She stretched out under him on the couch and lifted off her shirt and the armored sports bra in a couple of swift, efficient moves. Hank caught his breath at the sight of her. “You’re the most beautiful—”

“What was it you just said? We can talk later.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows and doors. The old cottage creaked and seemed almost to move with the wind, not fighting it. Hank felt the isolation of the place. It was as if he and Antonia were the only two people on the planet. He couldn’t even hear the birds over the sounds of the wind and ocean.

He tasted salt on her skin, savored the taste of her, the small moans of pleasure she gave as he took her nipple into his mouth. He didn’t rush. It was late afternoon and raining, and they had no other distractions. He pulled her shorts down over her hips and heard her sharp intake of breath when her silky underpants came with them. In a moment, she was naked under him.

She managed to clear her throat. “No—no fair.”

But when she touched him, he pulled back, knowing that he’d lose all patience the second he felt her hand on him. “Let’s take our time.”

She didn’t protest, just took a small breath when he slipped one hand between her legs. She was warm, moist, and he doubted either of them would last much longer. When he touched her, there was none of the tentativeness of the first time they’d made love. Her natural reserve fell away, which only emboldened him. He wanted to touch, lick, nibble on every inch of her—and she urged him on, until he couldn’t stand it anymore and finally ripped off his own clothes. He had to feel her hand on him. Her mouth. Her tongue. Feel himself inside her.

When he entered her, she stopped breathing. He wondered if he’d hurt her, if he’d thrust too hard, too deep. “I’m okay,” she whispered, moving under him. “Don’t stop…don’t stop.”

She matched his rhythm, lost herself in it. He could see it, feel it happen. They rolled onto the floor, where they had more room, and she tried to pause, tried to keep herself from coming first—but it didn’t work. He felt her quaking under him. She grabbed his hips and pulled him harder into her, again and again. There was nothing he could do. She filled up all his senses, and he exploded with her, crying out with his release.

A long time later, he managed to pull a thick quilt onto the floor and lay with her on it. He kissed her forehead, realized she was still sweating from him. She looked at him, her blue eyes serious, but not, he thought, because of what they’d just done.

Her voice was a hoarse whisper.