Mists of the Serengeti(60)

My body melted around him, and the world was filled with him. We found a tempo that bound our bodies together.

Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, it sung to me, each thrust of his hips carrying me higher.

I clung to him, riding out the raging storm that was building up inside me.

“Rodel.” The words were strained as he buried his face in my neck, his hot breath scorching my skin. Passion flamed through my veins as his rhythm changed. His fingers dug deep into my hipbones as he started tipping over the fine edge of control. His thumb found my clit and he drew out a moan. My thoughts fragmented as he teased it, stroked it, flicked it.

“Jack.” My entire body clenched and then peaked as he freed me in bursts of shuddering rapture.

Lighting flared around us as his breath hitched and his thighs tensed. In a moment of blinding clarity, I realized that every time the thunder rolled, I would think of Jack—the essence of him clinging to my senses, the turbulence of his passion around me, our boundary lines dissipating. Skin and bone and breath tangled up in a sizzling bolt of ecstasy.

We lay there, chests heaving, Jack’s forehead resting on mine until our breathing slowed.

“You okay?” he asked, running his thumb along my jaw.

I sighed in pleasant exhaustion and snuggled closer. I ached, but it was nothing compared to the satisfaction that came from yielding to the searing need that had been building up in me.

“When do you think we can do it again?” I asked.

“You little minx.” Jack smiled and wrapped me up in his arms. He was warm. So deliciously warm.

My eyelids drooped, but I didn’t want to miss any of it—the way his fingertips were tracing the outline of my lips, the way his beautifully proportioned body felt against mine, the flecks of harvest gold in his sky-blue eyes.

“Remember this.” He brushed the hair off my neck and breathed a kiss there. “When you’re curled up with your books on a rainy afternoon in England, remember how you painted my world with your colors. Remember your rainbow halo.”

“I will.” A hot ache grew in my throat. He was already saying goodbye. “I’ll remember. For the rest of my life.”

Outside, the thrumming of the rain softened as the clouds passed over. Inside, we held each other, burning bittersweet poems in the silence.

“Jack?” I propped myself up and looked at him, brows softened, eyes half closed, defenses down. Spent and happy, like a big cat lounging on a rock.

I wanted to remember him like this, exactly like that.

“What?” He was measuring my palm against his, fingers splayed, all five touching each other.

I wish I could explain to you what that voice does to me.

I wish I could explain to you how you make me feel.

I don’t think I’ll ever fall as hard and as fast for anyone, the way I fell for you.

I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone the way I love you.

“Nothing.” I took his face in my hands and kissed him.

“You think I don’t feel it?” he whispered, under the curtain of my hair. “Every beat of my heart is taking you away from me. I want to stop here forever. This tent, this kiss, this moment.” His fingers sunk into my hair as he pulled me to his lips.

I was drinking in the sweetness of his kiss when my stomach growled.

“I think your stomach wants in on the action.” Jack slid down and put his ear to my belly. “Are you talking dirty to me?” He proceeded to have a makeshift conversation. “What? No shit.” He came up and gave me a grim look. “Good news or bad?”

“How bad is it?” I played along.

“Death threats. If I don’t feed you, I’m done for.”

“And the good?” I laughed.

“You get a bite to eat, and then we get to pick up right where we left off.”

“And what about you?”

“Oh, I plan to eat my fill, sweetness.” He bit the slope between my neck and shoulder and held it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

I fidgeted with a bag of milk chocolate squares while he rummaged through his backpack.

“This can or this one?” He held out identical tins.

“Both.” I popped a piece of chocolate into my mouth and grabbed another one. Apparently, sex made me hungry.

“Do you hear that?” asked Jack, sitting up straighter.

There was a faint, metallic clanging coming from outside.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Sounds like . . . cowbells.”

We got dressed and pushed the tent flaps aside. The rain had stopped, but a thick mist rose out of the damp, heated ground.

“Why would anyone bring cows to this godforsaken place?” Jack stepped outside.

I crawled out after him and squinted into the dense, colorless haze.

“They may not see us,” said Jack, picking up the two cans he’d just emptied for our lunch. “We need to keep them from trampling over our tent.” He hurried ahead, striking the cans together as an alert.

The cowbells got closer but seemed to still as the other party heard us. We stopped and peered through the humid vapor. Groves of monumental rock rose on either side of us. The mist gave everything a fey-like quality, like we were standing at the threshold of an otherworldly place, still and suspended, except for the muted clink of the odd cowbell.