ANNIE

Two hours later, I’ve got three swimsuits, a sundress, and no orgasms.

The rest of our shopping trip was relatively uneventful which, I suppose, is better than getting caught in the dressing room. Cohen tried to sneak into the stall at Victoria’s Secret, but they run a tight ship over there and made him wait outside of the dressing rooms. Busted.

After a late lunch, we started home, but I changed my mind and instructed Cohen to take a detour. We arrived at the lake a few minutes ago, parked, and wandered near the beach. I guided us to this lake for a particular reason, and when he looks over at me, I can see he understands why.

“This is where you fell through the ice.”

“I haven’t been back here for awhile. But I guess...” I trail off. “I just wanted to show you. I thought maybe if I jumped in again, it’d prove something to myself. Maybe I wouldn’t be so terrified of water anymore. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s not stupid. Plus, you’re an expert swimmer now.”

“Fast track to the Olympics.”

“Thank you for bringing me here.” Cohen stares out at the lake as he speaks, softly and unhurried. “It’s beautiful.”

I step to him, unable to resist the image of him against the horizon. He’s more gorgeous than any sunset I’ve ever seen, and I hook my finger over the edge of his pants to pull him in for a kiss. My fingers walk up his arm, decorated with ink, before sliding around his neck.

“I think...” I give a one-shouldered shrug. “I think I brought you here because you take away all my fears. When I’m with you, it’s easy not to be scared.”

“I’ll always be here for you.” Cohen brings both of his hands up to my face as he steps back from me, watching my eyes for a long moment. “I love you.”

“Always?”

“Always.”

“How can you say that?” I can feel the overwhelming urge to spill my guts cropping up whether I want to or not. Words topple into one another until I can hardly understand myself. “I’m not trying to pressure you, but I have to ask. To know. What do you want for the future?”

“The future?”

“Do you see yourself in Minnesota? What about marriage, kids? I’m not talking now, but down the line. Years away.”

“I haven’t thought much about it,” he says, slow and a bit unsteady. “I just know that I want you. Isn’t that enough?”

“It is...”

“But?”

“But I can’t help that I think about these things. I know it’s early on, but when you promise you’ll be there forever, it makes me scared. What is always for you? A lifetime?”

“I don’t know the answers, Annie. I do know that I’m not scared to say I want to be with you. If that means marriage, or kids, or whatever... we’ll figure that all out in time.”

“Right, of course. I just—”

“No, Annie, I’m sorry.” Cohen runs his hand through his hair and reaches for me. “I don’t know how to say what I feel for you. I love you, and I want to be with you. I’ve just never been with a woman who makes me want to think about the future. It’s new to me still, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

I can only manage a nod. It’s enough and it isn’t, all at once.

“Come here.” He pulls me into a hug, his fingers running soothing lines through my hair. “Look, everyone’s gotta jump into the unknown sometime. I would rather do it with you than anyone else. I’ll think about it, I promise.”

I hold onto him like a lifejacket, pressing a kiss to his lips in the hope that he’ll understand how wonderful he is. That he’ll understand how much he means to me, to my heart, to my life. I am starting to picture him in the future and, as terrifying as that might be, it’s also exciting.

“Speaking of jumping in...” I back away, sliding my pants down around my ankles. I have one of my new swimsuits on underneath, and as it’s nearly sunset, the private little beach is deserted. “I’m going to go for it.”

“Can I help you?” Cohen’s eyes are on my legs. “Er—go with you, I mean?”

I straighten myself and pull off my shirt. The breeze is warm, but my skin shivers with goose bumps. I shake my head. “I have to do this for myself.”

Then I begin my march to the end of the rickety old fishing dock with my chin tilted high. I don’t stop my forward progression for a second because if I do, I’ll be running back to the car.

Timing my breaths with my footsteps, I watch the end of the dock get nearer and nearer still with every pace.

Three more steps, and then two.

Then one.

I close my eyes, suck in oxygen, and take a flying leap.

There’s a splash. Sudden darkness. A brief flirtation with panic, and then my feet hit the cool sandy bottom of the lake. I press my toes into the sand, little tornadoes swirling across my skin as I propel myself upward.

“Seriously?” I spit out water as I break through the surface. The water’s up to my chest. “I remember it being deeper than this.”

Cohen’s face is a mask of concern, but at the look of surprise on my own face, he throws his head back and laughs. I grin, too, before a shiver rocks my body and the wind suddenly feels cold.

“Come up here,” Cohen says. “I’ve got a blanket to wrap you up in. Let’s get you warm, Michael Phelps.”

I drag myself out of the water, elated at the lack of fear I felt when underwater. I still don’t love swimming, and my doggy paddle leaves a lot to be desired, but something is different, and this gives me a boost of confidence. Enough confidence to pull Cohen in for a kiss, clutching his shirt with my hand as his tongue slips past my lips and searches for more.

“Jesus, Annie,” he says, eyes widening. “You need to jump into lakes more often.”

I grin back. “I guess so.”

Maybe it’s adrenaline speaking, but I can’t seem to stop.

“Cohen,” I whisper, stealing a glance of the abandoned lake. “I want you. Here, now.”

We’re on a small beach, tucked into a cove of trees only accessible through a tiny path. We will be able to hear anyone coming from a mile away, thanks to the crackling of sticks and the quiet of the isolated area. There’s only the ripple of water, the stream of sunlight, the lapping of the water on the shore to keep us company.

Cohen doesn’t need asking twice. He doesn’t give me a chance to change my mind or doubt the urge. Instead he takes control and reaches out, lifting me so that my legs wrap around his torso, and I cling to him like I’ll never let go.

I’m soaking wet from the lake, but he doesn’t care. One of his hands is pressed against my back, the other holding me up from the bottom. Without letting go, he eases to his knees and shifts the blanket open in one motion, laying me down with a gentleness I hadn’t expected from the hockey star.

“You are...” He presses a kiss against my lips. “The sweetest thing.”

“I was going for sexy, but I’ll take it.”

“The sexy is always there.” His eyes darken, flanked by the green of the trees around him. “The sweet’s what’s in here.” He brings a hand to my chest, presses it to there. My fingers surround his, pressing his hand as close to me as possible.

I close my eyes and savor the touch. As sweet as it is, it’s not enough. “Kiss me, please.”

He obeys, cradling his arms on either side of me as he presses his weight against my body. It’s delicious, feeling every long, hard curve of him, and when his lips meet mine, it’s as if time stands still. The warmth of his body battles the chill away as he curls me close enough to feel his heartbeat.

The kiss is furious, desperate, our lips fused together as the scent of him mixes with the outdoors. A hint of spring freshness swirls with the all-male scent of Cohen, a heady cocktail of passion.

Cohen reaches for my bikini bottoms, running his hands along the edges. He starts to tug at them, but I rest a hand against his wrist.

“Don’t break these, too,” I say. “I need them for the cruise.”

He stills for a moment, his face breaking into a grin. “But I happened to enjoy swimsuit shopping.”

With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, he slides them off without harm. We’re laughing under the last bright rays of the sun, the mood light and breezy, brimming with the joys of spring. The air is cool, our bodies are warm, and between the two of us is a fire that can’t be tamed.

Cohen tucks the blanket edges around my body as he pulls his shirt off with one hand, balancing above me with the other. It’s a feat in itself, and the ripples of his chest, the strain of his arm holding the weight of his body is all muscle.

I let my hands reach for him, caress over his soft, bare skin. He might be a man who skates for a living, throwing people into walls and all that other sporty stuff, but when he’s here, with me, it’s different. There’s a quiet confidence, a gentle edge to each and every movement.

His hands trail over my body, finding each and every sensitive area and spending time there. When his hands reach my breasts, my hips raise to him, my breath coming in pants. He pauses for a moment, reaching down, dipping a finger inside me and feeling my need.

“Be patient, sweetheart,” he murmurs, leaving me wanting as he continues a treasure trail of kisses across my stomach. “Not yet.”

Patient is a foreign word at the moment. I’m not in the mood to go slow, to be patient—I’ve figured out what I want, and I want it now. Him. Cohen. Everything. So, I reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans while our lips find each other in the tangle of heat.

“Okay,” he groans, standing for just long enough to free himself from the burden of pants. “Patience is overrated.”

He is stunning. I knew this, I know this, but every time I see him it’s a small miracle all over again. By the time he’s eased himself back onto me, I’ve found my voice. “Remind me why someone like you is hanging around with someone like me?” I breathe. “You’re gorgeous, and you could have anyone—yet you’re here, fooling around with me by the lake.”

“We’re not fooling around,” he says, pressing himself to me. There are no more layers between us, save for the condom he’s pulled out of nowhere, and the thrilling threat of what’s next is heavy in the air. “I love you.”

I already forgot the question. Instead, I’m focused on the feel of him situated between my thighs. Heat curls in my stomach, the sensation of him against me not enough to satisfy my cravings. He moves slowly, teasing and taunting to maddening levels as he gently nudges against my opening.

“I’m here because I love you,” he says. “And I want to be with you. It’s simple.”

His words propel us onward, and I hold him even tighter, so tight my fingers dig into the skin of his back. The angle of my hips against his silences him as we press chest to chest, skin to skin, core to core as his eyes close in pleasure, in anticipation.

Then, Cohen’s eyes flick open, a jungle reflected there as the sun slips behind the trees, the sunlight streaking across us in shadowed beams to stand guard against the chill of the air. With it comes the glow of mystery, hope, the end to another day. Behind him, branches sway from the trees, twisting over the water, the gentle waves crashing against the rocky ledges.

“You’re the only person who fits me,” Cohen says, easing between my thighs, his voice heavy with lust. “In every way, Annie. I can’t get enough of you.”

With those words, he pushes into me, hissing with the satisfaction of the moment, the tipping point after a day spent burning with desire for each other—looking, touching, exchanging secrets and whispers.

My fingernails dig into his shoulders before he even starts to move. He fills me in a way I’d never imagined possible. When he brings a hand up, presses it to my lower stomach, his thumb hovering just on the edge, rubbing small circles, I close my eyes and focus on staying here, in the moment.

Then he moves, and my eyes flicker open. It’s no longer a tender, sensual moment—it’s everything I’ve asked for. Intensity, passion. He fists a hand through my hair, crashes his lips to mine. I raise my hips, asking him, needing him, and he delivers.

We move in sync, the end arriving fast this time, circling us, swirling, just on the verge of taking flight. One of his hands reaches behind my head and angles it to deepen the kiss, his other hand holding my back as he thrusts.

Then, everything fades, and all that’s left is us, rushing toward blackness. It swallows me whole as Cohen drives us to a wild frenzy, my hands gripping him as he clutches me to his chest. We hold each other for dear life as we spiral into a shimmering abyss, caught somewhere in between the light of the sun and the incoming moon as evening sets.

When I return back to reality, my breath is quick and sharp, while Cohen’s is stilled, calm. His eyes are closed as if resisting the return to reality. I wait patiently, unable to wipe the grin off my face, until he scoops me into his arms and rolls to the side, cradling my head to his chest.

“Wow,” he says.

“Excellent.”

He drapes an arm across my waist, and it’s like this that we fall asleep. We doze on and off, covering one another with the blanket until sometime under the setting sun, Cohen shuffles me into some clothes and carries me to the car.

When I wake the next morning, it takes some time for me to remember if last night—if Cohen, and everything we shared—was a dream. But Cohen’s still there next to me, an arm draped over my waist.

Lucky for me, he’s real.