He grins back, trying out my full name with exaggerated emphasis. "Andrew—"
I shove his shoulder, laughing. "Stopbeing weird about it. Just call me Andy."
I fought so hard not to be Andy anymore after I decided to start my life over and move out here, but Andy is the kid Vince pulls back out. He reminds me that Andy is enough. Andy has always been enough.
I tried to bury him, tried to change myself, but... Vincedoesn’tlet me.
It's so strange to meet someone who naturally pulls at the core of me, who brings me back to myself without even trying. The more time we spend together, the more I become the person I'm meant to be. Vince doesn't know he's doing it, but he gets me to accept myself just by being him.
"You turned that annoying nickname into something really special to me, Vince. You can't take it back."
I kiss my fingertips and press them to his lips.
The look in his eyes completely shifts.
He leans over, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that's both gentle and demanding, a silent promise in the press of his lips. His hands guide me down onto my back, and one of his thick legs slides between mine, a deliberate pressure that sends a shiver straight through me. A small, surprised noise escapes my throat as he murmurs against my lips that he loves me, the words vibrating through me, settling deep in my bones. When his tongue slides against mine, electricity buzzes through everynerve in my body, igniting a fire that spreads through my veins, making my blood run hot. Then he shifts his hips against my leg, pressing his weight into me, and I sink my fingernails into the fabric covering his thighs, feeling the muscles tense beneath my touch.
I freeze, the sensation overwhelming me, my breath catching in my throat.
"Vince, what... How are you this hard right now?" My voice comes out as a breathless whisper, barely audible over the pounding of my own heart.
I move against him, disbelief flooding me at the intensity of what I'm feeling.
He pulls back, looking down at me with exasperation in his eyes. "What do you mean, how?You were seconds away from going down on me at the beach. Youdropped an f-bomb about boning me in the tent. Youwere talking about making out behind dumpsters,being a bad boy,then you go all sweet on me about your name.Do you even have a single fucking clue what you do to me? Because I don't think you do."
I laugh against his mouth, cupping the side of histhigh.
His hand grips my face, fingers pressing into my jawline with just enough pressure to make me gasp, angling my mouth toward his. The depth of his tongue in my mouth, so demanding, so utterly Vince, sends a jolt straight through me that makes my entire body arch against his.
My hand travels of its own accord, sliding down the solid warmth of his back, tracing the muscles that tense beneath my touch, until it finds the firm curve of his ass. I squeeze, hard, feeling the muscles clench under my palm as he groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through my entire being.
He starts dry humping me, a slow, deliberate rhythm that has me panting against his lips, our breath mingling in the close air of the tent. The friction is maddening, each press of his hipsagainst mine sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my veins, making me forget everything but the feeling of him, the weight of him, the way he's claiming me with every movement. His other hand slides down my side, fingers digging into my hip, pulling me closer, deeper into the rhythm he's set, and I'm lost, completely and utterly lost in him.
“Fuck,” he whispers hot into my ear, “Andy.”
The word is a prayer and a curse, his breath ghosting over the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. The sound is raw, desperate, stripped of all pretense, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. His voice, usually so carefully measured, has dissolved into something primal, something that speaks directly to the core of me.
The tent feels suddenly too small, too hot, filled with the scent of him—pine from his jacket, something uniquely Vince, and the unmistakable musk of arousal that hangs between us like a tangible thing. I arch up into him, trying to chase more of him, the feeling of his throbbing heat against me. My body moves with an instinct I didn’t know I possessed, my hips rolling against his in a silent plea for more friction, more pressure, more of everything.
The fabric of our jeanshas become an instrument of torture, rough and unforgiving against my sensitive skin. Each movement sends sparks of electricity coursing through my veins, pooling low in my belly, a fire threatening to consume me from the inside out. I can feel every ridge, every vein of him through the layers separating us, and the knowledge that this is real, that this is finally happening, is almost too much to process.
My fingers dig deeper into the firmmuscleof his ass, pulling him closer, urging him on, silently begging him to end this delicious torment. The world outside our tent has ceased to exist—the distant laughter from the campfire, the howling wind, even the memory of Aubrey’s interruption has faded into nothing.There is only Vince, only this moment, only the desperate, aching need building between us with every breath, every touch, every whispered word.
“Vince,” I whimper into his neck, the sound muffled against his warm skin as I bury my face there. “Vince, I’m going to come.” The words escape me in a breathless rush, barely recognizable as my own voice—high, desperate, frayed at the edges like a rope about to snap. Each thrust of his hips against mine sends another jolt of electricity through my system, building pressure low in my belly until I can barely think straight. My fingers clutch at his back, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket as if holding on might somehow keep me from shattering into a million pieces.
The groan that comes out of him is almost primal, deep and guttural, vibrating through his chest and into mine where we’re pressed together. It’s the sound of a man losing control, of all his careful composure crumbling under the weight of this moment. I feel the vibration of it in my own throat, in the bones of my face, everywhere our bodies touch. His rhythm doesn’t falter—if anything, it grows more deliberate, more punishing, as if he’s determined to push me over the edge with every movement. His hands grip my hips tighter, fingers pressing into my skin hard enough to leave bruises I’ll treasure tomorrow.
“Vince,” I warn quietly, teetering on the edge, my voice cracking as I struggle to hold on just a little longer. My thighs tremble with the effort of not giving in immediately, of drawing out this exquisite torture for as long as possible. The friction of our jeans against my sensitive skin is almost too much, each drag of fabric sending sparks behind my eyelids. I can feel him thick and hard against me, throbbing with a life of its own, and the knowledge that I’m the one making him this undone, this desperate, is nearly as intoxicating as the pleasure building within me.
“Come for me,” he growls into my ear, the words rough and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine. His mouth digs into the crook of my neck, nipping, sucking, he’s practically devouring me and I haven’t taken any clothes off. The sharp sting of his teeth against my skin is immediately followed by the soothing press of his tongue, creating a maddening cycle of pleasure-pain that makes my toes curl. His breath is hot against my ear, each exhale a caress that sends goosebumps rippling across my skin. I can feel the stubble on his chin rasping against my neck, marking me as his in this small, crowded tent where anyone could hear us, but I don’t care—let them hear, let them know, let the whole world know that Vince is mine.
Every muscle in my body locks tight for a heartbeat, a strangled gasp escaping my lips as pleasure floods my veins, hot and overwhelming. The sound is raw, unrestrained, and I know instantly it's too loud for the thin nylon walls of our tent, but I can't stop it—can't stop the waveof pleasurethat crashes through me, leaving me trembling and breathless.
Vince's mouth is on mine in an instant, swallowing the sound, his lips moving with a desperate hunger that matches my own. I can feel his body shudder against mine, his rhythm faltering as he follows me over the edge, a deep groan vibrating through his chest and into mine where we're pressed together.
His hips stutter once, twice, then still, his weight settling over me as we both gasp for air in the close, heated space. The scent of pine and sweat and sex hangs heavy between us, mingling with the faint smell of the campfire smoke that drifts in through the tent's ventilation flap.
For a moment, there's only the sound of our ragged breathing, the frantic pounding of our hearts slowing gradually to a more steady rhythm. I'm vaguely aware of the distantchatterfrom the campfire, the rustle of leaves in the wind outside, but none of it matters—there's only Vince, only the solid weight of him aboveme, only the lingering tingle of pleasure still humming through my limbs.
