Harper shoved her feet into flip flops as she pulled her hair up into a messy bun. The wind was kicking up off the shore, so it wasn’t worth trying to fuss with herself. Not when she’d be covered in sand in ten minutes anyway.

She adjusted the lemon yellow triangles of her bikini top as Deacon came out of the bathroom. His sharp green eyes followed every move of her hands. That heat sizzled under her skin again.

Wild and euphoric, she’d been binging on her husband for the last twelve hours. She should be more in control at this point, and yet…

She swallowed as he buttoned a linen shirt. She had the oddest sensation to go and climb on top of him, pushing that shirt out of the way so she could get to the miles of tan skin.

Cripes. What had gotten into her? She and Deacon had a healthy sex life since the beginning, but she was pretty sure she was going to go into a sex-induced coma if she went at him again this morning. She was sore and swollen at the same time.

Not a good combo.

She watched him replace his towel with a pair of board shorts and couldn’t disguise the smile when she saw the tight fit of the front placket. Her husband was just as buzzed on whatever was in the air here in Galveston.

She slid a crochet cover-up over her suit and cutoffs. “Ready to get a closer look at the coast?”

“Definitely.”

She held out her hand and tugged him toward the back door. The early afternoon sun warranted a pair of sunglasses and a quick dash across the hot sand to the coastline.

Deacon’s surefooted gait left her in the dust as usual, but instead of wandering ahead of her, he turned around and stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the sand.

Distracted by the whole chest to die for thing, she’d been too slow on the uptake. Deacon went into a half crouch and tucked her over his shoulder. He headed into the spray, dumping them both into the seaweed strewn water.

She screeched at the tangle of hairy seaweed, laughing when he dunked them once more. She came up sputtering and hanging off his shoulders. They splashed around in the water for a few minutes before they trudged back in against the mild undertow.

“I forgot about how much I hate seaweed,” she said, peeling the salt-caked waxy greens off her thigh.

He shook out his shirt and draped it over his shoulder. “If we head over to the public beach, it’s not as bad there.”

She tipped her head up at him, seeing the gleam in his gaze. “You want to take a run, don’t you?”

“Kinda.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a sickness, you know this, right?”

“The endorphins are so good though.”

“I prefer the ones after sex.”

He laughed. “Those are my favorite kind.”

“How about we walk over to the public beach? We’re on vacation. There’s no need to race.”

He linked his hands with hers. “All right, Mrs. McCoy.”

She rose onto her toes and dragged him down to her mouth. He tasted of salt and sunshine. Her earlier desperation melted like the sugary sand under her feet.

This was what it was supposed to be like. She felt his lips smile under hers as he slung his arm around her shoulder and dragged her in close. They walked through the foamy water for a while then up on the packed sand until they came to the public beach.

Kids screamed as loud as the gulls overhead. Harried parents chased toddlers with spray cans of sunblock.

She peered up at Deacon. Just an hour into the sun, and he was already bronzed with color. His shirt floated behind him, now tucked into his back pocket. She had a ridiculously hot husband.

Surprisingly, no one stopped them, but plenty of women followed him with their eyes. His salt-frizzed hair was a bit shaggier than usual and his aviators disguised enough of his face that they could walk unencumbered. His tattoos were also eye-catchers. Soon enough that tat on his back would be beyond famous. Already people were doing double-takes, but he was moving too fast for people to put two and two together.

She stifled a laugh as a group of teen girls gawked as they walked by.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

He leaned down and mock-bit her neck. “Tell me.”

“Just amused by how many women have been lusting after you. I think I witnessed it from every age group at least twice.”

“Shut up.”

She bumped him with her hip. Deacon wasn’t terribly comfortable with the objectification portion of his fame, but hell…he was the one that kept his body in such fine form. What did he expect?

“Hungry?”

She shrugged. Food held little appeal lately. All she did was cook. Though the idea of someone else making something for her had merit. And she did need fuel to keep up with Deacon. “I could eat.”

He nodded to the little bar off the beach. “How can we not go into a bar with a huge mermaid on the sign?”

“Especially named Rhianna’s?”

“You wound me, woman. If you’re talking about the song that would be Rhiannon.”

“Oh.” She laughed. “A thousand pardons.”

“I might have to take your ring back.”

She elbowed him. “Good luck with that.”

His dimple flashed as he slid his shirt on, buttoning the bottom two snaps as they climbed the sandy stairs. The bar was full of reclaimed wood painted and sanded in the shabby beach colors of turquoise, yellow, and marine blue. A gorgeous mermaid mural covered the main wall. Clear glass shelves housed alcohol from rot gut tequila and illegible Russian-named vodka to Cabo Wabo and Grey Goose.

Harper climbed onto one of the stools that had been carved into a conch shell. “This place is great.”

Deacon leaned on the wide planked bar top, his elegant fingers sliding over the shellacked surface until he came to the chomped end. He laughed and looked up at the bartender. “Shark?”

She nodded. “Mako.”

“Fuck.”

The bartender leaned forward on her elbows showing an alarming amount of skin from her coral colored halter top. She pushed purple rimmed glasses up her nose. Heavily mascaraed eyes flirted behind the lenses, aiming right at Deacon. “I’m Jenn, but my friends call me DJ. What can I get you?”

Deacon grinned back at her and tapped his left ring finger on the bar top. “My wife and I are looking for some food and a few drinks.”

DJ glanced down at Harper. “Man, lucky girl. How’d you bag Mr. Universe?”

Harper pushed her shades up into her hair. “Coconut chocolate popovers.”

The bartender laughed and reached back for the ragged menu in the holder behind the bar. “Now that sounds like a story.”

Harper grinned. “Girlfriend, there aren’t enough hours left in this day to tell it.”

DJ laughed and tapped purple tipped nails on the menu. “Well, if you’re some sort of cook—”

“Chef,” Deacon said.

The flirty blonde waggled her brows. “Yeah, you might be a bit disappointed with the level of cuisine here. Rhi is better with the beer and tequila than she is the menu.”

“I heard that.” Came a voice from the back.

“Love you,” DJ called back to the little alcove next to the mermaid.

“So what’s good?”

She lowered her glasses and looked Deacon over. “You look like you can put it away.”

He shrugged.

Harper rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he can. I swear he’s got extra storage above his belly and a compartment that fills up his chest too.”

“Well, I do love a man that can fill up.”

Harper covered her face with her hands.

Deacon laughed and slid his hand into the messy knot of hair at the back of her neck, slowly stroking down between her shoulder blades.

“You guys a fan of clams?”

Harper perked up. “Oceanside clams? Uh, yes.”

“We make this awesome sourdough bread bowl for our chowder. Add in a couple of orders of steamed clams and a basket of our bar fries and we might even fill up the big guy.”

Harper squinted at the bartender. “I’m the only one that can call him Big Guy.”

DJ held up her hands. “All right.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “Is he proportional everywhere?”

“Hey now,” Deacon said.

Harper grinned and nodded over the woman’s shoulder. “Is that Cabo?”

She turned. “I have Blanco and Reposado.”

“Do a shot with me and I might tell you.”

“Lawless.”

Feeling a little wild, she laughed as the bartender snapped two tall shot glasses in front of her.

DJ tucked a lock of hair around her ear. “Oh. This is going to end badly.”

“Crack open the Reposado.”

“Jesus, Harper.” At Deacon’s surprised tone, she tossed back the first glass.

“Now that is tequila.”

Jenn refilled them. “Tell me everything.”

Deacon hunkered down in a seat beside Harper. “Looks like you better pour me one too. Just ring up the bottle.”

DJ raised her hand up to a bell and gave it a good pull. The clang brought out a cheer and clap from the regulars.

“What was that for?”

“Anytime we have a bit of the devil in the bar, gotta make it known.”

Harper let the gold liquid slide down her throat. There was no burn, just the lick of good alcohol and the thrill of doing something that didn’t have any repercussions for once. She was on her damn honeymoon. If she wanted to get a little shit faced on the beach, she damn well could. She took another shot, grabbed Deacon by his scruff heavy cheeks, and dragged him down for a tequila soaked kiss.

When his tongue slid along her lips to gather the last drops, she let herself moan. This was exactly what they needed. She hopped off the barstool and wandered over to the retro fitted jukebox. It looked about seventy years old, but the guts were all high end electronics.

She flicked through the songs, smiling when Deacon came up behind her, his wide hands curling around her hips. “Are you going to cause a ruckus tonight, Lawless?”

“I was thinking about it.”

She rolled her hips under his touch as Elvis’s raw voice filled the bar. An old song from his ‘68 comeback special buzzed under her breastbone. She ground her ass against the front of Deacon’s board shorts. The proof of his deliciously proportional body rose up and pressed into her lower back.

The last time she’d danced with Deacon had been their wedding reception. And that day had been filled with friends and family pulling them apart every five minutes. Even her first dance felt like it had been barely a blink.

She spun around in his arms and grinned up at him as his strong thigh slid between hers. She rolled her hips in time with the thump, strum of the song. Elvis’s pitch perfect voice hummed through her chest and arrowed into her pelvis.

As the song rattled and shook to its end, Deacon dipped her back and laughed his way up her neck. His teeth scraped along the column to her chin where he laid a hot kiss on her lips. Public displays weren’t exactly Deacon’s stock and trade, but there was enough tequila burning between them, along with a long day of sun to make them both a little reckless.

When the song skipped to a chant-heavy Sting song, she glued herself to Deacon’s chest. Cocoa butter and salt swam in her head as he moved his hips in time with hers.

More couples came onto the dance floor until the postage stamp parquet floor was a mindless mass of bodies. As the sun went down and people came in to eat and drink, she and Deacon gorged on clams and tequila. They traded off with large glasses of water to keep them on the edge of fun instead of into sloppy and stupid.

They danced and they laughed, and she’d never felt more alive with her clothes on. When he dragged her onto the dance floor for one last time and a slow song left her arms and body heavy with want, she curled into his chest.

They moved slowly and in time.

There was a room full of people, but they didn’t matter. Only Deacon and his skin under her cheek mattered. The reassuring beat of his heart, the stir of his body, the bronze skin delight that was Deacon’s chest. All of it was hers.

And she wanted it to only be hers.

She backed off the dance floor, dragging him with her. “Home,” she said quietly.

He nodded and tugged her over to the bar. She stood behind him as he paid. Her fingers slipped under his shirt to the taut muscles of his belly and down to the double knot of his board shorts. The rumble of his groan made her bolder.

Beneath the line of the bar where the shadows lay, she curled her fingers around his shaft that had been half hard for the last hour. She smiled into his linen shirt covered back when he cracked his credit card along the bar top.

“Am I distracting you?”

“Yes,” he growled.

She brought her other hand under his shaft and cupped his balls. When Deacon’s entire body stiffened, she shushed him. “Now, now.”

DJ finally finished ringing them up and Deacon hustled her out the door. The dark beach and roar of the tide were disconcerting at first. It was only a ten minute walk back to their cottage, but it felt like an eternity of sifting sand and darkness. Deacon’s hand was tight and sure on hers as they trudged along the coast.

She twirled around in front of him and hopped up until she could hang off his shoulders. The music and the laughter of the crowds faded as he kept walking. She wrapped her legs around his hips and bumped her nose along his.

When he laughed into her mouth, she held on tighter. She rolled her hips against his warm belly, crossing her ankles at the back of his waist.

“I love you.”

He stopped, his arms tightening around her.

She brushed her mouth over his. The words came easier now. The emotions that he brought out of her were so mixed with love and happiness, she didn’t know how to let them out sometimes. They clogged her throat, they were so overwhelming.

He slanted his mouth along hers as his stride lengthened. She didn’t stop kissing him as he brought them home, as his gait became uneven at the top of the dunes outside their cottage. Even when he slowly let her slide to the ground, they didn’t stop kissing.

Deacon peeled her cover-up over her head and flung it on the lounger. She ripped at the snaps of his shirt and crouched in front of him to drag her tongue along the line of hair above his navel. His long fingers slid into her hair, dragging her back up to him.

He dipped his mouth down to hers as he loosened her bikini top, letting it fall to the shale floor. He flicked open the button to her shorts, making quick work of them as well. The light breeze off the water made shadows play over his skin, accentuating the muscles of his belly and chest with each sway of the twinkle lights.

“God, the way you look at me.”

Her gaze locked on his beautiful face and her breath caught at his rough words. He was all stark angles and intensity. Words were trapped in her chest, but she knew exactly how he felt. Like the world was in his eyes. It was terrifying to have one person be the center of her.

He was her world and she was his.

Deacon slid the backs of his knuckles along her collarbone and down to the slope of her breast to her nipple that stood so tight and swollen just because he was there in front of her. She shuddered as his light touch skidded over the flat of her belly to the curve of her pelvis. He slid a knuckle between the already swollen lips of her slit and groaned.

Shadowed eyes glinted in the low light as he turned his hand, dipping two long fingers inside of her welcoming body. She wanted to throw her head back and lose herself to the feeling, but she couldn’t stop watching him watch her.

Gentle and insistent, his touch was everything. Slick with her, he delved back inside of her and out again. Each time, the calloused tips of his fingers left behind a light scrape of an echo that no one could ever make but Deacon.

She grasped his wrist as her balance faltered. God, he felt good inside of her. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, just the ever slow glide of his fingers until she couldn’t do anything except feel. Except experience the buzz that happened when they were in the same sphere.

She wasn’t sure if it was the roar of the ocean or the roar in her head as he patiently drew her down the path of her first quaking release. When she could feel her own walls clasping around his fingers, he dragged her close and covered her mouth. The swallow of his groan of pleasure swirled with her own as his tongue mimicked his fingers.

The moon and shadows held her as tight as Deacon’s arms as the first wash of misty pleasure swamped her. Distantly, she heard his board shorts fall into a heap as he backed up, dragging her closer to the hammock. He gingerly curled into the wide canvass contraption and drew her in front of him, her back to his front.

Then there was nothing but the floating feel of Deacon wrapped around her. He shifted her and then there was only fullness. Deacon’s wide hand across her belly, holding her tight against him as his cock pulsed inside of her already quaking pussy.

His lips found her neck, his other arm cradled her tight so that his forearm banded beneath her breasts. Cherished. The light sway of the hammock and Deacon’s rolling hips extended one orgasm into another until they were one knot of love and lust and emotion.

Her name became part of a litany of soft groans of love and earnest praise as she broke again and again. But she never fell.

He would never let her fall.

Finally, the gentle cadence of his release flowed around her and filled her. She drifted off, her husband still wrapped around her and inside of her.