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We’re still sprawled next to the waves washing against the shore.
I’ve probably got hypothermia at this point, but I can’t feel it when he’s got his arm draped around me and he’s soft and lazy and quiet, his chin resting on the top of my head. My soaked dress weighs a thousand pounds, and even if August hadn’t just fucked my legs to jelly, I think I’d have trouble getting up and walking to either go inside his place or run away and never come back.
Except I don’t want to run.
I don’t want it to hurt this time when it felt so good to have August inside me, to taste him on my lips, all while the stars spun overhead like they were binding us together.
But I don’t know what to do in the silence either.
After a hesitant moment, I peek up at him. He’s relaxed and calm, with his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. His hair is a mess, slick with sand everywhere except for that one untamable strand.
It still falls over his brow like it’s as stubborn as August himself.
I bite my lip and make myself break the silence, tensing to push away if I have to.
“So is this . . . okay?”
I’m expecting him to shove me back. Go stiff and cold.
But the only tension is the tightening of his arm around me, pulling me against the warmth that beats back the freeze of the ocean mist rolling over my calves.
“It is.” A lazy rumble, sex in his voice. Sex and a warmth that my needy heart wants to believe is affection.
August’s eyes open. They’re no longer glacial blue, but a clear, welcoming summer sky.
His lips are softer, thawed from their forbidding line.
My heart skips as he gives me a searching look.
“Frankly, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with you, Elle. Something just started moving like a freight train out of control the moment I saw you tonight. I had no prayer of stopping it, even if I wanted to—and I didn’t.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip.
My heart trembles, unsure if it wants to rise high in a joyous trill or plunge low in despair.
“But you wanted to,” I say.
I know he’s going to say it. That he doesn’t want this, or me. That it’s a mistake he never should have made.
Instead, all he says is, “Only because I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“Then don’t.” My hand rests against his chest, tangling my fingers in his wet dress shirt. It’s transparent against his sleek lines of sculpted muscle. “The only way you could hurt me right now is by pushing me away.”
“Come the hell here,” August coaxes, his hand spreading against the small of my back.
My heart makes its choice and leaps high as his mouth descends on mine for a kiss.
A slow, tender, gritty kiss.
I can’t even taste him.
He’s all sand and brine, and I suddenly remember a horrible little bit of trivia—that a lot of white sand on many beaches worldwide is actually parrotfish poop.
I try to spit without spitting in his face, scrunching my nose and mouth.
“Ptheh. Pfft. Sand!”
August lets out a half-exasperated laugh. “I have sand in other places and would prefer not to.”
