LADY OF THE SEALS
From Ellora's Cave
David Fraser has just been rescued from drowning by a mysterious woman. He is just regaining consciousness--or at least he thinks he is.
It was a dream, he thought. It had to be a dream. Or maybe it
was heaven, because how else could this have come to pass? He had been halfway
to death—more than halfway—and now he lay on the beach in the arms
of a beautiful woman with large, brown eyes.
Barely conscious, he registered her presence as if she were a dream. But her
skin against him warmed him, gave back some of the life the cold ocean had tried
to take.
She was naked, he realized slowly, and so was he. They were rolled up together
in a mass of heavy wool blankets, skin to skin, her breasts against his chest,
her long legs scissored between his. He remembered, vaguely, the touch of her
mouth on his as she put her own life’s breath into him. Now she shared
her heat.
He looked at her in the darkness as she lay there against him. Her eyes were
closed, and he was almost certain she slept. Gently, he drew his hands down
her back, and set his lips against hers. She tasted of life, and the salty ocean.
He opened her mouth with his, tasting more deeply, and she stirred against him,
and opened her eyes with a smile.
His hands slid down her body, cupping the soft, warm roundness of her buttocks.
Her thighs pressed against his and then opened loosely, inviting him in. Wrapped
as they were in the blankets, it was difficult for him to align his body the
right way, but he eased his thigh between hers as he kissed her. The wetness
of her sex made hot dew on the skin of his leg.
She moved closer to him, all of her body a warm welcome to his. He hefted her
breasts, bent to take one, then the other, into his mouth. Warmth and more warmth,
silky and soft and beautiful.
“I’ll no’ hurt you,” he whispered, though she seemed
to have no fear of him. Her hand slid between his thighs, pressing his scrotum
against his body. The heat flashed through him, bringing him to life where the
ocean had tried so hard to send him to death. She shifted her legs against his
and the blankets eased around them. Her fingers, rising up the heavy length
of his erection, eased him inside her.
He stilled there, enraptured by her heat. Everything the sea had taken from
him—his breath, his warmth, his very life—she had given back. The
heat radiated from his sex up through the core of his body, through his limbs,
to his skin. Through his heart.
Her legs went around his waist, her calves pressing his buttocks, driving him
a little deeper as she clenched the channel of her sex hard down on the full
length of his. He moaned at the sweet, hot tightness, then she shifted her hips,
drawing away from him. He moved with her, the tight sheath of her vagina sliding
back down the length of his cock, then pressing him back in. The movement was
like the movement of the ocean, a steady, consuming rhythm. Soon he was lost
in it, lost in her heat, the rapid sound of her breathing as her desire rose.
Then she arched under him as she cried out her release and her body pulsed around
his. He pressed harder into her as she came, impossibly far, feeling the hot
pounding of her climax, letting it carry him into his own, until the heat flooded
his body and poured out of him, thick and hot, into her.
And suddenly he was so consumingly tired. He pulled her closer, cradling her
against him, and let the dragging tide of weariness pull him down.
END EXCERPT