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He’s in his navy swim trunks and a white t-shirt. A little dab of sunscreen is visible on the bridge of his nose where he’s forgotten to rub it in.
His jaw goes slack when he sees I’m only partially dressed. “Fuck” is growled low and menacing.
And then he’s backing me up to my bed. My calves hit the edge and he keeps pushing me until I land on top of my soft blankets. His hands come up to lace through mine so I have no choice but to drop the untied strings of my bikini top and let it hang loose. If I look down to see just how much I’m on display right now, I know I’ll flush with color.
“Luke…” I laugh. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
He comes up on top of me and presses me down onto the bed. I take his weight, and I like it. That pressure of him on my hips is a reminder of just how out of control I am in this situation. He leans down to kiss me, but not for long. It’s like he knows better, knows we can’t go down this path. We only have a few minutes while Harper’s helping Tate load drinks into the cooler. I’ve already packed our picnic food; they’ll be calling our names any second now.
He sits back up, lets go of my hands. I lie still on the bed as his gaze roves over me. His eyes are heavy-lidded as if he’s on the edge of restraint. I fight back the urge to squirm, knowing it’s me who’s made him this way.
“What did I say? What was all that bullshit about not sneaking around? What am I supposed to do, Chloe? I’m incensed. Crazed.”
He reaches out to touch me then, just one finger tracing down the center of my ribs, tugging down the material of my swim top until cool air caresses my breasts.
He groans and then leans forward, taking each breast in his mouth in quick succession, sucking and closing his lips around the tip until I’m writhing underneath him. His hand slides up my leg, up underneath the smooth fabric covering the center of my thighs. He’s pulling it away, unveiling me.
“Just give me this. Please.”
He almost sounds apologetic for it, like he knows he’s acting inappropriately but just can’t help himself. In response, I part my legs as much as I can. I give him access to whatever he wants because it’s what I want too. I look down and see he’s hard and straining against his swim trunks. My hand touches his length over the navy fabric, and he hisses.
If we’re quick…
If we just…
His fingertips trace spirals up until they brush against the most intimate part of me. The moment he makes contact, I inhale fiercely, shuddering.
My hand slides up underneath the bottom of his swim trunks, gathering the material. It’s more efficient this way compared to me trying to untie the knot at his waistband, and it’s so easy to get him in hand, easy to grip ahold of his smooth, warm length and take as much of him as I can get. He’s silk in my palm as I pump up and down. I can’t even see my hand, not completely, but I close my eyes and I feel—almost too much.
It’s hotter than it should be. Desire pricks my skin as I arch up off the bed. He gives me so much with his mouth. Raspy moans, hot kisses, the gentle scrape of teeth against my shoulder.
I reach new heights just as he does, wetness seeping onto my stomach as waves of pleasure rack through him.
There’s no apologizing for it. He knows I like it. I’m sure he can see in my lust-filled gaze how much I wanted him to brand me in this simple, sexy way.
I’ll clean up quickly and so will he. He’ll wash his hands and straighten his trunks and fix his hair. He’ll rub that little bit of sunscreen in on the bridge of his nose and then we’ll go to the beach and we’ll keep our hands off each other because that’s what we have to do. But it won’t be easy.
At the beach, I lounge around, reading. Meanwhile, Tate swims laps in the ocean like she’s hoping for a spot next to Katie Ledecky in the next Olympics. When she’s done, she plops down on a lounge chair for all of five seconds before hopping up again and asking Harper if she wants to go collect seashells. I have no idea where she gets her energy. I’m exhausted just watching her.
Luke, meanwhile, isn’t here. Just as we were all getting into the golf cart, he got a phone call.
“It’s work,” he said, staring down at it.
“Take it,” Tate encouraged.
He looked up from his screen with a frown. I knew he was still undecided on whether to take it, but his phone wasn’t going to ring forever, and after everything I’d heard him talking about with Tate over coffee, I thought he owed it to himself to see what they wanted.
