Frankie
“Are you ready?” Darian shouts from the bottom of the staircase. “Car’s out front. Grab your scarf…unless you want to use one of the communal scarves in the glove compartment.” His laughter hangs in the air until the door closes behind him.
Jackass.
A silk scarf hardly goes with a faded University of Texas T-shirt and khaki shorts. I rummage through Darian’s closet until I arrive at an Aerosmith trucker cap.
But this does.
“I take it back. Fuck the scarf,” Darian says as I sit in the passenger seat. “You look pretty hot in a Backwoods Barbie kind of way.”
Batting my eyelashes, I take his hand and place it at the hem of my shorts. “How long’s the drive?” I ask in the southern drawl he likes so much.
His fingers walk up my inner thigh, just far enough to brush the edge of my panties. I hold my breath as he gently tugs at the elastic around the leg, then squeal when he yanks his finger free and it pops back into place.
“You’re a bit of a road hazard,” he says in his own terrible accent. He starts the engine and his come-fuck-me car purrs to life. “The drive is about two and a half hours, but if we get hungry we can stop for a bite in Key Largo. Pick some music.”
“Key Largo? We’re going to the Keys?” I drum my feet in quick succession on the floorboard of his car. “Which one?”
His smile is a flash on his lips. “Anabel Key,” he says softly.
My chest tightens. “Anabel?”
“It’s my island. Well, kind of.” He laughs. “It’s not as impressive as it sounds. I say island, but it’s actually more of a rock.”
Hearing him say her name for the first time sends a sharp pain to the back of my throat.
Darian shifts into gear and we head down the long palm tree-lined driveway.
“Where is it?” I ask. “I mean, how do you get to it?”
“It’s off Marathon,” he says as we wait for the gate to open. “I have a boat parked at the marina.”
We turn onto the main road, and a few miles pass in silence before he speaks again. “It’s named after my daughter, Annie, but I guess you probably figured that out already. I bought it shortly after moving here. I’ve never taken anyone before. Not even Drew.”
“And you’re taking me.” My words are barely a whisper, but I know he hears them.
“I want to share it with you.”
I turn toward my window and stare at the passing landscape through blurry eyes. The emotions I’m feeling are both perplexing and conflicting. This island is a product of Darian’s deepest pain, and he wants to share it with me. Why me?
Is it because of what happened in the pantry?
Darian squeezes my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I turn in my seat to face him. “Why would you ask me that?” My voice breaks on a small gasp and my hand flies to my mouth. I push back the threat of tears with an awkward laugh. “I’m so embarrassed,” I say. “I shouldn’t be reacting like this in front of you. I’m such a—”
“Human?” Darian says. “You’re a compassionate, loving human. And that’s one of the reasons I wanted to bring you. I can just be myself. I can just be with you.”
He’s quiet a moment, his hand resting on my shoulder, his fingers playing with my ponytail. “That’s not something I get from anyone else.” He laughs then. “And maybe I should have told you where I was taking you before I strapped you in my car and set off down the road. I’ve had ten years to get used to this trip, Francesca. You’ve had ten minutes.”
My hands curl into fists. “Just the fact that you want to share this with me makes me happier than you could possibly know, but it sucks because you shouldn’t have it to share with me. You shouldn’t have it at all. This island shouldn’t exist for you, but it does, and it’s so fucking unfair.”
I bite down on my lip when I realize the car has stopped and we’re parked on the side of the road. Darian has a white-knuckled grip on the wheel.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I can’t believe I said all that.”
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For being the only person in ten years who isn’t afraid to talk to me. It does suck. It is fucking unfair. And, Christ, that’s so much better to hear than God has a plan and Everything happens for a fucking reason.” He draws in a deep breath and blows out a long exhale. “Enough of this. We’re going to have fun this weekend, okay?”
I nod. “Will you tell me about her sometime? Annie?”
“I will,” Darian says with a sincere smile. He takes his sunglasses from the console and slides them on. “I promise.”
Frankie: We’re going away for the weekend and there won’t be cell/Wi-Fi.
Jane: Where is he taking you? The moon?
Frankie: The Keys. He has an island.
Jane: Of course he does.
Frankie: He’s never taken anyone before. I’m the first.
Jane: Wow Frankie. That’s big.
Frankie: I know.
Jane: Maybe he’s falling for U 2. :-)
Anxious to get to the island, we drive straight through Key Largo and grab snacks and groceries from a market in Marathon. Thirty minutes later, we’re at the marina boarding his boat. He sits in the captain’s chair, and I sit nearby on the bench seat, transfixed as I watch him man the wheel.
“She’s nice,” I say as we pull away from the dock. “She looks new.”
His eyes light up at the mention of her. “I just got her a few months ago.” He grins proudly, his dimple breaking through. “She’s my other baby,” he says, waving goodbye to the Maserati parked in front of the marina. “She’s fun. We can ski.”
“I noticed you haven’t named her,” I say.
Darian laughs. “I’ve been leaning toward my Come-Fuck-Me Boat, but that seems a little cliché at this point.”
We’ve barely made any headway, and already Darian looks as if ten years have melted from his face. And with each passing break, he seems to lose another.
“It won’t be long,” he says as the boat picks up speed.
I lean against the white leather cushion and tilt my head back, smiling as the late afternoon sun and sea spray kiss my cheeks. The ride is short, maybe fifteen minutes. I relax to the sound of the engine as the boat carves its way through the gulf.
Darian’s voice brings me back. “There it is.”
A giant grin replaces my smile as the island comes into view. The rock, as he referred to it, is small. A couple of acres, tops. But it’s private, remote, and I can easily see why he was drawn to it.
“Welcome to my hideaway.”
The boat sways in the bumpy current as we dock, and as I try to stand, the wind whips my hat backward until it catches on my ponytail.
“Take my hand,” Darian says, his footing sturdy from experience. He helps me off the boat. “Another gust like that and I’ll have to fish you out of the water.”
We walk along the planked pathway toward the house. Nestled in the wild, untamed landscape, the octagon-shaped bungalow is a bright and cheerful turquoise, trimmed in white. It’s cute, rustic, and true to form, not what I expected.
We cross a small deck with an old wooden rocking chair and a pair of empty bird feeders. Darian unlocks the front door and we enter through the living room. The interior is cozy and charming and reminds me of my cabin. The walls and floors are paneled in what appears to be old barn wood and are sparsely covered in patterned rugs and seascape paintings. On the right, a cornflower blue island with two aluminum barstools separates the living area from the open kitchen. I lean against the side of the bar as Darian unpacks our groceries.
“I love it,” I say. “You continue to surprise me.”
“The outside’s even better. Speaking of, I forgot charcoal. Come with me and I’ll show you. Fingers crossed there’s a bag out there.”
I follow him to the back deck, which is considerably larger than the front deck and has an outdoor grill and dining area.
“Yes! We’re in luck,” he says with animated enthusiasm.
I can’t blame him. I guess popping into a convenience store isn’t very convenient when you’re on a private island.
“How do you feel about dolphin?” Darian asks, pulling the bag of charcoal from its hiding place.
My nostrils flare. “Dolphin?”
He laughs. “You’re way too easy. Not Flipper, the mammal. Mahimahi, the fish…” He waits. “Dolphinfish?”
I exhale. “Mahi I can do. Flipper? I’d have to pass.”
Darian fires up the pit and I decide to explore a little farther from the house. A sandy footpath through the heavily wooded terrain leads me to a small private beach. With my flip-flops dangling from my fingers, I push my toes through the untouched sand. Unspoiled and idyllic. That’s really the only way I can describe it. I hold my arms in front of me, framing the view with my hands. A perfect picture of blue on top of blue—so similar in color, I have to squint to separate the ocean from the sky. The surf rolls in, stealing the sand from beneath my feet. I step back and grin—a teeth-baring, face-stretching grin.
The fact I’m literally stranded in this paradise with him makes me giddy. Okay, maybe not literally stranded, but a girl can dream. It’s not like I can swim back to the mainland, so if he could just lose the boat keys or if the gas tank could just mysteriously drain or—
“You’re a vision, Francesca.”
His voice catches me by surprise and I spin around.
“This is extraordinary,” I say. “I’m so glad you brought me.”
Never take me home.
“Me too.”
He reaches for my hand, and we stroll along the small stretch of sand to a weather-beaten log at the far end of the beach. It reminds me of the bench behind my cabin. We sit, facing the setting sun, and I regard it with newfound appreciation as Darian drapes his arm over my shoulder.
“I don’t know how you ever leave,” I say.
“I think it’ll be harder this time.”
I inch closer to him on the log and rest my head against his arm. Pastels paint the clouds like cotton candy floating over the ocean, and we’re quiet for long minutes, just watching them drift by. The wind is gentler on this side of the island, but I can still hear it behind us, high above in the swaying palms.
Darian steals his arm from my shoulder and leans forward, fingers steepled, elbows on his knees. “Annie loved the beach,” he whispers after a short span of silence. “I imagine she would have really liked this place.”
My heart stills at the mention of her name, and I turn my body sideways on the log. Darian keeps his gaze fixed on his fingers but wears a small smile that grows despite the brittle edge to his voice.
“She was beautiful,” he says softly, “and she loved me unconditionally.” He sits taller, his legs extended in front of him. A muffled cough serves to clear his throat and leaves us both with glassy eyes.
“I know all kids love their parents unconditionally, but with her, I could do no wrong. And it was the same for me.” His smile breaks into a laugh. “Jules used to get so frustrated, especially during Annie’s terrible twos, but I just found her…enchanting.” Darian rubs his eyes with the hem of his shirt and then blows out a breath. “Thank you for putting the PEZ dispenser back.”
“Darian…”
He shakes his head.
“You’re welcome.”
“Come on,” he says, squeezing my hand, “I’m sure the fire’s ready by now.”
After dinner, Darian takes me for a walk around the property. The moon is bright enough that we don’t need a flashlight, so we just pick one of the many trails that circle the house.
Sounds of life filter through the brush, and I hold Darian’s hand a little tighter. “And you think my place is scary?”
“At least I don’t have harbingers of death here.”
“Harbingers of death? Are you talking about whip-poor-wills?”
He shrugs.
“They’re better than”—I motion to the trees—“whatever you have lurking out there.”
Darian stops walking and crosses his arms. “Raccoons? You’re comparing cute, little, furry raccoons to those devil birds?”
“Devil birds?” I clutch my stomach in laughter. “You make it sound as if they have beady red eyes and horns.”
“They don’t?”
“They’re ethereal.”
“Exactly. Like demons.” He takes my hand again. “Come on. I promise to protect you from the evil coons.”
The long, winding trail makes the tiny island seem deceptively larger. We take a right here and a left there, and I try to memorize landmarks so I can get around on my own. It doesn’t matter though; with the beach only steps away, it would be hard to get lost.
We come to a small clearing and I stop.
Darian flashes me a proud smile as he walks on. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He lies on his back on the moonlit ground beneath a blanket of stars. “This is my favorite part of the island,” he says. “It’s why I bought it.” He pats the patch of sand next to him. “It’s peaceful.”
“Aside from the evil coons,” I tease.
“Yes, aside from that.”
I lie down beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. We point out the few constellations we know and make up several more. I gasp when a shooting star dashes across the sky, but before I can make a wish, I see another one.
“Just watch,” Darian says. “Once they get going, they don’t stop.”
“The island of unlimited wishes,” I say.
Darian laughs. “Good luck with that.”
“What?” I nudge his side. “You don’t believe in making wishes?”
“It hasn’t worked for me yet,” he says.
“Maybe you should try again.”
“Maybe I should.”
The next morning, we set off for the beach. Darian takes me to a spot on the right side of the shoreline where a flat rock emerges from the whitecaps. He sits in the surf and leans against the rock, bending his knees and spreading them wide enough to accommodate me.
“I take it you’ve done this before.” I laugh. “The rock, I mean. Not the girl between your legs.”
I rest my back against his chest and bury my toes in the wet sand. The water is warm, and the clement ocean air mingles with his scent.
“A time or two,” Darian says with a smile in his voice. “But it’s better with the girl between my legs.”
I tilt my grin toward him. “Well, girl or no girl, it’s beautiful. I’d be here all the time. It’s the perfect place to be alone and just think.”
“That’s the thing,” he says. “When I’m here, I don’t think. It’s like the second I get behind the wheel of my boat, everything else fades away. There’s no yesterday, no tomorrow. I get to be in the present.” He’s quiet for a moment and then, “That’s why I’ve never brought Drew. He’s seen me at my worst. This place is my escape and I worry that if I brought him here…”
“He’d taint it somehow.”
“Yeah,” he says. “But not intentionally. I don’t want you to think—I mean, he’s a great guy…”
“I get it. Even though he’s in your present life and your future life, he’s still part of the past you come here to escape.”
Darian leans forward and drops his chin to my shoulder. “It’s so freeing. Being able to talk to someone who understands. Who I don’t have to explain myself to.”
“Do you really feel like you have to explain yourself to Drew?”
He blows out a sigh. “I feel like I do, but I know I don’t. Does that make sense?”
“To me it does, but it might not to him. I think you should try talking to him about it. Tell him what you told me.” A soft laugh vibrates against my shoulder. “What? Did I say something wrong?”
“No. I’m laughing because what you said is exactly right. Drew doesn’t understand why I keep this place from him because I’ve never bothered to tell him.” Darian smooths his hands up and down my arms. “I’m so fucking glad you didn’t go home.”
I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. “What would you be doing right now if I wasn’t here?”
“Fishing, probably.” A slow, sexy smile unfurls on his face as he lowers his mouth to my ear. “But I think I like this better.”
Desire flickers to life inside me. “Mmm. Me too.”
He pulls my earlobe between his teeth and nibbles it gently, sending tremors all the way to my sand covered toes.
“I mean, I like to fish,” I say, “but…oh God, that feels good.”
“Francesca…”
“Mmm hmm?”
“No more talking.”
I nod.
He digs his fingers into my hips and pulls me back, his erection like steel against my spine. “Turn around,” he says, his voice deep and gravelly in my ear, “and spread those beautiful legs over me.”
The desire inside me escalates to a full-blown inferno. I circle my body and straddle him, my fingers tangling in his hair as a smile dances on my lips.
Darian’s eyes, shining like emeralds beneath the cloudless sky, bore into mine for long seconds before he leans in and brushes his nose against mine. “Yes,” he whispers. “I definitely like this better.”
I grab his face in my hands and our mouths crash together. His lips part, and I breach them with my tongue. God, how I love kissing him. I could kiss him for hours. I could kiss him until…
He slips his finger inside the leg of my bikini bottoms.
Okay. I love that too.
“Ever been fucked on the beach in the middle of the day?” he whispers against my mouth. His hands move to my waist and he flips me onto my back. “Because you’re about to be.”
My body dissolves like warm sugar beneath him. He pulls off my bottoms and unclasps my top. Then he’s inside me, driving me up the spongy sand.
I close my eyes. “God, Darian…”
His thrusts sync with the waves crashing over us. It’s rhythmic. Almost hypnotic. His weight, combined with the friction of the sand against my skin, ignites my nerve endings. My orgasm is instant. I come hard, my eyes snapping open to the mid-morning sun, its rays like fireworks as Darian explodes inside me.
“Christ, I love fucking you,” he says, giving me one last bruising kiss before lifting off of me. He pulls up his shorts as I feel around for my swimsuit.
“Oh no.”
A laugh bursts from his throat, and I realize I’ve lost it. “Don’t worry; we’ll get you another one.”
“It’s not that,” I say, jumping to my feet. “You gave me that bikini. It was a gift.”
“Wait, Francesca. Don’t…”
I take off through the surf, not heeding Darian’s warning as it fades in the background. I only make it a few dozen feet before I tumble off a sandbar, but a long, muscular arm brings me back.
“I tried to stop you,” he says, pulling me toward him.
The corner of my mouth quirks up. “Not hard enough.”
Even on the sandbar, I’m barely above water. Darian lifts me up and I tie my legs around his waist.
“No. Running. Away.” He stresses each word with the touch of his forehead to mine.
I’m not the one running, I think as I catch sight of my suit drifting toward the horizon. I let out a hmmmph and then turn back to Darian, whose eyes are locked on me.
He grins. “Good thing you won’t be needing that.”
Turns out, actual sex on the beach is just as tranquilizing as the cocktail. We turn in early and crash hard, but it appears I’m the only one who’s slept in; Darian’s side of the bed is cool and empty.
I kick off the covers and sit up against the headboard with my legs drawn and folded in front of me. The sun bursts through the window in blinding light and I shield my eyes.
Jeez, how late did I sleep?
I turn toward the alarm clock. A yawn rips from my throat and then settles into a six-year-old’s grin when I see the Easter basket sitting on the nightstand.
It’s Easter? I’m so turned around, I didn’t even realize it was Sunday.
The basket is filled to the brim with a rainbow of plastic eggs. I pull a pink one from the top, open it, and find a small strip of paper inside that says, Chocolate.
Then I see the note.
YOUR PARTY GAME GAVE ME AN IDEA.
FOLLOW THE TRAIL TO THE CLEARING.
BRING THE BASKET, AND DON’T PEEK.
“Oops.”
It’s late morning when I step outside and everything is still fresh with dew. Darian drew a simple map on the back of his note, but in the light of day, the trails aren’t that hard to navigate. I remember the flame tree where I need to make a left and the red maple where I need to make a right. The walk takes me roughly ten minutes, and if I wasn’t carrying a basket, I probably could’ve made it in five.
Darian’s shirtless and sprawled out on layers of blankets and pillows when I finally reach the clearing. His fingers are linked over his stomach and his eyes are closed. I think I caught him sleeping. A week ago, my mind would be brimming with salacious thoughts, but right now, all I want to do is curl up beside him.
I try to be stealthy as I cross the sandy ground, but the shuffling of plastic eggs gives me away. His head jerks in my direction, and he sits up.
“Good morning,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stretches his legs out in front of him and then glances at his watch. “Or should I say afternoon?”
“It’s only eleven thirty.” I kick off my flip-flops and sit across from him. “Happy Easter, by the way, and thanks for this,” I say, holding up the basket. “Whatever it is.” I notice a cooler sitting behind him and a small storage tub just beyond that. I cock my head. “What is all this?”
His grin is elusive. “Thought we could do something…Easter-themed.” He gestures to the cooler. “And I brought brunch.”
“I have a confession. I accidentally opened an egg before I saw your note.”
He pulls his knees in. “What did it say?”
“Chocolate.” I smile. “And if you’re planning on stuffing me full of confections all day, I’d be wise to skip brunch.”
A hearty laugh bellows out of him and he rolls back into a pile of pillows.
My eyes narrow. “What am I missing?”
“Sounds like you’re missing brunch,” he says, lifting onto his elbows.
“You really made me brunch?”
“Made is a strong word. I have fruit and muffins. And mimosas. At least have a mimosa with me.”
“I can do a mimosa,” I say. “I’ll save the muffin for later.”
A smile slides over Darian’s face as he digs in the cooler for champagne and orange juice. He’s much more careful when getting into the tub. He lifts the lid just enough to pull out a pair of plastic champagne flutes. Whatever else is in there is meant to stay hidden.
“You’re being very secretive,” I say when he hands me my drink. I take a sip and then set it in the sand. “Your note said something about a game?”
“And you’re being impatient, Francesca. Why are you in such a hurry?”
“I’m not in a hurry. I’m just curious.”
“You’re just curious because you think it involves chocolate.”
I feign a frown. “It doesn’t?”
“I think my idea of chocolate and your idea of chocolate may differ a little.”
He waggles his eyebrows, and I shake my head as realization sets in.
“This is going to be kinky, isn’t it?” I blow out an exaggerated sigh. “Oh well. Chocolate’s chocolate. How do we play?”
Darian takes a long drink of his mimosa and sets his cup beside mine in the sand. “I do appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says, reaching for the basket. He glances up at the sky. “And I suppose it wasn’t much later than this when I had you naked in the sand yesterday.”
“That’s a very valid point.”
He picks an egg from the basket and rolls it around in his hand. After a long, deliberate pause, he pops it open and pulls out a small piece of paper. “Ice,” he says, grinning.
“Ice?” My shoulders fall. “Not ice cream?”
“Lie down, Francesca,” he says. “Pull up your shirt and use it to cover your eyes.”
I give him a pointed look. “I think I liked this game better when I thought I was going to lick chocolate off you,” I say, lying back. I pull my tank over my eyes and try to ignore my bare breasts pointing toward the sky. I skipped a bra this morning, and the jury is still out as to whether or not that was a good decision.
I hear Darian rummage through the cooler, for ice I suppose, and I wait patiently until—“Ahh!”—he places a pile of it on my belly. It’s so cold, my whole body clenches.
“Sorry, babe. I thought you were ready,” he says. His voice is laced with humor.
“And I thought the eggs held yummy surprises, not torture devices.”
“Torture devices?” He laughs. “I think ice is a yummy surprise.”
“For you maybe.”
“We’ll see about that.”
He unfastens my shorts and slides them down my legs along with my panties. I’m completely naked with my eyes covered and my ankles bound. For someone who usually spends Easter working doubles at the diner, this is definitely a change.
He spreads the ice over my chest, my navel, my—
“Shit, that’s cold!”
It’s a bitter, bone-chilling kind of cold and easily supports my original assessment of it being a torture device. My skin is frozen gooseflesh, and the little bit of ice melting from the sun dribbles down my sides in rivulets. They’re acutely cold and ticklish, and when I begin to wiggle, Darian lowers himself on top of me.
“Try to stay still,” he whispers.
He crushes the ice between us, grinding against it, liquefying it with the heat radiating from his body. The sensation of hot and cold is arousing in a way that completely takes my mind off chocolate. Need for more pools low in my belly and I go from wiggling to writhing.
“Darian…” His name is a moan followed by a giggle, then a grin. “The ice is a yummy surprise.”
“Not a torture device?”
“Only the best kind.” My voice doesn’t even sound like my own.
He moves down my body, his lips and tongue trailing over my cold, wet skin. I fight the denim binding my ankles with no success.
“Let me help you,” he says. His fingers slip inside my shorts, but instead of pulling them off, he pulls them up. “Your turn.”
“My what?” I lift onto my elbows and adjust my shirt. “What do you mean my turn?”
Darian pushes the basket toward me. “Your turn,” he says again. His smile is mischievous.
I’m beginning to get the game part of the game.
“Okay,” I say. “You asked for it.” I close my eyes and blindly choose an egg. It’s pink, and hope flares in my chest that I drew chocolate again.
Close enough.
“Whipped cream,” I say, arching my brows. “Not very original, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Darian pokes through the cooler until he comes to a can of Reddi-wip.
I slip him a curious glance. “You came prepared.”
“You have no idea.” He lies on his back. “Okay, Francesca, do your worst.”
“You might as well remove everything before you get comfortable,” I say.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Darian kicks his cargo shorts to his feet but makes a show of stripping out of his Easter bunny boxers.
Of course.
“Sexy,” I say.
“Thanks, but I was going for eggs-cellent.”
I blink. “Oh Lord.”
He links his fingers behind his head and lies stretched across the blankets like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His eyes are shut and his smile borders on a smirk.
Kneeling beside him, I give the can of Reddi-wip a fervent shake. “All set?”
“All set.”
“Open wide,” I say in a singsong voice.
His lips curve into a half-smile, and then he slowly opens his mouth like he’s visiting a dentist. Giggles burst out of me.
“This isn’t supposed to be funny,” he says.
“I know, I know.” I blow out a breath. “Okay, I got this.”
Holding the dispenser steady, I pump whipped cream onto his tongue. The sight of him—eyes closed, mouth open and filled with white foam—is beyond amusing, but I try to power through it.
“Mmm.” I lean over him, touch my lips to his, and drag my tongue through the cream. “Mmm,” I say again and then collapse against his chest in another fit of giggles.
Darian’s eyes snap open. “What’s so funny?”
“You. This.” I laugh harder. “I don’t know if I can be serious.”
He gives me a playful glare.
“But I’m determined to try,” I say, fighting a grin. “Close your eyes.”
This time, I straddle him. I dispense a thick trail of whipped cream down his torso and then follow it with my hands, smearing it over his skin. Darian’s cock grows hard and shifts between my legs. When I feel more laughter bubbling inside me, I stop and wait for it to pass.
“Really?” Darian says.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”
He sits up with me still straddling him and makes a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. “You only have yourself to blame.”
“For what?” The words barely leave my lips before I’m flat on my back, looking up at him. “Did not see that coming.”
He lifts my shirt to my neck, and I squeal and squirm beneath him.
“I bet you didn’t see this coming either,” he says.
“See what—ew.” My face pulls into a grimace as Darian rubs the sticky cream all over my bare chest and stomach. I laugh again. “I hope you know this is the polar opposite of sexy.”
He stops moving and pushes up on his elbows. “What would Francesca find sexy?” His sugar-coated lips touch mine briefly, then curve into a smile as he lifts his head. “My turn.”
“Of course it is.”
He puts his shorts back on and sits beside the basket. “The beach might have been a better location for this now that I think about it,” he says, scraping the last of the drying whipped cream from his chest.
I pull my shirt down as I sit up and then lean against my hands. “I don’t mind getting a little dirty.”
“Let’s test that theory.”
Darian digs in the basket and pulls out a yellow egg. He shakes it and then rolls it around in his hand like he did the first time. His lips purse when he reads the piece of paper inside. “Feathers. Nope.” He picks another egg, lime green this time. “Candle wax. Don’t know what I was thinking with that one. Pass.” And another—blue. “Handcuffs. Hmm, maybe later.” And another—purple. His face brightens. “This’ll work,” he says. “Lady’s choice.”
“And what, pray tell, does lady’s choice mean?”
“It means just what it says—it’s your choice,” Darian says, smiling. “Your wish is my command.”
“I can pick anything?”
“Anything.”
Hmm…
I take a long sip of my warm mimosa.
“Well, Francesca? What will it be?” He taps the lid of the plastic bin behind him. “We have all sorts of fun stuff in here,” he says. “Feel free to take a look before making your decision.”
I smile.
No need.
“Do I have to pick something from the tub?”
“Not if you don’t want to,” he says.
“I don’t have to pick from the cooler either?”
He eyes me suspiciously. “You don’t have to pick anything. You can just make a request if you want.” A slow grin builds on his face. “An unfulfilled fantasy perhaps?”
I finish off my drink and toss the empty cup in the sand.
“Don’t tell me. You can’t take the torture anymore and you just want to attack me,” he says.
“No,” I say, drawing out the word. I smile nervously as I crawl toward him. “I don’t want to attack you. I don’t want you to attack me.”
The air in my lungs feels heavy, like it’s weighing me down. I sit back on my heels, Darian watching me curiously.
“I just…” God, this is harder than I thought it would be. “I just want to be with you. Without ice or feathers or—”
“Chocolate?”
I unbutton my shorts. “Or chocolate.”
“You surprise me, Francesca. I figured you might be getting bored with all this endless fucking we do.”
“That’s just it. I don’t want you to fuck me.” I unzip the zipper. “You’re right; we fuck all the time, and it’s great. Really great. But you picked lady’s choice, and this lady”—I smile on the last word as I pull off my tank top—“wants you to make love to her”—and throw it at him—“right here, in this beautiful clearing.”
Darian lowers his head just as my shirt hits his chin and falls to his lap. He rubs the back of his neck, and a deep, weighted sigh gusts out of him. Without looking up, he tosses it back to me. “Please put that on.”
I grab my shirt and hold it over my chest. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s not—I thought we…” He pushes to his feet. “It doesn’t matter. The answer’s no. It will always be no.”
My mouth falls open. “What are you talking about? I’m not asking for anything we haven’t done before.”
“Yes, Francesca, you are,” he says, his voice growing louder. He paces across the blankets, shoves a hand through his hair, and then paces back. “Are you trying to tell me that every time I was gentle or slow, you thought we were making love?”
“Darian, that’s not—”
The veins cord in his neck. “Goddammit, Francesca, I don’t know what I need to do to get through to you. This will never happen. We will never happen!”
His shrill voice echoes loudly in the small clearing and I jerk back, swallowing a gasp. It takes a moment before the shock begins to fade.
Breathe, Frankie.
My eyes burn, my throat…
“Francesca,” he says, calmer now, “we talked about this.”
A few tears trickle down my cheeks, and then they all seem to come at once.
Darian’s jaw clenches. “What do you think this is?”
I don’t know. I don’t know what any of this is.
I realize I’m still hugging my shirt. I pull it over my head, fasten my shorts, and push clumsily to my feet. Darian crosses the blankets to get to me, and his hand against my cheek makes my heart ache. I close my eyes.
Oh God, what’s happening?
“Please don’t do this,” he says. “We have something really good going here.” His hand falls away. “Please don’t ruin it.”
“I haven’t—I didn’t…” My throat thickens with fresh tears. “Darian, I’m not—I think I just…” I stumble backward and knock over the basket. “I’m not feeling so hot.” Plastic eggs of every color spill onto the ground. “I think it’s the heat.”
I lose my footing and crush several of them with my bare feet. Jagged pieces of plastic slice through my skin, but I barely feel a thing.
I look at Darian. His eyes are wide and aimed at my feet.
“Francesca, wait. You’re bleeding,” he says. “Let me help you.”
“No, please. Just let me go.”