Page 11 of Hammerhead (Kinkaid Shifters #4)

A knock at the door of her cabin startled Deidre. She was tidying the small room after a long day of learning the ropes. She’d thought a lot about what Tom had said to her and had decided to try to cool things down between herself and Miguel, if at all possible. They didn’t have to be in a rush and she really needed to know more about him and his past before she did something irreparable, like give him her heart.

“Who is it?” she called.

“Miguel,” came the deep reply as every part of her traitorous body thrilled in response.

Deidre closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Get it together, woman . Ignoring him wasn’t an option. He already knew she was in the room. She was apprehensive to see him, but eager at the same time. She crossed the room, hesitating just long enough to smooth her hair and school her expression before pulling the door open. It wouldn’t do to look too eager.

Miguel stood there, leaning casually against the frame, bare-chested and still a little damp. He must’ve come aboard only a short time ago. His dark hair was slicked back, water droplets catching the dim hallway light and sliding down his sculpted chest like the ocean itself refused to let him go.

Deidre’s mouth went dry. It was sinful, how good he looked. His gaze flicked over her, flashing with concern as she stayed silent.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice—low, rough, and edged with something she couldn’t quite place—sent a shiver down her spine.

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, folding her arms, as if that would somehow shield her from the heat rolling off him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Miguel’s lips curled at the edges, not quite a smirk, but close. “I don’t know. You weren’t around when I came in from my shift. Thought maybe I had managed to scare you away.” One corner of his sexy mouth lifted in a sinful grin.

“I don’t scare easy,” she replied, unable to resist his charm. Damn, the man was smokin’ hot.

“Good,” he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his presence filling the doorway. “I wouldn’t want that.”

Deidre knew she should take a step back and create a little space between them. According to her nosy cousin, she should shut the door and put an end to this dangerous thing sparking between herself and Miguel before it became something she couldn’t control. But she didn’t move. What did her cousin know? Surely, Tom couldn’t appreciate the magic that drew her toward this incredible man?

His scent wrapped around her—salt and sun-warmed skin, something undeniably male, something undeniably him .

“My cousin read me the riot act about you. He told me to steer clear of you,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction. “You probably shouldn’t be here.”

Miguel cocked his head. “No?”

“No.” She exhaled sharply. “This isn’t a good idea.” She wanted to believe it, but her inner seal was bouncing in joy that Miguel had come to her door.

“Then tell me to leave.” He was quiet for a moment, watching her with those dark, fathomless eyes.

Her stomach clenched. He was giving her an out. All she had to do was say the words. But she couldn’t. Because she didn’t want him to go. The realization hit her like a rogue wave, stealing her breath.

Miguel studied her, his gaze dipping to her lips before returning to her eyes, as if waiting for her decision. The smart choice was to close the door in his face, but she couldn’t seem to bring herself to do that. Instead, Deidre stepped closer. She saw the change in his expression—a flicker of something raw, something hungry, before he smoothed it over.

“I should tell you to go,” she admitted quietly, tilting her head up to meet his gaze.

Miguel’s lips quirked. “But you won’t.”

She swallowed hard. “No. I won’t.”

His hand lifted slowly, giving her every opportunity to pull away, but she didn’t. His fingers brushed her jaw, a gentle touch that sent heat curling through her veins.

“Then maybe,” he murmured, voice like low thunder, “this isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Deidre had no idea if he was right. But in that moment, with the weight of the ocean pressing against the hull, with Miguel standing so close the air between them felt electric, she didn’t care.

And when his lips finally met hers, she knew—she was already too far gone to turn back now. Her cousin could go jump in the ocean and stay there. This was too good to deny.

She didn’t object when Miguel pushed her gently back into the room and closed the door behind them. He turned her, pushing her up against the back of the door and she cooperated when he urged her legs upward to wrap around his hips. Damn, that felt good. She’d been missing this all day. Missing him.

Miguel’s lips brushed against hers—light as a whisper, testing, waiting. Deidre’s breath hitched, her pulse thrumming beneath her skin like the pull of the tide. He wasn’t demanding. He wasn’t forcing. He was offering.

She could still pull away. But she didn’t. Instead, she pressed closer, her hands sliding up his bare chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles. Miguel inhaled sharply, his body tensing beneath her touch, as if holding himself back.

Not necessary. Deidre tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and that was all the invitation he needed. Miguel groaned low in his throat, his hands skimming down her back, strong and sure, pulling her flush against him. Heat flared between them, the damp air thick with something electric, something alive.

His mouth moved over hers—slow at first, savoring, then hungry, demanding. She met him stroke for stroke, drinking him in, feeling the way he unraveled beneath her fingertips. His hands found the hem of her shirt, fingertips grazing the bare skin of her waist. She shivered—not from cold, but from the way he touched her. Like he was memorizing every inch of her, as if this moment was something he needed to burn into his soul. And she understood that feeling, because she felt it too.

His lips left hers, trailing fire along the curve of her jaw, down the column of her throat. Deidre gasped as he found the pulse at the base of her neck, his teeth scraping just enough to send a thrill dancing through her veins. She fisted her hands in his hair, tilting her head back, silently inviting more. His answering growl sent another shiver down her spine.

He leaned into her, his body pressing against hers, solid and unyielding. She felt the strength in him, the raw power carefully restrained, waiting for her to set the pace. Deidre’s fingers traced down his spine, nails raking lightly over his skin. His breath hissed out between his teeth, his forehead dropping against hers.

“I’m not sure I can be gentle this time. I want you too much,” he murmured against her lips, voice rough, edged with something dark and dangerous. Deidre smiled, tilting her hips just enough to make him groan.

“Good,” she whispered. “I don’t want gentle right now.”

Something in him seemed to snap as his gaze met hers. The chocolate brown of his eyes lit with a fire that began heating her blood to a boiling point. She was with him. She couldn’t wait to find out what he’d do next.

“Be careful what you wish for, babe. You’re about to discover another reason they call us hammerheads.” A devilish uptilt of his lips made her want to both laugh and moan.

All she had time for was a gasp as Miguel surged forward, capturing her lips again, this time fierce, claiming, unstoppable. His hands roamed, exploring, teasing, pulling her deeper into his fire. She met him with equal intensity, pushing, taking, daring him to let go. And then, he did.

The world outside the cabin ceased to exist. There was no past, no future. Just this moment. Just them. And Deidre knew—when morning came, she wouldn’t regret a damned thing.

He rid them both of their clothes, even as he kissed her deeply, his tongue imitating what he would do to her other parts very soon. If she was lucky. She believed she was about to get very, very lucky.

That scandalous thought in mind, she gasped when he released her mouth and dropped to his knees in front of her. She was wearing only the tiny scrap of her lace panties. He’d left those when he’d summarily dismissed her pants. She’d already kicked off her shoes by then and now the underwear was all that was left of her coverings. A lacy bra and the panties. He’d left them for some reason.

“I like this,” he said, looking up at her with hunger and a hint of satisfaction. “I like your lacy things,” he clarified, running one finger under the skimpy band at the top of her thigh. She tried not to shiver too forcefully. “And, to be clear, I like what’s under the lace even better.” His gaze turned smokey as he reached up with both hands to take the elastic at her hips and glide it down over her skin, baring her to his gaze.

He was on eye level with her most private place and though she might’ve felt uncomfortable with any other man, with Miguel, it felt natural. Right. Perfect.

Then, he leaned forward as the lace fell to the floor around her feet. He used one hand to spread her legs and the other to spread the soft lips at the top of her thighs. Blowing lightly on the exposed nub that made her shiver, he whispered.

“Beautiful.”

She barely heard him, but she felt the impact of that word and his warm breath against her skin. She felt her excitement gather as his tongue peaked out to swirl around her clit, making her tremble. She pushed back against the door, jutting her hips out and allowing him to spread her legs farther apart so he could reach deeper with his fingers and tongue.

He pushed one thick finger inside her while his lips touched her intimately, sucking on her body in a way that made her nearly delirious. He added a second finger, and she almost screeched as pleasure filled her. His fingers moved in and out, establishing a rhythm she followed with her hips. She couldn’t help herself.

“Miguel!” she cried out his name as a small orgasm shook her. He soothed her with his tongue and fingers, coaxing her pleasure.

“Oh, I like that, querida ,” he murmured when he drew his mouth away from her body. He looked up at her, smiling in that devilish way of his. “I like when you call my name in ecstasy. I know already that I’ll want to hear that more often.”

“Miguel, please,” Deidre plead with him. She had already achieved one small climax, but her thirsty body wanted more. More of him . Much, much more.

Standing in one smooth move, Miguel lifted Deidre in his arms and walked her over to the bed. She loved his display of strength and mastery, and couldn’t wait to see what he had coming next. Much to her surprise, he laid her on the bed and just looked at her for a long moment.

“What?” she finally asked, feeling a bit put upon that he wasn’t moving faster to join with her. She was ready. More than ready. She needed him. Didn’t he realize that?

“I just wanted to enjoy this sight for a moment. You’re beautiful, Deidre. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever had the good fortune to be with.”

She wasn’t sure if she really believed him because he was built like a Greek god and she was fairly certain he could have his pick of the most gorgeous women in the world. With all his travels, she couldn’t believe he hadn’t had the opportunity.

“I sense you don’t believe me,” Miguel said, that tiny smile on his face as he stalked up her body to hover over her on the bed. His lips dropped to her collar bone, kissing lightly as his fingers reached under her lacy bra to trace around one nipple.

That was more like it. That’s what she wanted. Him touching her body, making her squirm as her passion—which was very close to the surface already—rose higher once more.

He dragged the lace down so her breast was exposed. His lips followed, sucking and licking her nipple as his hand went to the other one, pinching it lightly between his thumb and forefinger. Oh, she liked that.

“Tell me you know how beautiful you are,” he murmured against her skin.

She didn’t know how to answer that. She knew she was good looking. She was a shifter. Most of them were. But beautiful? No. She wasn’t convinced of that. No other man had ever told her she was the most beautiful woman ever. She probably wouldn’t have believed anyone if they’d tried. But Miguel seemed serious. Still, she stayed silent but for the increase in her breathing.

“I see I’m going to have to work on that,” Miguel said, lifting to undo the clasp of her bra and remove it, freeing her generous breasts. He paused to kiss her lips, the fire between them burning bright.

His clothes were long gone when he moved between her legs, spreading them wide. She looked down, seeing how ready he was for her. When she reached for him, he guided her hands away, gently but firmly.

“No touching,” he told her. “I want to make this last.”

“Okay,” she breathed, her voice wispier than she would have believed. This man affected her on every level.

He joined his body to hers slowly, pausing to make sure she was ready for him. And then, he took her on a wild ride that included multiple changes of position, ending with her on her hands and knees while he pounded into her from behind. Hammerhead, indeed , she thought, blushing.

The moment he slapped her ass, she came so hard, she cried out, trying belatedly to muffle her shout of his name in her pillow. They weren’t alone on this boat. No need for everyone to know they were fucking like bunnies in her state room, though she thought maybe most of the crew already had some idea based on how little she’d been able to control her own noise level.

It wasn’t her fault, really. It was Miguel. If he wasn’t such a masterful lover, she wouldn’t have lost control. The very idea of that silly argument made her smile as he joined her in pleasure, then withdrew and turned her to lay in his arms.

That he liked to cuddle had surprised her, but she reveled in his warmth and care. He kissed her face gently as they lay together in the aftermath of one of the best orgasms of her life.

“Your hair is like a flame, and I feel like a moth, being drawn into your orbit. You singe me with your fire, querida, but I don’t mind at all.”

His words charmed her. Like everything else about this man. He was so freaking special. So intense. She loved that about him.

“You’re more poet than warrior, aren’t you?” she asked playfully, unsure how to take his compliment. She hadn’t received a lot of those kinds of sentiments in her life and it was hard to know how to handle it.

“I’m both,” he said, shrugging slightly. “Though for many years, my poetic side has been repressed as I fought to earn my living.”

“Do you miss it? The soldiering?” she asked, turning to look into his deep brown eyes.

“Not at all. I still have my pod. My comrades. And we have good work now, to earn a good living. We were all feeling tired of that life. The constant fighting was wearing thin. And the hustle wasn’t easy either. Constant travel. Looking for work. Entering into crazy situations on a moment’s notice, or just waiting around for the action to start. It wasn’t an easy life and I’m glad I’m out of it.”

She believed him. His words held the ring of truth, and she didn’t see any hint of deception in his beautiful, sultry eyes.

“So you won’t go back to it?” She just had to be certain.

He shook his head. “Not if I can help it.”

“I’m glad.” Fatigue caught up with her as his words set her mind at rest. She lay her head back down on his shoulder and let herself drift away on the languor being with him had created in her body. He held her as she drifted off and she knew no more until morning.

When she woke, he was already gone. His shift started early and although she was disappointed not to have him here when she woke, she knew it was for the best. They both had work to do.