Page 51 of What’s Left of Us

We set our belongings on the sand, much closer to the water than when we were here earlier. The air has gotten colder. Even with my sweatpants and jacket, I’m shivering. It’s only September, but the weather feels surprisingly cool. I don’t let myself hesitate before stripping out of my jacket. If I dwell on what we’re doing, I’m going to chicken out.

“Are we going at the same time or…” Atlas trails off. He’s standing beside me, but he’s faced toward the ocean. His jaw is tight, and when I start to untie my sweatpants, he immediately shifts until his back is to me.

“We’re going at the same time.” I kick out of the pants, leaving me in nothing but my thong and a thin tank top. “You can look, if you want.”

For all the times I’ve felt insecure or unsure, now isn’t one of them. From the first time Atlas and I slept together to the time we broke up, I never questioned whether he was attracted to me. Before we had sex, insecurities occasionally wound through my body, terrified he might secretly find me less than.

Now, like that very first time we had sex, I don’t doubt his attraction. Even as he’s working hard to look only at my face, and not an inch lower, I know it’s not from lack of interest.

I pull my tank top over my head and toss it into the sand. My underwear follows a second later. I swear I can hear my own heart beating. There’s a distant, but acutely terrified, part of me that’s aware I’m standing naked on a very public beach. We’re alone. It’s dark. But still. Anyone could see me, breasts and ass on full display.

Right now, there’s only one person I’m hoping can see me. Atlas’s lips part, his eyes locked on mine. He’s fully dressed, hands clenched against the sides of his shorts.

Look at me, I inexplicably want to beg. Look like you used to.

He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. He’s a gentleman, even as his restraint seems to be causing him physical harm.

“You better hurry, Atlas,” I tease, hoping he doesn’t hear the nerves in my voice. “I’m going to be done before you even get undressed.”

I take off, running the short distance from our towels to the dark water. I let out a yelp of surprise as I crash into the waves. They’re freezing, and it’s only my momentum that keeps me going. I’m too scared to slow down. Once I do, I won’t want to go any deeper.

I run until the water is too high, until my movements turn sluggish. Then, I dive forward, letting the waves swallow me whole. I’m underwater for less than two seconds. By the time I emerge, gasping for breath and shivering, Atlas is in the water beside me. Where I’m submerged to the bottom of my ribcage, Atlas’s hips are barely covered.

His green eyes are on me. His hair is damp—he must have dove straight into the water, rather than wading like I did. Water droplets dot his cheeks, and despite the darkness, I’m confident I can see those freckles on his nose.

“Atlas.” His name is barely a breath between my cold lips. I don’t lower my gaze as I reach for him, dragging him toward me by his wrists. He comes willingly, face an indescribable combination of anguish and hope. He looks at me like he’s on the edge of a cliff, debating whether he’s allowed to jump.

I bring his palms to my chest. His eyes flutter shut as he touches me, and he lets out a distraught groan. He looks closer to pain than arousal, but I know him well enough. I’ve seen this exact expression on his face, every time we slept together in high school. He’s older now, jawline sharper, body more sculpted. But he’s still mine.

With his eyes closed, he tugs me closer. His hands don’t leave my chest, but they soften. His fingers brush over my hardened nipples, and he makes that anguished sound again.

“Evolved?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it comes out breathless.

Atlas Blake is touching me, after all these years, after I long-convinced myself he never would again.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “You’re perfect.”

His hands skim down my sides, pausing to grip my hips firmly, before moving back to my chest. My legs are numb in the water, and my teeth haven’t stopped chattering, but I don’t feel the cold anymore. My entire body feels warm, as if Atlas’s skin has sparked a fire against mine. I move my hands to his shoulders, digging my fingernails against his wet skin.

“Kiss me,” I say. Beg is a more accurate word, but I’m too needy to feel embarrassed. I barely give Atlas time to hear my request before I’m pulling him down to my height.

He tastes like saltwater and the mint toothpaste I let him borrow earlier. His tongue is warm, but demanding, insistent against mine. One of his hands finds the back of my head, gripping my hair to the point it’s painful. He tilts my head roughly, lips trailing wet kisses down the side of my neck. When he reaches my collar bone, he bites sharply, then immediately chases the sting with his tongue.

“More.” I’m still begging, too needy to care. “I want⁠—”

He cuts me off with another kiss. It’s messy and hungry and everything I imagined the few times I allowed my mind to wander. He’s a better kisser than I remembered. His movements are so much more commanding, more confident. I wrap my arms tighter over his shoulders and hitch one leg over his waist. He stumbles before regaining his balance. In an easy swoop, he lifts me from the water, settling me over his hips.

When Atlas starts back toward the beach, disappointment slams against my gut. I’m naked. On a public beach. But I don’t care. I’d stand here, clinging to Atlas, kissing him as long as he allowed. There’s a chance we’ll never do this again, and I can’t bear the thought it’s already ending.

Atlas pulls away, tucking my head against the crook of his neck while he walks through the water.

“Not yet,” I whine against his jaw. “Just a little⁠—”

“You’re cold,” he says, cutting me off.

“I’m fine.” I tighten my legs around his waist, grinding against his arousal. He could fuck me like this, I decide. After years of denying myself even the fantasies of sleeping with this man, I can’t bear it anymore. I need him inside of me. Right now, in this frigid water. On the sand. I don’t care, and my pride left consideration as soon as I knocked on his door tonight. “Fuck me, Atlas. Please.”

Atlas swears, but the intensity of his voice doesn’t match his careful movements. He gently lowers my feet to the sand and wraps a towel over my bare shoulders. Before I can so much as try to lay out our blanket, he’s grabbing me again, bringing my ankles around his towel-clad waist. He juggles our belongings with one hand, and uses the other to keep me firmly against him.