Page 57 of Dance Practice, Marooned: Part 2

I tip my chin, biting my lip, and he just kisses me, deep and slow, until the rest of the room vanishes into soft white noise. I let myself melt.

“Get a room!” Kellen barks, but there’s no venom in it.

Ace flips him off, before getting me a drink.

The rum is cheap and tastes so strong it burns my nose hairs, but after the second round even Kaylee is smiling. Zeke tries to get a poker game going, but none of us remember how to play, or maybe we just prefer to let the stupid laughter float up and fill the space. Rachel comes in and slowly, she relaxes, but I don’t miss the way her and Kellen lock eyes as she moves around the room.

Then, we’re all dancing, like the entire world is just us, and we’re completely okay with it.

Ace holds me by the hips, and I let my arms drape around his neck, burying my face in the rough of his beard. We don’t move, exactly—we just sway to the music, kissing and touching, letting the world pass us by.

“I could get used to this,” I murmur.

He presses his lips to my temple, but he doesn’t answer.

That is the second time I have said something and he hasn’t answered.

I try not to read too much into it, because it is likely nothing and I don’t want to overreact.

The others blur, just bodies moving in the dark, and I don’t care if they watch. I don’t care if the whole world burns down around us, because in this moment, the only thing that matters is Ace’s hand curled around my spine, his pulse beating in time with mine.

Eventually, the rum and the euphoria taper off, and we collapse into chairs, arms linked, legs tangled. Aggie is sitting beside Kellen, and he is whispering something to her that has the giggles filling the small space. Rachel watches them, and once again, I fear the eruption of this little love triangle.

But tonight, I am not going to focus on it.

Tonight, I am just going to enjoy what is happening right here, right now.

I’m not so naïve as to think this will last forever, but I will take every minute.

A storm could come tonight or tomorrow, the food could run dry, the nightmares could creep up and swallow us whole, but I know now, we will survive. We will keep each other safe, even if it takes every last piece of our battered hearts to do it.

If that’s not a miracle, I don’t know what is.

12

ACE FUCKS ME AGAINST the railing, his hands on my hips, pushing me down just enough so that I can taste the spray of salt every now and then when the waves crash against the side of the ship. It’s risky and it’s raunchy, but fuck, it’s good. He is pushing me against it so hard, hips grinding into mine, that I’m worried I’ll wake up tomorrow with his prints etched into my flesh.

I don’t care.

I can’t care, not with how much I need him, how much the night air is winding around us, the sting of salt on my tongue as I clench my fists and beg for more, for anything, for everything. He palms the back of my head and bites my neck, not gentle, nothing careful about it. My brain is mush, mouth hanging open, whimpering, because Ace never fucks like he’s making love—he fucks like he’s punishing.

“You want everyone to see what I do to you, don’t you, baby?” He growls the words against my ear. He could lift me over the side right now and toss me into the ocean, and I’d go, happily, as long as his hands were the last thing I felt.

“Don’t care,” I gasp, letting my head fall back so I can see the night sky and the faint scatter of stars. “I want them to see. I want them to know who I belong to.”

Ace makes a sound that’s almost a laugh and moves harder, deeper, faster. I make a noise, this sharp little moan, and he slams into me so hard I almost lose my footing.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, “don’t you dare come yet, Grace. I want to watch you struggle.”

“Please,” I say, desperate. “Please, Ace—”

He reaches down and hooks one arm around my throat, just tight enough to make me dizzy, and slams into me from behind. I know the sound I make is loud enough for the others to hear, maybe even come running, but I don’t care, I can’t care, not when he’s fucking me like he means to split me in two.

“God, your pussy is perfect,” he rasps, the words vibrating through my body. “Clamping down on me like you’ve been waiting for this all night.”

“I have,” I pant, knuckles white on the rail in front of me. “I fucking have.”

He laughs, and makes a filthy circular motion with his hips, grinding so deep I see stars. “Hold your breath,” he commands, and then plants a palm on my back, arse up, legs spread, completely at his mercy.