They drifted downward until they were kneeling in the sand, and Maggie reached inside Reeve’s trousers to catch him gently in her hand. He moaned and thrust back his head as she freed his straining magnificence to the air and the darting touch of her tongue.

“Maggie,” he grated. “Oh, Maggie—”

For long, sweet minutes Maggie McKenna pleasured her husband, and during that time he unfastened the buttons at the back of her cotton dress and slipped it from her shoulders. When Reeve could bear not another moment of the dizzying torment to which she subjected him, he raised her head with his hands and kissed her. She shivered as his tongue searched the warm moistness of her mouth and his hands smoothed the dress downward to her waist. Having anticipated just such a moment since morning, Maggie had worn no camisole.

He cupped the warm fullness of her breasts in his hands, chafing the nipples with his thumbs.

Maggie had no memory of being lowered to the sand, but she felt its gritty heat against her bare back, and the sun became a dazzling illumination framing Reeve’s head. She made a throaty whimpering sound as he eased her dress down over her hips and thighs and then tossed it away. Upon discovering that she was wearing no drawers, he drew in his breath and then chortled raggedly. “You little vixen—you knew this was going to happen.”

“Ummm,” Maggie crooned, closing her eyes as the warmth of the sun and of Reeve’s love washed over her in delicious waves. His hands stroked her thighs in whisper-soft touches and then, with a groan, he bent his head to her breast, circling the pulsing nipple with his tongue.

Maggie’s entire body hummed with the sensations he was stirring inside her, and she clasped both hands behind Reeve’s head to hold him close while he sucked. In the trees the parrots screeched and the waves washed in and out on the shore, setting a primal rhythm for Maggie and Reeve to follow.

Finally, with a lusty motion of his body, Reeve rolled onto his back, holding Maggie above him, and he caught her untended breast in his mouth, nibbling at its peak with his lips. Still, driven by some instinct older than the sand beneath them, she pulled free of Reeve’s mouth and mounted him. Driven to a delirium of need himself, he lunged inside her in one powerful, heated stroke.

Though Maggie wanted to race toward the dizzying finish that she knew would come, Reeve controlled not only his own desperation, but hers too. Grasping her hips in inescapable hands, he set her pace to match his slow, lingering thrusts.

Maggie was trembling as each stroke of his manhood tantalized her at excruciating leisure but refused to gratify. “Oh, Reeve—I beg of you—I need you so much—”