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Eyes closed, I let my head sink back as I grind against him, breathing slowly and steadily, thinking every unsexy thought I can think of because he’s only getting started, and I’m already close.
A moment later, I gently push his hand away and make a move for his zipper. With his cock filling my palm, I stroke his length before bringing my mouth to his tip. His pre-come is salty on my tongue, and the low growl in his moans tells me to keep going.
“God, you’re incredible,” he says between breathy groans as he gathers my hair in his fist. “I don’t want you to stop . . . but I’m dying to have the rest of you.”
He pulls me onto his lap once more, tugging the top of my dress down until my breasts are exposed. The tepid ocean breeze feels cooler than it did a few minutes ago, and he takes each pert nipple between his teeth as his fingers dig into my back.
“You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says.
While part of me doesn’t want to believe it—I imagine I’m looking somewhat of a hot mess right now with my dress half off, lips swollen, and sand in my hair—every inch of me believes he means what he says.
“Sexiest or sexy-ish?” I tease.
He stops, sniffing a laugh, and then flips me onto my back.
“Why don’t I show you exactly what I mean?” Digging into his pocket, he retrieves a condom from his wallet. He rips the gold foil packet between his teeth and slides the rubber down his shaft.
Positioning himself at my entrance, he teases my clit, taking his sweet time before sliding every inch of himself into every inch of me. His generous girth fills me to the hilt, mixing pleasure with pain until it all dissolves into utter wanton desire.
His lips crash against mine as he drives himself deeper, harder, faster into me.
A few hours ago, I told him love was a magical feeling.
But this, too, feels a lot like that otherworldly sensation that washes over a person when they’re in the early stages of falling for someone . . .
I remind myself this is sex, not love.
I tell myself that this is all it is and all it’ll ever be.
Assuming anything else could come of this would be playing with fire, and I’ve been burned too many times to count.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BRIAR
Present Day
“Oh my god.” I sit up in the bathtub that night when I realize my phone has one bar.
When I got home from the beach earlier, the room was dark, and Burke was passed out again. I wasted no time in peeling out of my swimsuit and running myself a tepid bubble bath (would’ve been hotter if not for my mild sunburn). Out of habit, I took my phone with me, but when I remembered there was no service out here, I decided to listen to an old podcast I’d previously downloaded while deleting old pictures and screenshots from my photo app—a little digital housekeeping.
Pulling up my messages, I fire off a text to Maeve, letting her know I made it, I’m fine, and there’s no service here so not to worry if she can’t reach me. All the while, the single bar flickers on and off, the signal indecisive.
I press send, hold my breath, and wait.
Five nail-biting seconds later, it shows as delivered.
I compose another message, deciding to make hay since the proverbial sun is shining.
Remember that guy I met last year in the Dominican Republic? I write. He’s BURKE’S BROTHER! Pretty sure he hates me now. Dorian not Burke. I wish I could tell him the truth.
Dorian’s words have haunted me all afternoon.
I would’ve waited for you . . .
It’s both the best and the worst thing he could’ve said.
As he walked away, all I kept thinking about was pulling him aside, telling him everything, and hoping he’d understand. But nothing about that would be rational—or smart. Nor do I imagine it would redeem me in Dorian’s eyes. If anything, he’ll only despise me further for falling for his brother’s lies and inserting my feelings into their family tragedy.
The second message to Maeve doesn’t go through; it just sits there with an angry, glaring red exclamation point next to it.
I try two more times, but the single bar of service that was there a few minutes ago is now gone.
Placing my phone on the little wooden step stool by the tub, I squeeze my eyes shut tight and sink under a mountain of soft bubbles that smell like magnolias.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.” Burke’s voice, distorted through the water, steals me from my moment.
I slide up, my sunburned back burning against the tub, and I cross my hands over my breasts despite the protective layer of bubbles obscuring them.
