I’m just reaching for his discarded clothes when I hear the sound of crunching sand—just a fraction too late to react in time. Dante’s cold, wet, very strong arms wrap around me from behind. His lips are warm as he kisses the back of my neck and works his way to my ear.
“Didn’t you know that this is a nude beach?” he informs me.
“You better not,” I say, but he’s already unbuttoning the front of my sundress, sliding my denim jacket off at the same time.
In seconds, he strips me naked and lays me down on the sun-warmed blanket. I’m a little chilled by the breeze and the drops of lake water that fall off Dante onto my bare skin, but his body is hot as he pushes his cock into me, taking my face in his hands for a hungry kiss.
I don’t have time to think about what we’re doing orwherewe’re doing it as he thrusts in perfect rhythm. Soon there’s nothing but heat and skin and pleasure, and the sound of our moans.
Thisis making love. This is the thrill of the sky above, the earth below, and the man inside me, both grounding me and setting me free. He works me with his cock, taking his time with his strokes so I can feel every inch of him. I give it back in full measure, tensing the muscles at my core as I meet his every thrust.
“I love you,” Dante says, over and over again.
“I love you, too,” I tell him, emotion making my breath catch in my throat.
Our words pour out of us until we can no longer speak, only moan. I wrap my legs around his waist and cross my ankles, tilting my hips higher, helping him drive even further into me so we’re locked together, the sweet tension inside drawing tighter and tighter.
“Frankie—”
And then he’s coming inside me, groaning with every hot spurt, as hard and deep as I’ve ever felt him. I dig my fingers into his back and hold him tight as he finishes, wishing I could draw this moment out forever. He relaxes over me like warm clay afterward, sighing softly, his fingers trailing in my hair. We lay like that until the breeze begins to cool us again.
After a while, he stands up and pulls me up with him. Shaking off the blanket, he wraps us up in it, my back pressed against his chest, his arms around my waist. I drowsily lean back into him, feeling the rise and fall of his breath along with mine. When his hand steals down between my legs, I laugh.
“Again?”
He gently pushes into me, his finger curling back to hit the spot that always makes me shiver. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble in my ear. “This is just for you.”
As I stand and watch the wind ripple across the lake, Dante works me with his clever fingers, drawing me to a sweet and all-encompassing release. And when my knees give out with the strength of my climax, he’s there to keep me steady. He holds me tight the entire time.
20
Frankie
Dante looks perfectly disheveledas he sits behind the wheel. His messy hair strays in the breeze coming in through the open windows, and he’s left the top buttons of his shirt undone. I like this relaxed version of him—I hope this isn’t the last I’ll see of it.
We’re back on the gravel road again, driving through thick trees. The leaves on the black oaks are flaming orange, and the maples are turning gold. I love being here in the fall.
I tell Dante to take the next right, and the road narrows to a bumpy dirt lane marked only by well-worn tire tracks. A beautiful, secluded little A-frame materializes at the end of the trail.
“Here we are,” I say, pointing to the cabin. The front is all big picture windows, the sharp slope of the roof giving the house a fairy-tale quality, and the porch wraps around so you get a great view of the bay. “Home sweet home.”
I nearly jump out of the car before he’s even put it into park. It’s been so long since I’ve been here, and I’m overjoyed to be back. I grab my bag and nearly skip to the front door.
Dante comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is this your family’s place?”
“It belongs to the Alvarezes,” I explain as I punch a code into the lock box—Delores’s birthday—and then take out a set of keys. “I spent many hours of my childhood here with Delores and her family.”
“It was kind of her to offer you the place for the weekend,” he says.
“Yeah. She actually mentioned it last week, but I only thought to take her up on it now.”
I unlock the front door and swing it wide. Dante carries the bags in first, and I flip on the lights and watch as he makes a slow rotation around the main room.
The A-frame is quaint but idyllic, with wall-to-wall wood paneling and lots of windows. Upstairs is a loft with a railing that lets you look down on the living room, and a wrought iron chandelier hangs from the peaked ceiling. The living area and kitchen are all one big room, with a stone fireplace along the wall creating a visual divider between the spaces. Two small bedrooms are tucked away behind the kitchen, along with the bathroom.
I trail my fingers over the furniture as I give Dante the tour. The familiar but dated mauve, beige, and hunter green color scheme brightens the living area with unapologetically 1980s grandma flare, along with Delores’s handmade crochet doilies and porcelain animal collection taking up every spare inch of space.
“Wow. How, um…” Dante gestures to a figurine on a side table—a cat with a bow around its neck.
