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Like always, I wait for him to answer, and like usually, he doesn’t—at least not with his voice. He trails his fingertips over my soft belly, tickling until I sigh.
It’s been so long. “This feels so good.”
I’m still needy for him. He’s still hard. Maybe I should feel strange that he’s not initiating sex, but this means more: lying against him with my body lit up. Knowing that he needs me, but he’s holding me instead. This has been a gift.
With his right hand still playing with my belly, his left one comes down around my hip. I feel his face against the back of my hair. “You seem younger than twenty-six.” His lips press behind my ear, and I have to struggle not to moan.
“That’s funny,” I manage. “I don’t feel it.” I realize who I’m talking to and feel self-conscious.
“I was at that meeting.”
My muscles stiffen, and as much as I want to turn and see his face—I also don’t. “The commission meeting?”
“Yeah.”
I sit up straighter, pulling slightly away from him. I rub my face with my wet hand. “Mmm, let’s maybe just pretend you weren’t.”
I feel his hand spread out against my back. “It made me want to know you.”
“Really?”
“I didn’t plan on it. But yeah.” His finger traces an indention on my back where I think I have a draining tube scar. I let out a long breath.
“You were brave,” he says softly.
I shake my head. “I looked pathetic.”
“You were trying.”
“Without you, I would have told those people all about myself for nothing.” I draw a knee up to my chest and rest my forehead on it, hiding, I guess. I sink my arm into the water, watch it lap around my elbow. “I don’t like to share my details.”
He drags his fingers down my back, making me shiver. I feel cold and hot. Restless.
“We have that in common, I think,” he says.
Then his mouth touches my spine. I flinch, then shiver. His lips drag up toward my neck.
“Barrett…”
I gasp as his mouth finds the curve between my neck and shoulder. I can feel his teeth, maybe. What he’s doing hurts—and makes me moan.
“I tried,” he breathes in puffs. His mouth moves down my collarbone. He grabs me by my arms and turns me toward him, licking at the side of my throat. “Please believe—” he trails under my chin— “I tried…” He bites my jaw. He’s hungry, frenzied, reckless.
By the time his lips find mine, I’m crying out for him. I grab his head, his hair. Our tongues surge: gliding, reaching. We pull each other closer, kissing hard. Between the kisses, panting. I can feel his cock against my leg. I grab for it. His hands find my hips. He lifts me to him.
His eyes burn mine. “Tell me.”
“Yes!”
He lifts his hips, groaning. I feel his head against me, thick and prodding.
“Oh God. Fuck.” I spread myself. He pushes in. That’s how we do it: rough, in water; splashing, moaning, screaming. My fingers dig into his neck and pull his hair. His hands hurt my hips and ribs. He slams into me, sending plumes of water through over my clit.
It doesn’t take me long. It doesn’t take me long enough. He moans as his cock thumps inside me. I can hear him panting as his muscles twitch and quiver. My eyes open and his eyes are shut tight. His face looks pained. I have never seen a thing more beautiful.
As his blue eyes open, I kiss his mouth softly. He’s still in me, eyelids drifting shut.
Dear God, his tongue is soft, his lips are tender; careful now. When whoever pulls away, he brings my head down on his shoulder.
