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“River,” she gasps, and hearing my name on her tongue like that, reedy and desperate, is such a drug. I grunt and thrust harder, angling my hips to hit that needy spot inside her, over and over.
So hot.
So slick.
So sweet.
Her thighs quake. Her peachy ass ripples with each pound of my hips, and her grip is white-knuckled on the rail. When I reach around and pinch her clit, Betty cries up at the wide, blue sky.
When I lick the back of her neck, I taste salt. When she clamps down on my shaft, moaning and twitching, I taste goddamn victory.
“Keep coming,” I tell her, rubbing at her clit. “Go on, keep coming for me.”
I’d drag this out for hours if I could. Maybe one day soon, when we have the luxury of a bed and a refrigerator full of sports drinks to rehydrate, I’ll try. Gotta take care of my girl.
Still, Betty shudders and shakes and cries out until she’s hoarse, and I don’t let up until she collapses over the rail, batting away my hand.
“Enough,” she gasps. “Oh my god, enough. I’m dying. I’m dead.”
Okay. Roger that.
Thrusting all the way home one more time, I scoop her upright with one arm banded around her chest. She’s trembling and flushed. I hold her close, her back to my front, hearts pounding together as I empty inside her, spurt after agonizing spurt. Her rumpled hair muffles my groan.
After a dazed minute, Betty turns her head, seeking my lips. I kiss her hard, still so desperate for her, even now.
We stay put for a long time, bodies aching, the wind cool. We both wince as we finally pull apart, but Betty turns and wraps her arms around my waist. Her bare toes scrunch against the deck, and her face presses into my chest.
“Shower?” I say.
Her breath catches. “There are showers on board? Are they hot?”
Guess her treasure hunt earlier didn’t findallthe good stuff. “Hell yeah. There’s soap in ‘em too. And I found spare clothes.”
Betty squeezes me tight. “My hero.”
I wish. But maybe one day I’ll earn that label. Maybe soon.
I kiss the top of her head. “Go on and wash up first. We’ll be there soon, and then we’ll ditch the interloper and disappear. Just you and me. We’ll start over, wherever you want in the world.”
I brace for her trepidation, but Betty sighs so happily. “Can’t wait.”
Neither can I. My heart lurches as I kneel to dress her again, but it’s not the waves this time. It’s all her.
* * *
Three years later
The beach is still warm even hours after sunset, the stars pulsing in a navy sky. Laughter floats across the sand, along with the lively strains of music. The waves sigh as they collapse onto the shore.
I stroll along barefoot, hands tucked in the pockets of my shorts. Even after three years of radio silence, even with my seemingly casual posture, my nerves are on high alert. I pick up every detail of my surroundings.
The screams of laughter from a hen party, the women staggering together along the surf, heels clutched in their hands as they splash barefoot through shallow water.
The glow of apartment windows on the cliffs above the beach.
The faint scent of incense, half covering up the smell of weed.
The shadow of a dog walker in the distance, his ghostly mutt zooming along the sand.
