Page 107 of Grace

“Relax.”

His voice tames the storm raging in my eyes. I close them because I can’t watch Chase guiding my movements to make me pleasure myself, making the tension and pain drain from my body.

“This is not good,” I pant. My nipples are hard, hot desire is twirling in my lower belly, its elemental force smashing my resistance to pieces.

“What is not good?” His hot breath caresses my earlobe. I can feel his lips on my sensitive, burning skin—and the taste of his kiss on my tongue.

I try to trick him, but he is slyer and quicker: he pulls away his hand before his fingers could touch me.

“You are doing great, Grace. Don’t stop. Just keep on going, slowly, delicately and sensually. As if those were my fingers.”

I bite my lower lip because I cannot be as good as when he does it. It has never been as good. His fingertips are bigger, warmer, softer and more skillful.

“Chase,” I whisper against his mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck you.”

He lets out a quiet, dark chuckle. I suppress a smile and keep chasing pleasure. I want to ride its waves, get them under my control, make them mine. I want to be selfish.

I interlace our fingers and dig my nails into his skin. The orgasm enslaves my body—I climax quietly by the highway with a trembling heart and shaking legs. My heart is in my throat. A wave of exhaustion and weakness crashes over me—and the pleasure really does dull the pain. I lift my heavy lids and look into his dark, sly eyes, full of temptation, aching desire, and victory.

“Is it still hurting?” he asks softly.

“No,” I whisper, and close my eyes so he can’t see into my soul, because love is blossoming there like bleeding-hearts in a garden. It’s breathtaking, but every part of it is toxic.

This journey stirs up memories and feelings,

digging up buried bones from the ground.

Mustang Island State Park, Corpus Christi, Texas

Chase takes the highway exit onto the road to Mustang Island State Park, south of Port Aransas. Slowly, we leave the Port Aransas quay—and daylight—behind. The sun is only a bleeding line on the burning horizon.

I keep scanning the sky, forcing my eyes to stay open. Sleepiness is a sly, tough opponent—a liquid toxin circulating through my veins. There’s so much to see, and time isn’t on my side.

The salty scent of the sea drifts through the air like a ghost, caressing my lips and refreshing me inside and outside after another exhausting day on the road.

I often can’t tell where my body ends and the seat begins. I’m constantly drowsy. My skin is slick with sweat, and my organs are melting inside. When I drink a lot of fluids, I have to pee all the time. When I drink too little, my lips flake and crack.

We drive down a bumpy, grass-covered slope and park in front of a cluster of rocks. This five-mile beach is open to anyone—you can lounge on the sand, swim, surf, camp, build sandcastles, picnic, fish, or kayak. There are proper toilets and warm showers near the campground—facilities I want to use as soon as possible.

He kills the engine and nods to signal that we can get out of the car. The salty, warm breeze is more refreshing than summer rain. The sun takes one last look at the bay, its long rays probing the deep water in farewell. The songs of different birds fill the landscape as it fades into darkness. The scents of summer and the sea slip into my trembling heart before I even notice. What a sunset.

“Have you ever bathed in the Gulf of Mexico?”

Chase tosses the question at me as he flings his T-shirt onto the white, glinting sand. The sight of his body yanks me out of my reverie—my mouth falls open.

“This is not a goddamn vacation, Baker! In case you’ve forgotten, we’re running from a lunatic. Frolicking in the water out in public doesn’t fit the picture.”

“You can do as you wish,” he says with a shrug, then kicks off his shoes, unbuttons his trousers, and shoves them down. “I’m going for a swim,” he tells me in a conversational tone, like I’m one of his buddies.

I have to make a serious mental effort to figure out how to close my mouth—my jaw feels heavier than a rock.

My wide eyes follow his hard body and muscular ass without a shred of shame until he disappears into the water. The sight of him makes me shudder, like I’ve been struck—the image drops into my stomach, stirring something pleasant, something sweet.

I’m standing next to the car, confused—I must look ridiculous—until the girl buried deep in my heart cries for help and screams a single word at me, shaking the walls of my mind.