Page 62 of Chasing Clouds

“Princess,” he whispers. “You have to stop.”

“Are you sure?” My hand wraps around him tighter.

“No.” He chuckles, and then slowly backs away. “But, I’d prefer this to end another way, at least this time.” He smiles down at me with brown hair sticking up everywhere and gloriously flushed skin.

I scoot back across the bed and he follows, blazing a path up my body with his very wet tongue. I’m certain, had I given him the chance, he would have made a meal of me, but I’m ready to feel him, all of him.

Stopping on my breasts, he takes his time ravishing each one as I grip the sheets underneath us, impatience about to win out as my heart beats a hundred miles an hour.

“Salty,” he mumbles. He was salty, too, evidence that we spent half the day on and in the water.

“Reid.” I pull him, begging him to make another move, and he does.

His large body aligns and rubs across me in the most erotic way. His mouth latches onto mine, and my arms and legs fold around him, keeping him close. Even if we never went any further than this, I would die a happy woman.

Sliding my hands over his back, I rub them up and down and then lose my fingers in his hair. I want to touch all of him, all at once, and I feel feverish with desperation.

Rolling my hips, the tip slides in, and he freezes and throbs at the contact.

Lifting up, he hovers over me as his clear eyes find mine. They’re questioning, brows raised, and I nod. I trust him implicitly with the line we’re about to cross, and it’s apparent he trusts me too.

Pushing in, his eyes fall shut with pleasure just before he drops his lips back to mine. He’s over me, around me, in me. I’m completely consumed by him, and I’m aching for all of it. As the minutes tick by, I feel like we’re back in the water, swaying with the waves. Some are gentle, some are rough, but it’s exhilarating, and I know I’ll keep going back for more.

More. More. More.

Eventually, his hands slide under me and tilt my hips. He goes deeper, finding more, and it’s oh so good. Sweat is shining off our skin, hearts are racing, and breaths are harsh and loud. Nothing has ever compared, and as the waves build, peak, and then crash down, I submerge myself in the current and blissfully ride it out until I’m spent and lying on the shore.

Heart pounding, beat by beat, it expands in my chest with an overwhelming sense of love for him. This man, my temporary husband—can he feel it? Does he know?

This moment . . .

Him . . .

All of it . . .

He’s just saved me and ruined me at the same time.

I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND now what it means when people say time flies when you’re having fun. Three weeks have flown by, and deep down, I know our time here is just about up.

Time.

It’s funny how time and separation really can change perception. For five years, I’ve been in the thick of it with my family and with Patrick. We went from being just a couple of teenagers to young adults, where other people began pushing us in the direction they wanted us to go to better suit their goals and aspirations.

I’ve thought a lot about Patrick over the last couple of weeks. I’ve thought about the dynamics of our relationship, his relationship with his family and mine, and all the involuntary subtle tells of his unhappiness that now seem so obvious—the way he’d briefly look down when my father would speak to him, when he chose a northeastern college and shocked us all, how he would strip off his tie and pop the cap off his favorite bottle of beer every chance he got. Patrick doesn’t want that life either anymore, but he’s just like me in the sense that he wants to make those around him happy and proud. He’s probably also lost like I was. If he steps off the path, what does he do next?

I hope he’s used this time to think about that. I know he’s angry, but there’s nothing wrong with me wanting to take a little me time. That’s all I did, and I know soon he’ll see it was the best thing for both of us.

Although, I still haven’t forgiven him for the Brittany fiasco and for tracking me down at Reid’s home. Maybe I should have talked to him. If the situation were reversed, I’m certain I would want the same thing.

Reid asked me the other day if I missed him, and I do. He was my friend for a really long time, the one person who understood everything about our lifestyle and the expectations. It’s because of this that I feel guilty for leaving him to deal with the fallout.

Guilt.

I also feel guilty because I’ve dragged Reid into this mess. Granted, he doesn’t complain, but he never asked for any of this. He was just offering me an out, one I selfishly took. I am so grateful that I did, in more ways than one.

Thoughts of Reid and earlier this morning float through my mind, and I close my eyes. We took a shower together after his workout, and the water wasn’t the only thing that was hot. His body is like a work of art. He has almost zero fat, more muscles than I knew the body actually contained, and his strength and endurance are off-the-charts impressive. Steam, water, soap, his hands, his tongue between my legs—all of it is imprinted so deep in my pores, I’m certain I will feel him on me indefinitely.

I’m sitting here on the beach, just down from the dock pathway. My knees are pulled up, my arms are wrapped around them, and my chin is resting on top. I’ve been here for a while, and the tide is on its way in. Seagulls have circled a few times, looking for food, and I wish I had thought to bring down a loaf of bread. I’ve heard people call them beach pigeons or rats with wings, but I think they’re beautiful, just like this beach.