Maybe it can.
“More?” he asks, and I nod as both his mouth and hands travel closer and closer to where I ache. His claws retract, and fingertips lightly graze up and down, teasing the hem of my panties.
“Do you mind getting wet?” he asks, and I blink. Considering my panties have been soaked since the moment he touched my thigh, he should have asked earlier.
“Uh, I mean, I’m already…” I scramble to find the right words. He grins, pulling away from my body, and lowering himself into the lagoon-like pool the lily pad is suspended in.
“The water, darlin’,” he says, amusement dancing in his darkening eyes.
Ah,that kind of wet.
Heat rises to my face as I nod, and Gil eases my legs to the edge of the strange floating mattress. The spring water hits my knees and below, soothing the rough skin as he touches and teases every part of me, planting kisses from my ankles back to my upper thigh again, and again, until—fuck.
He’s between my legs now, his body below me in the water, the flat of his palm circling exactly where I’m aching.
“I want to taste you,” he murmurs but doesn’t move, letting the statement hang in the air between us. I tremble, anticipating what his tongue would feel like in place of his fingers.
“Please,” I beg, moaning when his breath warms my skin. His tongue is tentative at first, as if registering my body’s every reaction, then acting accordingly. I bottle it up, trying to sound pretty with each word, each sound, biting my bottom lip to keep from being too much. It doesn’t last long.
With every swirl, nibble, and skillful way he builds feeling and pressure, I’m a muttering, swearing mess until his head has resurfaced just long enough for him to whisper, “Let go for me, darlin’.” His voice is soft but demanding. Every sound, every “more” that escapes my lips is suddenlyhis,and he knows exactly what to do with it. Desire builds, tangling inside me in long pulses until I’m on the edge, my fists clenched around the woven moss blankets.
“Gil!” I shout, thighs tensing around his head that’s still directly between my legs. Now he’s moaning just as loud as I was—and, oh,oh, he’s not done. And just when I thought I couldn’t feel anything else, emotions swirl and build until I’ve dissolved into a puddle of pure bliss.
That was—he is—Oh my God.
Moments pass in a dizzy haze until he’s climbed up next to me. I lie still as he dries off my legs before snuggling close.
Whether it’s out of habit, from friction, or just because it feels…good, my nails end up digging into my neck.
Gently, Gil catches my hand, planting a kiss on my palm. Anticipating he’ll scold me the same way Grams does, I shake my hand away.
“You can scratch—it doesn’t bother me.” He says, reaching for a jar he’s set on the side of the rocks. “So long as you don’t hurt yourself.”
“It’s not hurting anyone.”
“You sure about that?” His voice is tender, as he touches the same plaque. The pad of his finger is cool against the thick skin. As he traces the lesion, I can feel where the skin is broken. His pupils suddenly get bigger,
“Shhh—” He hushes, kissing my forehead before I have a chance to overthink. “Brought something for it, if you don’t mind.”
I nod; I’ve tried every cream in the book. But, as the cool soothing liquid is applied in small circles across my skin, this might be the nicest one—or maybe it’s just because of the person applying it.
“Sorry—it’s gross.”
“It’s not,” he says, so assured I can’t possibly argue. “I promise—no shame, no guilt, but if I can help, I want to.” Once he’s done with my neck, he moves to apply cream to my elbows and knees. By the time he’s done, the itch isn’t gone, but I do feel sufficiently doted on.
“For the record, you’re not just my girlfriend,” he says, planting a kiss on my lips.
“Oh?” I ask.
“You’re my best-bestfriend,” he whispers in my ear, drawing me and the blankets close in one smooth movement. I let myeyes get heavy, more comfortable than I’ve felt in years, and fall asleep next to my best-best friend.
Chapter 22
Marina’s journal
From the diary of Marina Brooks—Age 12
At the start of each summer, I open my old diary and cringe at how silly I’ve been.
