They tumbled onto his bed and Claire felt his hands glide the zip of her dress down. She was suddenly consumed with the urge to be rid of it. She pushed him aside and stood beside the bed. One shrug of her shoulders and the red linen slipped to the floor.
Claire stood before Campbell in her black lacy hipster knickers and black lacy camisole. The two wispy pieces of satin didn’t quite meet, her flat midriff bare to his hungry gaze.
Claire thought, rather belatedly, that she should feel shy, standing in front of him practically naked. But when he sat up, perched on the edge of the bed and whistled appreciatively, all she could feel was pride.
‘Are you sure about this?’
Claire nodded. Right or wrong, she couldn’t deny her body this. His kisses had woken the part of her that had slumbered for too many years.
She crossed her arms in front of her and grasped the fabric of her camisole, about to pull it over her head, when Campbell placed a restraining hand on her arm.
‘No,’ he stated. ‘I want to take them off.’
He pulled her to him, his head level with her stomach, his mouth finding the bare skin of her middle, his tongue dipping into her belly button. His hands pushed under the silky fabric and slowly ascended her ribs, taking the camisole with him.
When they reached her breasts, Claire gasped and clutched his shoulders as he rubbed the already fully aroused nipples. Whoever had said there was a fine line between pleasure and pain had sure known what they were talking about. It was exquisite torture.
His hands left her breasts and in one swift movement he pulled the scrap of material over her head and flung it across the room. Her breasts swung free into his eager palms, quickly replaced by his even more eager mouth. Claire felt a jolt of desire stab low in her pelvis and radiate further until it tingled between her legs. The friction of her lacy knickers against her engorged flesh was almost too erotic to bear.
Campbell’s mouth laved every inch of her breasts, tugging and sucking at the nipples until they were hard and elongated with need. He had turned her body into one giant, exposed nerve, hypersensitive to his every touch. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t talk. All she was capable of was holding on and groaning monosyllabic primal noises as her body dissolved in a vortex of pleasure.
She didn’t even register him pulling her underwear down to her knees until she felt his fingers gently probing the tingling flesh at the apex of her thighs. She cried out loud and clutched at his shoulders when she felt one, then two fingers enter her. He repeated the motion rhythmically as his thumb found the swollen nub it was seeking and moved in sync to the tempo set by his fingers. In, out, round and round.
Claire’s head fell back as a maelstrom of sensations stormed through her. Her fingers sliced through his hair, hanging on for dear life as she felt her legs give way. He adjusted his position slightly to support her weight, never breaking his rhythm.
He picked up the pace, her desperate cries urging him on. Her hands imprisoned his head against her breasts as a pressure of intense proportions built rapidly in her core. It spread outwards, its tentacles stretching to all her muscles, tensing them to an almost unbearable rigidity. It paralysed her diaphragm, her breath stuttering out in short hiccupy blasts.
Claire heard herself cry out his name, begging him for release. And just when she thought she’d explode, it happened. Her spine arched, her head flung back and an animalistic groan escaped from her open, gasping mouth. She clung to Campbell like flotsam in a swirling, cyclone-tossed sea, grateful to him for holding her up and for the pleasure that battered her like torrential rain.
Campbell held on tight as she rode the crest of her climax, his breathing as ragged as hers. He felt her muscles clench against his fingers still buried inside her. He felt each contraction and revelled in the knowledge that he was responsible.
As he held her body, still quivering in the aftermath, he was amazed at how she’d given herself so completely, especially after her earlier reticence.
‘Claire?’ He eased her away slightly, wanting to look into her eyes. ‘Are you OK?’ Her flushed face and glazed eyes spoke volumes. She certainly looked OK. More than OK.
Claire moved out of his embrace, stepping out of her not quite removed knickers, and collapsed on the bed, her glazed vision coming to rest on the ceiling. Had what had just happened really happened to her? Even now, minutes later, she could still feel the odd ripple undulate through her muscles deep inside.
‘Claire?’ Campbell’s voice intruded on her musings. She turned her head as he lowered himself back so their faces were level. Their gazes met, her brown eyes still a little glazed. His were greener than green. Irish eyes. So expressive. So green. They screamed meadows and shamrocks.
‘Wow,’ she whispered, raising her hand to push his fringe back off his forehead.
Campbell laughed, a deep hearty noise. Claire joined him. It was easier to laugh than to try and wrap her head around what had just transpired.
Gradually their mirth subsided, leaving them staring into each other’s eyes again.
‘Campbell, I …’ Claire groped for the right words to express her wonder.
‘Shh,’ he ordered quietly, placing his fingers against her ravaged mouth. ‘Don’t say anything.’
Claire felt a tingle in her lips beneath his fingers and was suddenly aware of her nakedness. The air cooling her skin was the merest of caresses.
Campbell noticed the change in her eyes immediately. The glaze cleared, to be replaced by the flame of rekindled desire. His pulse, which had only just settled, picked up again. His breathing became shallower.
Her lips pressed together, laying a gentle kiss against his fingers. Such a sweet, almost innocent thing for her to do, especially given what had just happened. But his reaction to it was swift and definitely not innocent. His erection, still the same one from the deck, raged against the confines of his zipper, almost bursting free.
‘I think you’re a bit overdressed, Dr Deane,’ she whispered, and Campbell groaned as she vaulted up and straddled him all in one smooth movement.
If he’d thought she’d looked magnificent before, nothing prepared him for this view. Gloriously naked, sitting astride him, her breasts jutting, nipples dark, still engorged from his earlier attentions.
She pressed her hips down onto his denim-clad erection, smiling knowingly. She rubbed herself against him as she threw her head back, revelling in her power.
She leaned closer to him so her mouth was mere millimetres from his, her breasts touching the rough fabric of his shirt. She rubbed them slowly against the material, kissing his mouth simultaneously.
He felt her low moan against his lips as it escaped hers. She lifted her mouth and grinned wickedly at him. He smiled back, wondering what was going on inside her head to give her that smug look. She shifted slightly, presenting a breast to his mouth, just out of reach. Campbell licked his lips, his throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
Campbell groaned as Claire slowly, bit by bit, lowered herself into his mouth. He sucked greedily the second he felt her puckered flesh nudge his lips. He missed her sharp intake of breath as his moan of satisfaction rumbled through his head.
She tasted so good it was suddenly too much for Campbell. He grasped her hips and ground them against his erection. He heard her cry out as she continued his action, writhing against him. It felt incredible. Her breast in his mouth and her pelvis rocking into his. He dug his fingers into her buttocks, encouraging her to continue.
‘We really must do something about these clothes,’ she murmured, as she tugged at the hem of his shirt, yanked it up over his head and flung it across the room, where it joined her camisole.
Campbell