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“What do you mean? Yesterday you told me I should keep screwing him. Hell, pretty sure you begged me to do so.”
“I did. And I still think you should keep screwing him. Not because I’m having a bit of a dry spell and want to live vicariously through you, but because you deserve all the toe-curling orgasms you can handle.”
“But…” I arch a brow, sensing there’s more.
She draws in a deep breath, then squares her shoulders, the breeze blowing a few tendrils of her dark hair in front of her face.
“But we all know how things in this world can be.”
“I’m well aware of how things can be.”
“Which is why we want you to be careful.” Marius lowers his voice, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s nearby to eavesdrop in on our conversation.
But like when I first stepped out here, it’s just us, the only sign of life a few seagulls circling the shoreline in search of breakfast.
“Not for your sake, but for his. If anyone learns the truth, there won’t be many repercussions for you. But Creed…”
“He could lose everything he’s worked for,” I finish Marius’ thought, their warning yanking me down from the cloud I’ve been on the past few hours.
“Exactly.” He nods. “So be careful.”
“I will,” I promise through the sinking feeling in my stomach.
I peer into the distance, wondering if we were too impulsive last night. If we failed to give this the deliberation it requires.
But I don’t obsess over the idea for long, all my unease evaporating the second a familiar figure walks up from the beach, broad chest dotted with sweat from what I assume to be a morning run. The sight of Creed’s chiseled body erases every single thought, except the memory of last night. How he used that body to push me to my limits.
Past my limits.
And I loved every second of it.
“You might want to start by not drooling every time you see him.” Harriet leans closer.
I tear my gaze away, pretending to be unaffected. “I’m not drooling.”
“Yes, you are. And I love this for you.”
“Can we stop talking about this? He doesn't know you guys know anything.”
“You got it.” Harriet nods, pretending to zip her mouth. “Mum’s the word.”
“Good.”
We fall oddly silent, my heart rate increasing with every passing second as I watch Creed stalk toward the house.
It’s only been a few hours since I slipped out of his bed, much to his protest. But those few hours may as well have been months for how much I’ve longed to feel his hands on me. To be in his presence.
I hate that I can’t wrap my arms around him and draw his lips against mine.
Hate that I can’t offer to shower with him.
Hate that we have to pretend we’re nothing to each other.
“Morning,” he offers politely as he passes us.
“Creed!” Harriet greets him enthusiastically. “How did you sleep?” She waggles her brows.
“So not cool, Harri,” I mutter under my breath, using my mug to block my moving lips.
