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He smirks. “Home.”
“You never told me you lived on the island?” I say, but it comes out more like an excited question. Island life is awesome.
Kris shrugs, cocky smile placed firmly on his lips. “You never asked.”
I wear a goofy grin as Kris drives down a dimly lit road along the sparsely populated east coast of the island. This area of the beach is private and I wait in anticipation for which house is his. He turns into the driveway at the very end of the street. His house is a baby blue Victorian that sits atop ten foot tall piers. We park in the driveway that runs under the house. I climb out of the truck and look around, taking in the sight of the moon reflecting off the water in the back yard, and the flickering light of ships scattered throughout the ocean.
This is so much better than living in Mixon.
Kris swings his arm toward the wooden staircase on the side of the house, motioning for me to go first. His other arm wraps around my lower back as he follows me up the stairs and onto the wraparound porch. Apprehension fills my thoughts but it’s not the same as from earlier tonight. I’m not nervous to be with him, I’m excited. And I hope I don’t screw this up.
While he unlocks the front door, I turn to the balcony and lean over it, gazing at the water below. To my right is a boat hovering in the air, held in place by some kind of pulley system. Kris must have an amazing life here, if the porch that stretches out into a massive patio with a dozen chairs is a hint to how many friends he typically entertains.
Warm lips press against my neck, and I tense up at the sudden sensory overload as his hands slide around my waist. His rock hard body presses against mine, making m
e super aware of every inch of my backside. He moves forward, pushing me into the banister. I lean on the railing with my elbows, allowing him to nuzzle against my neck as we look out over the water.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
I think I mumble something along the lines of, “Me too.”
Kris could use an interior decorator. A few glasses of wine and a couple hours later, that’s the only thought that crosses my fuzzy mind. His house has been remodeled into a cross between antique Victorian with crown molding and crystal doorknobs, and modern with granite countertops and flat screen televisions. But his decorating, or lack of decorating rather, sucks. The walls are completely empty of any photos or artwork and his kitchen dishes don’t match.
I follow Kris down a long hallway with dark wooden floors and into the bedroom at the end of it. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light, opting to light the room with the glow of a bedside lamp instead. I glance at the almost empty wine glass in my hand, knowing that a man only invites a woman into his bedroom for one reason, and it’s not to get her advice on his ugly black pinstriped curtains.
One sip later, my glass is empty.
I set the stemware on a dresser against the wall and sit on the edge of his bed, smiling a little as the room spins around me. I’m not sure what’s so funny, yet I’m holding back laughter. Kris turns on the television and tosses me the remote. I turn it over in my hands, knowing what the buttons do but having no desire to press any of them. I’d much rather watch Kris as he opens his closet door and turns on the light, stepping inside but leaving the door open which allows for an excellent view.
He pulls off his shirt and tosses it into a pile of dirty clothes in the corner. His fingers fumble through a rack of clothing on hangers, and god help me, I accidently let out a whistle.
Kris whips his head in my direction. “Did you just whistle at me?”
I nod with a stupid smile on my face.
He drops his jeans to the floor, leaving himself dressed only in boxers. I mutter a curse word of appreciation under my breath as I watch his muscles flex in the dimly lit closet while he finds a shirt and pulls it off the hanger. He catches my staring and laughs. “I’m being treated like a piece of meat here.”
I shrug, crossing one leg over the other as I perch as cutely as possible on the corner of his bed. “Someone with a body like that wants to be treated like a piece of meat.”
“That’s it,” he says with a playful growl in his voice. “You’re in trouble now.”
Kris drops the shirt to the ground and lunges toward me, crashing into my body as I let out a squeal and try to fend him off. It’s no use though…in one smooth sweep, he hooks an arm around me and pulls me up the bed, placing my head on a pillow. I let the wine take over, allowing it to push back all my anxiety and self-conscious prudishness. My hands wrap around his head, fingers lacing together between his hair as I pull his face toward mine, kissing him on the mouth with unguarded abandon.
Rough fingers slide up my sides, taking my shirt with them. I lift my arms and pull my head off the pillow just high enough for Kris to pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the floor. Our skin presses together as he kisses my neck and I shiver, making chills float across my skin.
Every move Kris makes reminds me of the boy I used to know; only now his kisses are passionate, not timid. His hands are strong, gliding over every inch of my body with a determination that comes from experience. My eyes close as dig my nails into his back, pulling him closer to me as he hints at what he wants to do next.
I bite his neck and grab his ass, silently telling him that I want him as badly as he wants me. My breath catches in my throat as he thrusts into me. My eyes burst open at the jolt of pleasure that ripples through my body. I keep them open just long enough to watch Kris wink at me before he covers my mouth in another kiss.
Chapter 18
The sound of the ocean waves crashing onto the shore wakes me up in the morning. My eyes flicker open, focusing on a pile of jeans tossed in the corner of a baby blue room. Panic hits me for a second, because those aren’t my jeans and this isn’t my room. Then I remember where I am. But just to be on the safe side, I roll my head to the left to make sure he’s there.
“Good morning, Sunshine.” Kris breaks into a smile at the same time my lips curl in disgust. He sits up on his elbow. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing…just, don’t call me Sunshine.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that name already taken by someone else?”
