal on the porch as he scooted inside, uncovering himself so that he could make a grab for the phone and stop her from calling whoever it was she was calling. Unless it was room service. He wouldn't mind a drink or two and maybe some munchies.

Her smile was wide as she watched him advance, backed up against the wall by the time he reached her. The voice on the other end of the line was just stating that it was room service as Rhys made a grab for the phone, and his wife gave it up with a warm laugh, kissing his shoulder fondly.

"Sorry, wrong number!" he barked into the phone before slamming it down onto the receiver. "You are in so much trouble!" he warned, tossing her shorts aside to land anywhere - he didn't care where - and advancing on her, spreading his arms out to corner her, pin her against the wall. His eyes flashed, but not with malice so much as mischief.

Giggling, Nat shrank back against the wall as he cornered her, small and surrounded, and woefully indecent in that thin, short shirt she wore. "Again, dusha moya?" she asked playfully. "The last time you said that, you spanked me." The expression on her face certainly wasn't warning him against repeating the experience, but she wasn't going to make it easy for him if that was the way he chose. She blew him a kiss from beneath her more wayward than usual curls.

He was still holding one sandal in his hand and he could easily have used that to spank her with, but he had a far more interesting punishment in mind. "Oh, no, no spanking for you. You enjoyed that too much. I've half a mind to handcuff you to the bed and then leave you that way." He flashed a playful smirk at her, but whether he was serious about his threat or was just teasing was hard to say.

She grinned up at him, rising up onto her toes to brush a kiss to the corner of his smirking mouth, smoothing her hands over his sides. "You consider your options," she told him as her fingers brushed over skin growing sensitive as the burn began to settle. "I have something else in mind to fill the time."

He flinched just a little at her touch, feeling that burn starting to sting. Thankfully, he'd taken her advice and gotten inside before he could burn badly enough to ruin their honeymoon. He tossed the sandal aside, his smile fading into a curious frown. "What's that' Edible panties?" he asked, hopefully.

She laughed softly. "Sadly, I am about to disappoint you," she informed him, touching her lips to his once again before ducking out from under his arm. With her shirt still open and swaying about as she moved, she slipped away, into the bathroom for a moment, before returning with a cold wet cloth in one hand, and the dreaded moisturizer in the other. Thankfully for Rhys' manly senses, this one was unscented.

He frowned, turning as she ducked beneath his arm to follow her movement with his eyes, his gaze traveling to the bottle of moisturizer in her hand as she emerged from the bathroom. "You planning on using that to lube me up?" he asked with another smirk and a waggle of brows.

"If you're very good," she teased, crooking a finger to invite him toward her. The cloth was cold, yes, but it was soothing against his sensitive sore skin, wiping away sand and the remains of the sun lotion as Nat smiled sweetly up at him. "I would not insist if I did not think this was worth it," she assured him, the fresh pink flush on her own skin an echo of the mild sunburn decorating his.

"Oh, baby, I'm always good," he promised with a grin, answering the finger-crooked summons obediently. He remained standing, wincing just a little as the cloth brushed the tender pink skin. "Ow," he muttered with a hiss of breath, though it was really nothing compared to other hurts he'd suffered over the years. He turned serious at the tenderness of her touch. Despite the momentary silliness of his mood, he realized it was her caring that made her insist on this. "Nat, you know....I've never really had a vacation before."

She lifted her eyes to his, her smile softening as she set the cloth aside, pouring a generous amount of cream into the cup of her palm. "That is why I want you to enjoy this," she told him gently. "And not spend days uncomfortable because your skin feels three sizes too small." Her hand swept over his shoulders, leaving a trail of the cool lotion behind, before she turned her attention to gently smoothing it over his neck and clavicles. Slowly her hands worked down over his arms and back up again to add more cream and begin the task of alleviating some of the sting from his back and chest. "I have not truly had a vacation myself," she admitted thoughtfully. "Though I have been many places through the years."

She laughed, only a little indignant that he thought she was considering that. "Not even for the opportunity to have me kiss it well again?" she asked artlessly, although to be honest, she had never needed an excuse to do that in the first place. Turning, she flashed him a warm smile over her shoulder, raising her hands to lift her hair out of his way. Unlike him, the back of her neck was all but untouched, thanks to the thick fall of curls, but there was an obvious line where cream turned to rose beneath.

He snorted at her reply as he squeezed more lotion from the bottle, unaware that he was practically reading her mind. "Since when do you need an excuse to do that?" he asked with a smirk, lifting his gaze to find a definite line on her back where she was starting to burn. "Whose idea was it to honeymoon in the tropics" We both burn like lobsters." He wasn't really complaining. He was, in fact, having the time of his life, even if he was in danger of freckling. He slathered more lotion over her shoulder-blades and down her back, focusing on the areas that had turned pink.

She laughed cheerfully at his minor complaint, hearing more than the words. "I believe the agreement was "somewhere hot and far away"," his wife reminded him with a chuckle that turned quite suddenly husky as his hands swept down her back, finding that always unexpectedly sensitive swathe of skin that covered the curve and dip of her spine. She'd never been able to work out why she was so sensitive there, but it always came as a surprise, even to her.

"Speaking of lobster..." he continued, well aware of what it did to her when he touched her there, but making no move to avoid it, making sure every inch of her back was covered with cooling lotion. He paused a moment to glance downward, appreciating the way her back dipped into the curve of her rear, trying not to think about it too hard or something was going to get hard. "Um..." He paused, his thoughts derailed again as he ran out of back.

Her breath had staggered as that chuckle ran its course, the flush on her skin illuminating her arousal despite the gentle glow of sunburn that covered her. Hands that had been buried in her hair dropped, letting her curls brush over her shoulders once again as her head turned, her gaze seeking out his as she made a valiant effort to keep a lid on it for the time being. "Um?"

He was going to tell her that he'd never had lobster before and was wondering what it was like, but those thoughts suddenly evaporated as he was distracted once again by a sudden surge of overwhelming desire, which at a glance was obvious from his body's apparent arousal. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury himself deep inside her, make her cry out in ecstasy and agony, lose himself completely in all that was Natalya. He felt a strange shyness come over him, as if what he was thinking was wrong, but she was his wife now and what was so wrong about wanting her" He reached for her back, to trace the curve of her spine with a fingertip, knowing what that simple, gentle touch would do to her. "I want you," he admitted, the desire clear in the tone of his voice.

The reaction was more pronounced this time, her body rising onto her toes in a slow spasm of unmistakeable tension, the curve he traced deepening under the gentle sweep of his fingertip as her eyes closed, lips parting to release an unabashed ghost of a moan. Her shoulder turned toward him as she lowered back to her heels, her hand rising to drawing her knuckles tenderly against his jaw, eyes opening to meet his with the desire he knew so well. "Dusha moya ..." It was whispered, moments before her lips touched his, but he could not have mistaken that tone for anything but what it was. Screw the sunburn.

But it wasn't a gentle taking that he wanted in that moment of spiking arousal; it was a wild claiming of her body, taking her and marking her as his own. It was a fever that raged inside him, burning for release. It wasn't a tender, loving embrace that he was craving, but a ravishing of her body, taking what he wanted from her in wild abandon. The desire burned like fever, but would she be open to submitting herself to him in such a way' He had never before asked her or demanded such a thing of her. Did she trust him enough to allow him to let go of all his restraints, trusting he wouldn't hurt her" "Nat..." He groaned against her lips, pressing his body against hers, his arousal plainly felt.

He might never have asked her, but she had asked him once. They'd almost managed it then, but for the niggling worry in both minds against harming the other, though a little pain was never something she would shy from with Rhys. Feeling him press hard to her, the vibration of his groan against her lips, she moaned in answer, sensing something beyond the simple desire they'd shared so often before. "Tell me," she breathed to him, turning once again to lay her back against his chest, drawing her hand high enough to drag the barest scrape of her fingernails through his hair.

He wanted her so badly it was almost more than he could bear, groaning in response to the simple scrape of nails through his hair. His body responded in ways it never had with anyone before, aching to shatter the barrier that he had put up between them, the limits he had set for himself so that he would never lose control and hurt her, but this was Nat. Nat, who had encouraged him to drop his restraints and let himself go.

It was only fear that had held him back, fear that he'd hurt her, that she'd never see him the same again. He could be a gentle lover, caring and loving, warm and tender, but there was another side to him, a side that probably scared him more than it scared her. He wasn't sure he could tell her, wasn't sure he could put it into words. There was ultimately only one way to know. He pushed her hair to one side, settling his hands against her hips as his lips grazed the side of her neck. He breathed her in, desire pulsing inside him. "Do you trust me?" he asked, his lips close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck.

What a question to ask her. She shuddered scintillatingly at the implication buried in those few words, the sheer weight of hungry need pouring from him setting her body to aching for him as his lips tasted her skin. And not just her body; with Rhys, the physical desire had always seemed secondary to the want that flooded her heart and mind, and this was no exception. She arched back against him with a low groan. "With everything I am, milaya," she promised him fervently.

He had lost the bottle of lotion, set aside somewhere, as forgotten as the sunburn, replaced by a burning of a different kind, urgent and agonizingly pleasant. His gaze roamed over her as he glanced over her shoulder, the flat plains of her stomach rising to the swell of her breasts. His hands slipped away from her hips to follow his gaze, sliding up along the flat of her belly, cupping the swell of her breasts in the palms of his hands, as his lips traced the line of her neck. There was no denying him now, no turning back. He wanted her and needed her and was determined to have her. He pulled her close, pressing his heat against her.