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I want there to be an ‘us’—my heart pulses with the very thought—but can there really be an us when all is said and done?
His eyes narrow as he lifts his glass higher. ‘And to the O’Connor firm.’
I want to breathe a sigh of relief, but I mask it in a smile. It’s a toast I can agree to.
‘Yes,’ I say, raising my glass. ‘To the O’Connors.’
We drink, and I force myself to hold his eye, even though the fear of what’s to come hangs over me, endangering it all.
Now we have this moment, this closeness, I don’t want to break it. It’s selfish—but, hell, I’ve lived my life for others for so long. Just for one night...a few hours, even... I want to let it go.
And I will tell him.
Very, very soon.
* * *
I can’t take my eyes off her.
She’s glowing, the light from the water reflecting off her skin, glittering in her eyes. She has droplets of water clinging to her cheeks, her neck, her collarbone. I reach out and trail a path along her skin, sweeping some away, and I love how her lips part and she leans into my caress.
‘You are beautiful, Lexi.’
She looks at me, her smile small, thoughtful, and I wonder what she’s thinking. She’s been quiet since I joined her in the water and made that impulsive toast. The toast that had her eyes flaring in what I can only interpret as alarm.
I thought I’d recovered the situation well enough, but the last few minutes have passed by in silence, only the bubbling water and the sound of the ocean breaking up the quiet.
Is it my toast that has her so contemplative?
My suggestion of an ‘us’? Or is it more than that?
I find her hand in the water and pull her towards me. To my relief her smile slinks higher and her body comes willingly, gliding through the water.
‘Lonely over there?’ she teases.
‘Positively isolated.’
I bring her across my lap, feel her body brush over my eager cock as it bucks to meet her. I’m still hard from making her come, from the taste of her, the feel of her coming apart for me. Twice over. If I recall it in enough detail I could come on the memory alone, and it’s that which has me clamping my jaw shut and trying to think of something off-putting—anything to stave off the heat.
My old science teacher—she’s perfect. She hated me. She wore insipid green, wrinkled-up tights around her ankles, and had the most fascinating wart on the tip of her nose. Yes, perfect.
‘Why so tense?’
She strokes my jawline as she says it, one finger brushing over my stubble, teasing, provoking, and I dip my head to surround it with my mouth. The move is impulsive, necessary—payback. I circle it with my tongue and watch her eyes glitter, dark and needy, before I release it.
‘I’m not sure... Could it be that all I want right now is to sink myself inside you and never let you go again?’
It’s raw. It’s honest. And it makes her eyes flare—but not with alarm this time, thank fuck.
She wriggles her arse, and I don’t know whether it’s intentional or not, but my cock isn’t fussy.
‘You feel so big,’ she rasps, her cheeks blushing with her observation, so bashful.
I want to choke. What man wouldn’t love to hear those words? But when she says it like that she isn’t saying it to boost me. She says it because she’s genuinely thinking it.
‘Carry on like that and I’ll be taking you here and now.’
‘Here?’ Her eyes narrow, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to her. It’s been seven years—has she really not lived in seven years?
