Emilia’s lips met hers with an openness that begged Morgan to take everything. She swirled her thumb over Emilia’s clit as she eased her back up. Emilia whimpered into Morgan’s mouth.

“Another.” Emilia gasped.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m fucking sure.”

Morgan entered her with her fourth finger, awed as Emilia expanded and then contracted tightly around her hand. Emilia broke off the kiss and tilted her head back, her nails digging into Morgan’s shoulders, hips rocking faster and faster as she took charge of her own climax.

Sweet fucking Jesus. Morgan watched in awe as Emilia came.

They breathed heavily together for a few minutes. Morgan periodically moved her hand, eliciting further spasms and gasps, until Emilia put a quelling hand on her arm with an almost pained expression of bliss.

Leaving her almost physically hurt Morgan. She wanted to spend days inside this woman, and the sudden eviction felt brutally unfair.

“You. Are. Incredible.” Emilia punctuated each word with an open-mouthed kiss that made Morgan remember other things she could do to Emilia Russo. She didn’t say anything in response. Couldn’t say anything. Instead, she slipped both hands back over Emilia’s ass, trailing some of her wetness along the cleft between her cheeks. Emilia squirmed and moaned Morgan’s name.

“I need to taste you,” Morgan said.

Emilia bit her ear, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough assertiveness to get her full attention.

“Get on the deck of the boat.” Emilia commanded. “Now.”

Morgan obeyed, half carrying Emilia down with her. The rough texture of the deck against her back only heightened her arousal. Every nerve ending hummed, sensitive to changes in the wind, the salt in the air, and Emilia still straddling her hips. She began unbuttoning Morgan’s shirt while Morgan watched, transfixed by the way her tousled hair softened her face.

“You nearly killed me the other day.” Emilia parted the shirt and ran her gaze appreciatively over Morgan’s stomach.

“Sorry about that.”

“Mhmm.” Emilia lowered herself to lie across Morgan’s legs, kissing the waistline of her pants with languid strokes of her tongue. “You should come with a warning label.”

“Speak for yourself.” She gasped as Emilia’s tongue dipped lower. “And didn’t I say I wanted to taste you?”