There’s no hesitation in the swift movement of my fingers.

I press my lips tightly together to suppress a whimper.

He’s not the only one making those types of wishes. I want him beside me or wrapped around me every chance we’re given. It’s ridiculous! I know it’s ridiculous, yet that doesn’t seem to stop me from behaving like a fifteen year old with her first boyfriend. And he’s not even my boyfriend! Or is he? He’s not. He can’t be. Knowing someone less than forty eight hours and calling them your boyfriend is beyond ridiculous. It’s grounds for a psych eval. At the very least, it’s reason enough to question how severe my attachment issues are. Before Dustin I wasn’t aware I had any. Now? A quick crazy test might be exactly what I need. If I were one of my clients, it would be mandated before I would continue to do my job.

And he calls me baby, a term which previously made my face scrunch in disgust, but now makes my heart pound so hard it knocks the breath out of me. The term of endearment has always had a way of sounding prosaic or, in other cases, blatantly disrespectful. I constantly tell my clients the importance of avoiding such titles, deeming them tiny traps that can have terrible effects on the relationship they’re trying to cultivate. Surprisingly enough, the way Dustin says it erases those thoughts. He calls me baby, and I would swear on my life, I’m the only person in the world he’s ever loved or will love. There’s this remarkable amount of weight and power the word holds when it falls off his tongue. It’s like he’s saying everything without saying anything….

God, I am losing my mind.

I turn my face towards Cordie’s bed, thankful to see her sleeping so peacefully.

She’s been something else these last couple of days. Not sure if it’s too much sun or not enough dick. Normally, she’s a tolerable level of bitchy. Snide comments here. Sarcastic snaps there. However, those usually fall between lots of laughs and light-hearted conversations. Alcohol has a proven track record of making her more pleasant, but for some reason it’s failing on this trip. Miserably. She’s been downing shots of whiskey, great whiskey, and throwing back some of the best beer we’ve ever had, yet she’s still unhappy. Though…now that I think about it, she’s really only unhappy when Dusty’s near. Yesterday, after we spent a few hours in the pool with Dusty and Cody, I decided it would be a good idea for the two of us to split for dinner. As soon as we parted from him she was the Cordie we all know and adore. Smiles. Giggles. Flirting with the waiter. The bartenders. However, the minute Dusty found us at the concert her charm vanished and her cranky demeanor reappeared. Maybe she doesn’t like his personality? Maybe she secretly believes he should’ve come after her instead? Her body language is a consistent mixture of the two, making it even more difficult to definitively decide the source of her sourness.

My attention shifts to Audrey who is lightly snoring on the pull-out bed. Guilt sweeps across me looking for a new place to call home.

I feel like a shitty friend. I should be spending more time with her, making sure her mind isn’t wandering to her ex and his new bride. I should be searching for hot guys I know she’ll mesh well with and leading them to her. We should be dirty dancing together, so she gets the much needed, much deserved attention she secretly seeks. But then again, if I go down that path, I’m working. The point was to get away from work, not turn my best friend into a pro bono client. Maybe it’s best I don’t help her find a man to forget about her ex. Maybe that’s something she needs to discover how to do all on her own. Hmm. Perhaps the old proverb is true. Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime. I’ve spent months training Audrey on how to flirt. What to look for when flirting. How to flirt without sounding so desperate or needy. The right way to sit to state she’s available and open versus how to scare men away with ankle crosses. I’ve let Cordie deliver lectures on makeup tips, wardrobe advice, and even bar scouting tricks. If she wants to eat, she has all the tools to make it happen. I can’t hold her hand forever….I mean part of me wants to. Part of me wants her in love like she was when we first met back in college. Part of me feels like I would give anything to bring that Audrey back. The not yet scorned or cheated on Audrey. The one who possessed faith in true love and would scold me for not being a believer. I miss her. She had a bit more confidence in herself. Smiled like it wasn’t a chore. Came out of her apartment for more than the occasional drink.

The memories have me shifting my eyes to the dark ceiling.

I can honestly say I’ve never had my heart broken. You have to be a certain level of vulnerable, which I typically am not. The way Dusty has me in knots is so abnormal, it feels like I’ve been drugged. This whole experience feels as if it’s one giant hypnagogic delusion constructed by my subconscious. Apparently, on a deeper level it registers how deprived I am of meaningful connections outside those I consider family. I’m aware of the importance in developing such relationships. I’ve lectured numerous clients on the negative repercussions that can come from an isolated existence, yet have never opened myself up to the possibility of something more than a one night stand. At least not before Dusty’s arms wound around me.

Convinced it’s alright to sneak off, especially since they’re both sleeping, I quietly slink over to my suitcase. After using the light from my phone to dig out a swimsuit and dress to throw on, I quickly lock myself in the bathroom to freshen up. Once I’m finished, the plan is to slip out of the room and wait for him in the hall decreasing the chance of disturbing my friends.

The black halter-top maxi dress, with a bright floral bottom half, covers my swimsuit perfectly. While I’m not sure where we’re going, given that the resort has many restaurants built into it, it’s a good outfit for most options. Plus, if things run late, I don’t have to worry about darting back to the room to change before the daily poolside concert.

I adjust my sunglasses in my wavy hair and give my reflection a satisfied smile.

So patting myself on the back right now for choosing to shower last night when we got in. Part of me was tempted not to. I loved having Dusty’s smell stained on my skin. Hints of his sweat and mine clinging to me from a night of endless dancing. Rinsing it away felt like I was committing some sort of crime against love.

Love?

No.

Maybe.

No.

Love is not an overnight sensation. It’s not nonstop grinding and drunken giggles. That’s just sets of chemical reactions hoping to be enhanced further with sexual satiation. Love is hard work. Endless commitments to countless things. Self-sacrifice and unpleasant rituals. What we’re experiencing is infatuation. Infatuation is fun. Infatuation is love adjacent. It’s like love with a ticking timer. This is the problem most people face in life. They confuse the two or force one into becoming the other. It’s another reason my job exists. To help people decipher the differences and only pursue the one that will lead them down the path of marriage, kids, and possibly lifelong happiness. The latter seems to be a fleeting concept to most. If I were one of my clients, matchmaker me would list the obvious reasons why things with Dusty need to stay in the temporary column and remind myself that this may be enjoyable, but has a low probability of lasting….God, if I were client me, I would probably tell matchmaking me to shut the fuck up because I have no idea what it is client me is experiencing. And matchmaker me doesn’t either. I’ve never felt this way about a person in my entire life. How can I be so certain it’s eventually going to go away? Aren’t there people in the world who are actually in love, and not just with their significant other because it’s convenient or comfortable?

I shake away the conflicting thoughts and open the bathroom door, revealing Audrey’s half-awake face.

She gives me a long look before quietly asking, “Going somewhere?”

“Breakfast.”

“Want some company?”

The guilt I batted away earlier makes another round. “I’m going with…um…Dusty.”

Audrey tilts her head in curiosity. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

My head bobs without my consent.

“Embrace it,” she demands with a squeeze of my hand. “I know you. I know the part of your brain you use for business is telling you this isn’t real. This is just a fling. This is just something to have fun with while you’re away from your normal life. And that may be true…but it may not be, Carly. Don’t keep Dustin in the temporary zone just because you’ve spent the last eight years of your life dictating to others where the people they’re interested in need to fall. Sometimes love needs your assistance. It’s why you make so much money. But sometimes love has the situation handled….”

Her nuggets of wisdom are proceeded by a tiny tap on the hotel door.

“Go before The Little Mermaid’s evil twin wakes up, and we’re all doomed.”

I suppress my snicker, slip past her, and out the door to where Dusty is waiting.

His green eyes are thrumming with excitement and my heart can barely handle it.

Why do I feel like Audrey’s absolutely right?

He skips the option to say anything. He swiftly wraps one arm around my waist to tug me into him and presses his lips to mine. My body instantly melts against his. Dusty tightens his grip to prevent me from falling as our lips part, tongues anxious to touch again. They tangle in ceaseless twirls. They push back and forth until our entire bodies are mimicking their feverish actions.

Dusty forces himself to draw his mouth away on a heavy groan. “Baby, if we don’t stop now I can’t guarantee we’ll make it to breakfast.”

My pussy aches in agreement.

Inconvenience of sharing a room with people. Makes the availability for sex difficult.

I fold my fingers with his. “Where are we going?”

He starts to lead the two of us towards the stairs. “One of the concierge people told me about this little taco cart near The Rook. Figured we could grab a couple and eat ‘em on the beach. That sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Our joint walk continues and he quietly confesses, “I missed the hell out of you and we jus’ saw each other, what? Four hours ago?”

Post last night’s concert, we all went to “The Pawn Ram” the country themed night club where it was rumored Cooper Copeland was going to be hanging out. According to drunken Cordie, who we listened to complain during our entire walk back to the hotel room, it was a lie. I honestly couldn’t have cared less. I was so consumed with having Dustin’s body against mine for a few more hours that, unless one of them were dying, I couldn’t be distracted. Audrey, apparently, spent a chunk of the night sulking at the bar until Cordie decided they should do body shots with a pair of dentists she met. I vaguely remember being called to join them…but Dustin’s body begged not to be deserted. It felt like my obligation to appease.

“Is this crazy?” He questions at the same time we descend the stairs. “To miss you like hell? To not be able to get you off my mind, no matter how hard I try?”

I sidestep the idea of having to find those answers. “Off your mind? You don’t want me there?”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You think I’m trespassing?” My tone remains teasing. “Am I gonna be prosecuted?”

Dusty lets the corner of his lip kick up in a devilish nature. “All night long if I have any say about it.”

Another pang makes an appearance between my thighs.

This endless game of foreplay we’ve ventured into is equal parts thrilling as it is torturous. I’ve never met a man who has me panting before we’ve spent any amount of time under the sheets, yet Dusty has me on the cliff of climax each time his hand drifts lower than my waist.

The two of us are leaked out onto the windy path that leads to the main resort walkway.

Like most things, the pictures online don’t do it justice. While they’re enticing, they pale in comparison to the magic you’re brought into. Every piece of foliage is luscious green, and sprinkled among it are brightly colored flowers. All the resort buildings are painted white or black in an effort to not distract from their appeal as well as to keep with the Chess theme the resort has. Navigating the layout is fairly easy. The main paths around the area are white and the black ones branch off to specific venues, like the one we attended last night, or nicer restaurants instead of the food trucks stationed near the pools. Paths that lead to the hotel buildings are checkered, and buildings are named in reference to the pool area they’re closest to. For instance, we’re staying in The Queen’s Hideaway. Dead center and closest to the pool where they’re doing the daily concerts. Dusty’s staying in The Rook’s Corner. It seems like a world away each time we part, but the reality is, it’s only a five minute walk.

I softly acknowledge our incredible view, “This place is beautiful.”

“Somethin’ sure is.”

My eyes swing to his, which are swirling with adoration. “How often do you go around trying to sweep women off their feet?”

“Tryin’? You’re not swept yet?”

He barely lets me laugh before he’s dropping my hand in an effort to physically do the act. “Oh my God! Stop! Stop!”

We playfully struggle for opposing positions. His laughter rolls into mine, but he continues his offensive strike until he’s successfully scooped me up.

With my feet kicking in protest and my face reddening in disbelief, I demand, “You put me down! Put me down, Dustin!”

He chuckles, but marches on. “Gotta be more careful with your words, baby.”

I wiggle harder despite the fact I know it’s pointless. “Now I wanna know how often you go around kidnapping women.”

The sarcastic expression he hits me with returns a smile to my lips.

“Why are you so strong?” My question receives a proud smirk. Despite the fact I know he probably does some sort of manual labor, I ask, “You’re not a gym jerk, are you?”

“Baby, if I strike you as any kind of jerk, I’m doin’ everything wrong.”

I quickly rush to correct, “You don’t! It’s just the term we use when referencing men who spend more time jacking off to the reflection of their muscles rather than using them.”

“It’s not usually my thing to discuss what I jack off to, but I can guarantee you it ain’t my muscles.” He lightly laughs. “I don’t actually ever step foot in the gym. The small town I live in doesn’t really have a need for one, and I spend plenty of time workin’ my property.”

“Your property? You own your house?”

“I do. Did a rent-to-own situation. Sheriff Daulder’s father got sick, but he didn’t really have the time to go through the hassle of tryin’ to sell the thing, so he let me rent it. After his father passed, he made me a deal that was too dirt cheap to pass on. When I moved in it was old and fallin’ apart. Now it shines like new.”

Thoughtlessly I say, “I can’t wait to see it.”

“I can’t wait to show you.”

The racing of my heart starts again, and I have to force myself to look away.

Why can’t I stop myself from saying shit like that? And why is it every time I do, he goes along with it?

These are big red flags. We’re talking Mount Everest size! We shouldn’t talk like this.

Fuck, I don’t wanna ever stop talking like this with him.

Needing to get back into a lighter conversation, I sigh, “You can put me down now. Your point has been made.”

He chuckles again. “Has it?”

“Yes.”

“Has it really?”

“Yes.”

“And jus’ to be clear my point was…?”

“You’ve swept me off my feet.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and?”

“And what’s the other half?” He smugly smirks. “It’s a two part point.”

I toss up a hand in defeat. “What’s your other point?”

“I’ve swept you off your feet,” Dustin’s face leans in a little closer, “and you love it.”

My voice whispers back, “I do.”

He winks, stops, and allows my feet to finally fall back to the ground. Our hands lace back together as we finish our trek to the only taco cart near The Rook pool. The venue nearby has its doors open, filling the area closest to it with fun, familiar country tunes.

“This is Shake My Boots Off!” I squeak. “Love this song!”

Dusty abruptly halts us. “Do you know how to shake your boots off?”

Confusion appears instantly.

“It’s a dance.”

The expression remains.

“It’s a dance!” He excitedly exclaims. “Let me teach you!”

“Right here?”

“Right now,” Dusty demands.

His eyes lock onto mine and the idea of doing anything else is impossible.

Why? Why is it he has me like a puppet on strings? Does he know it? Is this why he keeps behaving so wildly, because he knows I’m not going to do anything to stop it? Should I? Is there really anything wrong with loving his playful nature, especially when I spend so much of my life in a serious one?

“Show me your moves, Dusty.”

An unforgettable glow creeps into his eyes. “That’s the first time you called me Dusty.”

“It won’t be the last….”

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“Now show me how this is done before I wander off to get breakfast alone.”

Dusty laughs at the same time he nods. “It’s kinda like the Boot Scootin’ Boogie Line Dance. Do you know how to do that?”

Another look of bafflement bounces around my expression.

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “You’ve got a lot to learn, city girl.”

“Then saddle up and show me.”

Through his continued laughter he demonstrates a set of simple kick on each foot movements, a small turn in which you dust the heel of your imaginary boot off, and then repeat the steps facing a new direction. It’s by far one of the easiest dances I’ve ever seen. Or at least it is until Dusty changes positions so he’s facing me, doing the moves in a mirrored fashion, and makes an attempt to grab my hand for a spin in between sets. The first four times I screw it up royally, but by the fifth, I find my footing, gleefully squealing when I get it right. Regardless of the song having ended, we keep dancing and are eventually joined by random couples, who I assume are too drunk or too in love to care about turning the walkway into a dance floor.

Dusty gives me one last twirl and dips me backwards like some sort of country dancing professional. The onlookers applaud his move, which causes me to giggle, “Show off.”

He winks before helping me back onto my feet. We divide ourselves from the still dancing crowd and head for the food cart I’m now hoping has beverages as well as decent tacos. After ordering two bottles of water and two Beach Bod Destroyer burritos, the two of us stroll towards the vacant beach area a few feet away from the luxury pool.

“Where’d you learn to dance like that?” I ask, readjusting my grip on my unopened breakfast.

“My parents. They started teachin’ us that kinda shit when we were four and five. Every Saturday night they could, they’d go into the main part of town to Cotton’s, the local dance hall, and never came home before two a.m. They’d always leave us with one of the Black sisters. Little did they know those girls’ only real care was gettin’ us to bed early and their boyfriends on the couch as soon as possible.” A panicked look darts onto his face. “Their last name is Black! Not black is the color of their skin. I’m not saying they were black people who were sisters. I’m sayin’-”

The sound of my snickers shuts down his unnecessary explanation.

His cheeks begin to burn, but he pushes past it. “We should add dance lessons to your country music agenda.”

“We should.” My agreement is proceeded with us plopping down on beach lounge chairs side by side. Once we’ve both had a moment to have a bite of the delicious concoctions we ordered, I say, “But to keep this balanced; now you get an art history lesson.”

Dusty gives me his undivided attention. “All ears.”

“Well, since we’re by the beach, it reminds me of the Polynesian artist Manu. He does these breathtaking portraits that pay homage to the way his ancestors inked their skin in the past at the same time they highlight important values such as protecting one’s family.”

His gaze instantly softens. The silent, subtle shift indicates he more than identifies with the concept. He lives it himself.

Can’t say we’re on the same page there. I come from a pair of people who consider appearance to be everything. Protecting that is more important than protecting their children’s emotions.

“However, what makes Manu even more unique is he only paints in shades of blue.”

Dusty’s bewilderment expands my smile. “Jus’…blue?”

“Just blue.”

“That sounds wild,” he mumbles, gaze drifting off as if trying to imagine it. “There can’t possibly be that many shades of blue….”

“Here, let me show you a few photos I took of his work when he came to Highland last year.”

We each place our breakfast burritos at our sides and I retrieve my phone from where it is tucked into the top part of my swimsuit. We lean into the open space between us and admire the pictures together. While he shamelessly gawks at the artwork, I drink in his sincere excitement. Everything, from the way his jaw twitches in surprise to the faint sound of his breath catching each time a portrait resonates with him on an intimate level, has me completely captivated.

He is like artwork. A living, breathing portrait of fantasy fused with reality. I wanna frame him. I wanna be his frame.

After I put my phone away, I reach for my breakfast and announce, “We’re even.”

“Even Steven.”

The odd saying simply receives another smile. “So, what do you for a living?”

“I’m an elevator mechanic.”

Bafflement falls onto my face. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“You’re telling me you just…go around fixing elevators for a living?”

“Yup.”

I give him a curious expression, silently demanding more details. When he doesn’t deliver, I stumble over my questions, “How…? Why…? Is it….Do you….Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he emphasizes quietly. “I mainly fix ‘em, but sometimes I do inspections or routine maintenance to prevent them from breaking down. I work in Dalvegan. It’s the next city over from my town, Brestum. One of the biggest cities in Texas….”

“Wait. You work in the city but don’t live there?”

“Not a fan.”

Another obvious reason of why we won’t work long term joins the list. “Why not?”

“It’s loud. Noisy. The wrong kind of dirty. You see more buildings than you do sky. There’s no lakes or dirt roads….Mos’ people are unfriendly or flat out rude. Not to mention there’s nothin’ I like to do there. Yeah, they’ve got bars and stuff, but I have better ones with better people in my town. I guess you could say the city jus’ ain’t for me.”

My appetite completely vanishes as the uncomfortable knot in my chest grows.

Dusty places his food in the space beside him once more and angles his body towards mine. “Your thinkin’ you bein’ a big city girl is gonna be a problem, aren’t you?”

“What are you, a mind reader?”

He smiles sweetly. “I’ve spent the last two days studyin’ your face like a manual, Carly. It’s not difficult to know when doubts start creepin’ into that big, beautiful brain of yours.”

“Believe it or not, I’m not typically this easy to read.”

“Or maybe people jus’ don’t try hard enough to learn more about you.”

The words receive a soft swoon.

There’s something I have never considered….

“You lovin’ the city and me the country is no different than you lovin’ art and me lovin’ country music. It’s nothin’ more than a dance we jus’ gotta perfect the steps to.”

His unexpected, philosophical comment prompts me to put my food down beside me and devote my complete attention to our conversation. “You don’t think you’ll give up when we stumble?”

“Not as long as you’re willin’ to keep tryin’.”

Our fingers drift across the gap to fold together.

“What about you?” he asks casually. “What does my brown-skinned angel do for a livin’?”

I try not to cringe. “I’m a million dollar matchmaker.”

“You tootin’ your own horn or-”

“No. I specifically work with men and women who financially gross over a million dollars every year. Actually, I handle our midlevel clients, so really those who bring in between fifty to one hundred million a year. Hopefully, someday, perhaps one day soon, I’ll get to move up to our highest level.”

It’s his turn to look astounded. Unlike me, however, he chooses to remain completely silent.

“Occasionally, I’m sent around the country for face time with potential clients, but more often than not, they come to us.”

Dusty’s mouth moves yet the words seem lost. Eventually, he settles on saying, “You probably make a helluva a lot of money, don’t you?”

The retort isn’t the one I was expecting. “I do.”

“Is it a problem that I don’t?”

My eyebrows pinch together.

“Is it a problem if I can’t afford to take you to the fancy places you love? Or fancy vacations like this? You gonna be alright with jus’ a couple of really good steaks and decent beer?”

I can’t stop myself from scooting closer. “As long as you’re the one grilling them, and they’re ribeyes. I’m a fairly decent cook, but let’s just say when it comes to grilling, I’m kind of a fire hazard.”

Dusty laughs and picks his breakfast up. “Don’t tell my brother that.”

“Why?”

“He’s a firefighter. It’s in his nature to keep an eye on potential dangers.” He has a bite of his burrito. “Tell me, matchmaker. Are we a match?”

The loaded question has me reaching, once again, for my own breakfast.

“Be honest.” His command receives a glance. “Always be honest with me.”

“You’ll do the same?”

Dusty quickly nods.

“No,” I settle my burrito in my hands, “we’re not a match. We’re actually so far from a match that our files would be in completely separate piles on opposite ends of the desk.”

“Don’t opposites attract?”

“That’s a theory and not one I rely on. From an objective standpoint, having two people with different interests is a plus. However, they need a certain number of core values in common as well as the same willingness to compromise. My job is to assess people face to face and compare it to how they read on paper, filling in what can’t be seen on a report or comparing their online persona to their in person behavior.”

“And how exactly did you get into this? I don’t recall seein’ anything about a degree in date advisin’.”

“My bachelor’s is actually in Art History-”

“Which explains a lot….”

“Matchmaking was never something I considered. In fact, I didn’t even realize people still used matchmakers. It’s like, come on. Look around. We’re living in the age of technology where getting laid is literally one click away at any given moment. However, the random stranger I started talking to one night, at one of my favorite bars, expressed he thought I had a knack for it when I gave a friend a few pointers before she slipped away to flirt with a guy at the opposite end of the bar. It turns out there are a shit ton of people who worry about being taken advantage of due to their higher salaries. People who are looking for very specific counterparts they aren’t going to necessarily find at the nearest trendy bar. They want real options laid in front of them. Real results. And they want all the hassle taken out of the process.”

Between bites, he sarcastically mutters, “Romantic.”

“Mechanical. Efficient.” I sneak in a nibble. “But that’s what those people need, and they’re willing to pay out the ass to get it.”

He swallows and gives me a questioning look. “What about you? Why didn’t the matchmaker have a match before now?”

Helplessly, I smirk. “Oh, you’re my match, huh?”

“Yup. So go ahead and wrap your mind around that and two other very important lessons.”

“Which are?”

“I don’t share in any way, and I’m willin’ to fight for what’s mine.”

His proclamation pushes away the hunger again. “Yours?”

“Since the moment I touched you, baby.”

The burrito lands back where it was beside me.

There should be more resistance here. I should be screaming about pumping the breaks or slowing down or anything that’s more logical than wondering how long it’ll be before my last name becomes his. Why can’t I get a grip?

“Dating has always been more hassle than it was worth to me.”

Now completely finished, Dustin reaches for his bottle of water at the same time he asks, “Why?”

“Because it lacks heart and honesty. Most people put on a phony face in the beginning of a relationship. Pretend they’re into things they’re not to impress the other person. Pretend they’re attentive to get someone in the sheets. This whole situation gets cultivated under false pretenses that within the next couple of months, after the endorphins stop running so high, get shattered leaving you two basic strangers who may or may not actually like one another. It’s what makes what I do just that much more valuable. I’m saving people some of those steps and presenting them with the actual facts, so they don’t have to bother wasting so much of their time.”

He places the empty bottle in the sand beside his chair and holds out his hand for me to join him. I switch from sitting up in my seat to being stretched out at his side, head on his white t-shirt covered chest. Dusty tucks one hand behind his head while using the other to cradle me close. One deep breath of him is all it takes to send additional shivers down my spine.

His fingers slowly stroke my bare arm. “This is who I really am, Carly. No fancy lies to try to trap you now and keep you later. I’ll always show the man I am, and I hope you do me the decency of always showin’ me the woman you really are. ‘Cause I’ll tell you what. I know the difference. I can see it when I look in your eyes and feel it whenever you’re in my arms. I’ll know when I’m lookin’ into the eyes of the woman I belong to or when I’m lookin’ into those of a stranger. I won’t waste your time, baby. I’m just askin’ you don’t waste mine either.”

“Never,” the word falls from my lips before I can catch it.

How?! How does he do this? How does he strip away the layers, leaving me bare and more vulnerable than I’ve ever been in my entire life? It feels like there’s nothing from him I could ever hide….There is nothing from him I want to hide. I want him to see my scars and the tatters left behind from other people. I want him to love them and all the other parts of me until I’ve taken my last breath. I wanna love him just the same.

Whoa.

Not sure….Not sure anything good can come from falling for someone this fast.

“Tell me more about elevators,” I quietly command, shutting my eyes. “And if you catch me snoring, it isn’t because I’m completely bored, I just haven’t been sleeping well and being in your arms is very comfortable.”

He lightly laughs. “Did you just say completely bored?”

“Well, I’m expecting to be a bit bored. I mean…elevators.”

His laugh makes an additional appearance followed by details about his job. For an unknown amount of time I listen to Dusty describe how he got into the unusual trade and how long he’s been working for his current company. At some point, I drift off to sleep, too complacent with the combination of his warm embrace, the soothing sound of his voice, and the ocean breeze swirling around us.

An unexpected vibration against my chest startles us both awake. We groan at the invasion of our peaceful moment, and I mentally contemplate over the repercussions of ignoring my phone. Just as I’m about to close my eyes again, the vibrating returns, except this time lower, near an area that greatly appreciates the attention.

“Can’t be good if we’re both gettin’ bothered….” Dusty yawns.

I slide to a sitting position and carefully remove my phone from where it’s hiding.

My eyes meet Dusty’s. “Friends want me to join them at the pool concert. Wanna come?”

“Absolutely,” he answers swiftly. “Let me see who was textin’ me.”

His fingers wiggle into his pocket, and I do my best not to moan over the idea of them wiggling elsewhere.

“Soon enough, baby.” The sexual promise heats my cheeks. “My word.”

With the level of horny I’ve reached, I’d probably let him fuck me against a palm tree out in the open. This is why Cordie always has a set of guaranteed hook ups lingering in her contacts list. It’s been months since I’ve had another person put their hand between my thighs, and even then, I had to fake an orgasm before they would let us move on to the better stuff. Well. Slightly better stuff. We were far from a match in that department. Hmm. Now that that’s on my mind, I don’t recall ever having a match in the sexual department. I always want something a bit rougher, a bit kinkier, but the men I manage to bring home from the bars end up treating me like I’m a delicate flower, or they’re so selfish there’s no time to voice my opinion. God, I hope Dusty’s not like that. Though, kissing is often an indication of what’s pending ahead, and let me just state, based on that, I’m going to be writing thank you notes to his cock.

Dusty looks back up at me. “Cody wants me to meet him at the souvenir shop to help pick out gifts for the girls.”

“Girls?”

“His twins.”

There’s no ignoring the way his eyes sparkle at the idea of his nieces. His shoulders drop in adoration at the same time his face tilts in fondness. Clearly, he cares about them. I wonder if that’s the family he’s super protective of or if it’s anyone he shares DNA with.

“Come to think of it,” he continues with a hint of jovialness to his tone, “I should probably grab ‘em somethin’ too. After all I am the world’s best uncle.”

I don’t bother hiding my snicker. “And so modest.”

Dusty winks. “Do you mind if I go? They’ll never forgive me if I don’t come through the door with presents. Can I meet y’all by the pool in like twenty minutes?”

“Go ahead. I’ll make sure we have a chair to cuddle in. We’ll be towards the back by the pretzel cart.”

We exchange a brief kiss before parting ways.

Locating my best friends isn’t difficult. Cordie’s wearing a neon green bikini, holding a drink in each hand, while Audrey is trying not to draw too much attention to herself in a navy two piece that barely shows her stomach. A smile crosses my lips as I approach, realizing I am the missing portion of this equation. Collectively, we cover the entire range of the personality spectrum, sporadically shifting places for brief moments. It’s probably the reason we bond so well together. We’ve developed an odd, but necessary balance. There’s always room to try on another’s stilettos without judgment…er…too much judgment. This is the little family I’ve grown to deeply care for. Sadly, more than those I share blood with.

“Well look what the shore washed up,” Cordie teases after a sip of her margarita. “Where’s your bulky half? Lost at sea?”

“We’re near the ocean,” Audrey meekly corrects.

“It was a joke not a dick, Audrey. You don’t have to take it so literal.”

My brunette best friend glances up at me with a pleading stare.

She wasn’t exaggerating about Cordie being pissy.

I drop down onto the patio chair beside Audrey. “At first I thought you were just being bitchy because your blood alcohol level was too low, but taking into consideration you have two drinks in your direct possession, that can’t possibly be true. So, spill. What’s the problem? Not enough sun? Not enough ass? What, Cordie? What?”

“Not enough you.”

Her snip catches me slightly off guard.

“You said this was gonna be a fun girl’s trip. To me that meant sharing booze, teasing men, and dancing our asses off to country music together. But no. Since the first night, you’ve kept yourself wrapped up in that redneck Romeo, leaving the two of us in your dust.” She moves the beer to her lips and has a gulp. “You’re kinda being a shitty friend.”

Culpability returns to the spotlight.

However, before I can agree and apologize for my outlandish behavior, Audrey’s shoulders square off and she snaps, “You’re being the shitty friend, Cordie.”

Both of our eyes dart to her as our jaws drop.

“Carly didn’t go searching for Dustin, they just met. And, more importantly, they weren’t looking for love, it just happened-”

“That’s not love,” Cordie grunts.

“You don’t know that!” Audrey huffs loudly. “It could be! It could not be! Either way she deserves the right to figure out!”

Still shocked at her unexpected outburst, I simply continue to stare.

“Carly hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s gone everywhere we have. She’s done everything we’ve done. We’ve been together this entire trip so far, she just happens to bring along the guy she’s seeing with her. If anything, you’re ruining this trip with all your whining and bitching about it, which I think stems from the fact the hot guy came after her instead of you.”

Cordie slowly has another sip of her frozen beverage and looks away, the bitter truth too hard to swallow without assistance.

Most signs pointed there, but I ignored them. I wanted to believe I was reading the situations wrong. Reading her wrong. Sometimes it’s painful to be able to see what it is people aren’t verbally saying.

“Can we please just try to enjoy what’s left of our trip?” The returned shyness to Audrey’s tone turns our gazes back to her.

I present her with a slow nod before tossing my question to Cordie. “Do you want me to tell Dusty not to meet me here? Do you want me to tell him to sit somewhere else for the show? That I’ll just see him later tonight at the concert?”

Cordie’s mouth drops with the clear intent to agree, but the harsh glare Audrey shoots her has her sighing instead. “No….You guys should get to enjoy your time together. But, if I can make a request, I’m asking you to turn the tonsil wars down a notch. It’d be nice to have a conversation or two without having to wait for you to pry yourself off of him.”

Ugh. I wish I could be glued to him….

Oh…definitely too horny.

“Deal.”

“Good!” Audrey exclaims. “What do you say we order a round of shots to celebrate this vacation getting back on track?”

“Um…I don’t think Cordie has any more room.”

My playfulness is met with an equally light smirk. “I’ll grow another arm. Order ‘em.”

Audrey summons a server while I busy myself with shedding my dress.

It takes longer for us to be waited on than anticipated due to the growing size of the crowd. Almost immediately after he leaves to grab our drinks from the bar, a hand unexpectedly lands on my lower back. I snap my head the direction of the touch I don’t recognize. A male, roughly around our age, is there wearing a wolfish smirk.

I slip out of his unwanted touch and down onto the edge of Audrey’s chair.

“Good afternoon sexy,” he poorly flirts.

“It was until you arrived,” Cordie bites.

He offers her a sleazy wink that churns my stomach. “I’m here to make it better, baby.”

And there’s the word used the way I hate.

Cordie tosses him a vicious glare. “Doubtful.”

The stranger lets his stare drop back down to me. “You look smokin’ in that suit. What’s your name?”

“Not interested.” I tilt my head condescendingly to the side. “That’s my first and last name.”

He chuckles at my retort yet doesn’t take the hint. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Damon. But play your cards right and you can call me something else all night long.”

The three of us gag in unison.

What I found disheartening is there are a large number of single men who behave this way. And I know not everyone can afford training from a professional, just like I know not everyone can read all of a person’s nonverbal cues. However, some shit slaps you in the face before it…well…slaps you in the face. Which is where this is quickly headed.

My expression hardens. “Did you have your thirteen year old cousin write that pick up line, or did you just Google ‘easiest ways to offend women with an average IQ or higher’?”

“Give me a chance, and I’ll show you something about me that isn’t average. It’s much higher.”

“Again, doubtful,” Cordie cackles.

Add this to the list of reasons I prefer a controlled environment for dating. Men with too much ego and too little substance putting on a performance that impresses no one gives me a headache. Sure, he’d be considered mildly attractive to most women, with dark hair and a muscular runner’s build. Sadly, that’s where his tolerable qualities stop. He’s like scenery that, unfortunately, learned to talk.

I firmly state once more, “Not. Interested.”

“You heard her,” Dusty echoes, voice even, despite the rage rolling around his eyes. “The lady said not interested. Time to leave her alone.”

Damon tosses Dusty a cocky look. “Mind your business, asshole.”

Dusty’s eyes twitch with a glare and an animalistic sound slips through his gritted teeth. “She is my business. Now, I don’t make a habit of repeatin’ myself. This is your last chance to walk away before I knock your teeth in.”

An arrogant chuckle leaves Damon as he taunts, “Is that how the west was won?”

My green-eyed cowboy moves at the speed of light. Damon’s body goes from shaking in laughter to shaking from suffocation. His feet struggle to touch the ground from the lifted position he’s been hoisted into. There are choking noises. Violent slaps of his hands against Dusty’s stretched arm. Silent cries of mercy being presented in his vision.

“Holy shit,” Cordie whispers. “He’s gonna kill him.”

“Let him go,” I quietly command.

The request is met at an instant. Dusty’s hand unlocks and Damon plummets to the ground. His gasps for breath feel overdramatic, but I’ve never been choked within an inch of life, so I could be wrong.

Dustin’s chest continues to heave until his eyes land on mine. At that point, relief grabs a hold of him along with remorse. He starts to speak yet stops when I lift a single finger into the air.

My attention darts down to the still shaken up man. “What he did was polite. What I’m going to do will require the surgical removal of your testicles from your esophagus. Unless you would like to spend the rest of your vacation in the emergency room, I suggest you leave while you’re still able to breathe without the help of an oxygen tank.”

Damon nods, quickly scrambles onto his feet, and hastily rushes off.

“That. Was. Epic!” Cordie excitedly hollers. “This is now my favorite part of vacation….You know. Until Cooper takes his shirt off again.”

The waiter’s return prevents Dustin from speaking a second time. He passes out the shots along with our beers, though I immediately put both of mine down on the floor beside me. Dustin denies the offer to get him something from the bar and tips the man. However, the action pours gasoline on my already boiling temper.

“I don’t need a big, strong man to come in and save me or pay for my drinks. I’m a big girl, Dustin. I can handle myself.”

“You’re actually not very big. You’re kinda bite-size.”

His teasing is met with the narrowing of my eyes.

“I know you can take care of yourself, baby, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna take care of you, too.”

Audrey awes loudly behind me.

She’s not helping….

“Look, I was raised to treat women with more respect than he was. I was raised you catch wind of a situation like that you do the right thing and step in.” He folds his arms defensively across his chest. “But I warned you earlier, baby, about fightin’ for what’s mine. I meant that mentally and physically.” Dustin gives me a short shrug. “Guy’s lucky he didn’t end up at the bottom of the pool.”

Irritation and appreciation brawl inside my vocal chords for the right to be heard.

The guy was out of line. Not to mention, Dustin really was just doing what I imagine any boyfriend would do if he stumbled onto the situation. But he’s not my boyfriend, is he? Labeling him as such on our third day together seems preposterous, yet between the talks of our imaginary future and the casual plans to make us last longer than this vacation, I can’t think of a more appropriate name.

“You’re pissed at me.”

I swallow both emotions. “No.”

His eyebrows lower. “What’d we say about bein’ honest?”

“Okay, I’m not completely pissed at you.” Reaching for my shot cup, I add, “Just a little.”

“’Cause I protected you?”

“Because part of me believes you don’t think I can protect myself.” I rise to my feet, turn my back to him, and lift my cup in the air. “Raise your cups.” My friends follow the instructions. “To another day of fun in the sun and liquor to get us all drunk quicker.”

“Here! Here!” They agree in tandem before the three of us toss back our shots.

Afterward, I relocate my body to the patio chair my dress is occupying. Once I’m settled in it with my beer in my hand, I let my eyes meet Dustin who looks like a puppy with no clue as to why he’s being scolded. An unexpected pain spreads through my chest causing me to pat the space next to me.

He slinks into the chair beside me and our fingers instantly link together. His entire body is rigid, including the unapologetic gaze in his green glare.

The silent decision to stand by his choices is infuriating and intriguing. Most men rush to wear the blame so they don’t have to deal with a pissed off significant other. While I understand his stance in regards to protecting what he cares about, I need him to realize I can protect myself, too. It’s a skill I learned a long time ago. It’s one of the only skills my parents ground into me that I even maintain.

“I like that you wanna protect me,” I gradually begin, keeping my tone calm, “but you’re gonna have to get it in your head that I’m not that woman. I don’t need a protector or a provider. I’ve spent years handling myself. I am more than capable in continuing to do so.”

“True story,” Cordie calls out. “She once knocked a guy out cold in the middle of this bar for putting his hand on her ass.”

Dustin grunts a laugh. “You can pack a punch then.”

“Among other things,” I announce with a playfully arrogant smirk. “Just…know that I like you around because of the way you make me feel, not because I need you to do something for me.”

He slowly nods. “And jus’ know I don’t do things for you because I think you need ‘em. I do things for you because I feel you deserve ‘em.”

Our drifting lips are deterred by Audrey’s swooning. “Can we clone you? Give one of you to every single woman in America?”

“I’ll take mine in brown,” Cordie agrees.

We all laugh together while the band begins to take the stage.

Seeing the sight of the performers sparks me to ask, “Where’s your brother and Sam? Are they not coming?”

“Sam’s by the bar, hitting on a much older woman, and Cody went to the room to drop off the gifts.”

“Did you get something good for the girls?”

“Probably too much,” he bashfully confesses.

“You’ve got daughters?” Audrey quickly questions.

“Twin nieces.”

My brunette best friend smiles and lets her attention float back to the stage.

We’ve come to avoid the topic of children considering that was always a major issue in her marriage. Her ex swore he wanted them until a few years ago; when the truth came to light, he just didn’t want them with her.

I prepare to change the subject, but seeing his elation persuades me to ask, “What’d you buy?”

“Matching sea shell neckless. Stuffed dolphins, one hot pink, one bright blue. Mermaid crowns, again, one pink, one blue. And because they’ve got a never endin’ doll collection, I grabbed ‘em each a bikini wearing Barbie who has brown skin.”

The last gift strikes me by surprise.

“Want ‘em to have a more diverse toy box. Plus, as much as I have to play with the damn things, it wouldn’t hurt my feelin’s to see one that reminds me of the woman I’m crazy about.”

My swoon can be heard for miles.

“Told Cody where he could meet up with us if he wanted.” Dusty leans back. “He might join us or he might watch his best friend try to bag a cougar. Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

I have a sip of my beer and offer it to him.

He has a gulp at the same time Audrey begins to brag about the band we’re waiting on. A conversation about 18 Bent Forks begins between my boyfriend and best friends. I simply snuggle in closer, intently trying to document everything that’s discussed in case there’s a pop quiz later in the night. During the conversation, Dusty rearranges us, so his arm is wrapped around me and mine around his waist. Unlike the previous encounters, Cordie not only actively engages in the chatting, she makes joking jabs at him that he swiftly returns. Cody joins us right after 18 Bent Forks plays their first track

Everyone I’m with sings along while I merely bob my head to the rhythm. The band only gives us four more of their own songs before playing some popular numbers by other country artists. Dusty takes the initiative to announce the name of the song and artist when they don’t. They cover the classic side by playing tunes like John Denver, “Take Me Home, Country Road”, Johnny Cash “Tennessee Stud”, and Kenny Rogers “The Gambler”, but they also throw in fun additions like Lynryd Skynyrd’s “Sweet Home Alabama” and Big and Rich’s “Save A Horse”. Beers and excitement simultaneously flow for almost two hours. As the group announces they’ll be coming to a close soon, I’m not sure if the buzz in my system is from the alcohol or the amazing time I’m having.

“We’re gonna play one more cover before giving you our last song. This one…,” the lead singer sweetly trails off, “well, this is the one me and my wife danced to at our weddin’ a few weeks ago.” We erupt into congratulations cheers and he offers a small wave of gratitude. “We’ll play it and then the song I wrote for her when we first met.”

The notes that hit my ears are immediately familiar. My attention jumps to Dusty’s and I proclaim loudly, “I know this one!”

He tilts his head with a crooked smile. “Yeah?”

I nod enthusiastically and wait for a chance to demonstrate just how well. As soon as they reach the chorus to “It’s Your Love” by Tim McGraw, I belt out the words, crooning passionately along. My friends mimic my actions singing to one another while I serenade Dusty. His eyes never leave me. Instead of joining us, he silently soaks in the moment, leering in a fashion I’ve always secretly hoped someone would one day. Like I own their heart and they own mine.

We’re only two lines into the next verse when he questions, “Can we get the hell out of here?”

The strain in his voice sends a yearning throughout me. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Somewhere.” He tucks my hair behind my ear. “Anywhere, baby….”

His desperation increases mine.

I give him another nod, this one slow. Intense.

Dusty tosses his voice to the other side of the aisle where Cody is sitting. “You headin’ back to the room after this?”

Cody tries not to smirk. “Do I need to find my way to the bar for another couple of hours?”

He gives him a shy shrug.

His big brother nods his understanding. “Enjoy yourselves.”

The two of us stand and are immediately interrogated by my friends.

“Where are you going?” Cordie quickly asks.

Audrey swiftly whines, “Aren’t you going to the snack bar with us?”

“We’re going back to Dusty’s room,” I casually reply.

His hand grazes the curve of my ass as he whispers in my ear, “I love the way my name sounds off those lips, baby.”

My pussy cries it out, too, wetness coating the inside of my swim wear.

Cordie doesn’t object. She grins widely and lifts her almost empty beer cup. “Enjoy!”

Audrey’s concern remains. “What about dinner? Will we see you for dinner?”

I’m honestly praying I’ll be too exhausted to walk to dinner.

Cordie pats Audrey’s leg. “Let them go. I’m sure they’ll work up an appetite and have to come out into the world for food eventually.”

Dusty squeezes my ass firmly. “I’ll do my bes’ to return her by dessert.”

My head snaps in his direction with an intrigued expression.

Dear Lord, I hope the whole man of his word thing includes his sexual promises.

“Be safe,” Audrey insists right as the Tim McGraw cover ends.

“Promise,” I mouth.

Once I’ve tossed my dress over my shoulder and confirmed I have my phone along with my key card, I allow Dusty to lead us towards their room. Our walk is verbally silent, yet physically screeching. His hand cycles through clutching my hip and slipping down to grasp my ass. My hand mimics his and each time I give his butt a squeeze he groans like he’s in agony. We exchange overheated glances. Taunt one another with unnecessary lip licking. Allow our breathing to become so heavy it threatens to weigh us down. By the time we reach his door, our sexual tension is so palpable, his hand shakes during the process of swiping the keycard.

The moment we’re inside the room our mouths smash together. My hands clench his white t-shirt needing something to anchor onto as his tongue wildly whips at mine, demanding everything it’s capable of offering. One of his hands falls to my hip while the other tenderly slides through my wavy locks, knocking the dress off my shoulder. Our tongues rapidly roll in circles, desperate to rob one another of the ability to breathe in anything other than each other.

We’re both unaware of the distance we’ve covered until Dusty’s body bumps against the edge of his bed. He drops down onto it and immediately reaches out for me to join him.

I shake my head slowly, take a step back, and give him a sultry smirk.

A frustrated but excited groan rumbles in his throat.

My fingers slide inside the top of my halter top swimsuit to retrieve my phone and keycard, wanting to put them both somewhere else for safe keeping. With his eyes planted on me, I saunter to the dresser, exaggerating the strut. Hearing Dustin groan again places a wide grin on my face.

Not sure I’ve ever had a guy this hot and bothered by me while I’m still wearing clothes.

After the objects are safely stationed, I grab one of the condoms from the box beside the television, and saunter my way back to him. I place the very edge of the yellow package between my teeth and begin a seductive show of shedding my one piece black swimsuit. Every tiny movement I make receives a heated growl. However, as soon as the article lands at my feet, he groans with such intensity, the floor seems to shake.

“You will never be naked for another man again.” The possessiveness causes my soaking wet pussy to anxiously pulse. His gaze becomes greedy during the drinking in of my body and the thickness in his tone reiterates his hunger. “Never.” Dustin drags his eyes back to mine. “Have I made myself clear, baby?”

Rather than immediately agree to his commands, I remove the package from my bite, and counter, “Then I expect the same courtesy.”

He shoots me a sweet smile. “Thought that went without sayin’.”

His words rekindle the need to be on top of him. I gradually glide my hands down to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, he removes the item and throws it to the floor, allowing me a well-deserved moment to caress the artwork he calls his chest. The definition and hardness have me cursing myself for not going to the gym more. Not keeping everything just a bit firmer.

As if my insecurities are shrieking in surround sound, he tips my chin up and states, “Your body is beautiful, baby. Never think twice ‘bout that.”

A blush colors my cheeks, and I gently push him back to tug off his shorts. Dusty keeps his hand firmly grounded to the sheets. There’s no pressure for me to move faster. No insistence on tasting him before we get started. He simply lies as still as he possibly can while my attention laps up the incredible sight he calls his cock. It’s longer than any I’ve seen recently and much, much thicker. My pussy pulses again; though I’m not certain if it’s in furor or fear. Pre cum glistens through his slit and my tongue can’t resist stealing the offered sample.

Our moans are mutual yet he reprimands through gritted teeth, “Don’t do it again, baby, unless you’re prepared for me to spend hours doin’ the same.”

Hours? Did he say hours? All the men I’ve been with barely make it ten minutes before they’re whining like a child ‘are you there yet’?

I heed his warning, cover his cock, and prepare to crawl on top. Dusty, however, has other plans. He instantly shifts back up and takes full advantage of my straddled position. His arm hooks around my waist while his dick savagely pierces through the dripping depths of my pussy. An airy scream is all I can surrender. My fingers fly to his shoulder, nails anchoring into his flesh for dear life. Dustin thrusts again and again, each one tearing apart the underworked muscles, and tailoring them back together to accommodate only him. Only his size. Only his speed. Only his essence.

Another attempt to cry out his name is foiled when the thumb of his free hand ruthlessly begins rubbing my clit to the same speed as his diving dick. The confident nature in which he claims my body has it coming with celerity.

Never have I met anyone who didn’t feel the need to ask for directions to my orgasm. Never have I had a man who not only touches me like I belong to him, but like I was made for him.

Shudders shoot through me and my pussy clenches in sync with them.

Dusty’s growling grows deeper. “That’s right, Carly. This pussy comes only for me now.”

The instinct to argue pops onto my tongue, but the lack of reprieve he’s delivering keeps my voice busy moaning my obvious satisfaction.

“By my hands,” he sharply thrusts, “my mouth,” another harsh blow, “or my cock, baby.”

I can’t stop my head from lulling backwards or my pussy from promising with another strong, wet squeeze.

Dusty’s thumb disappears from my clit just as his teeth toy with my nipple. The unexpected shift in sensations has me whimpering and withering right on the edge of another orgasm.

What is wrong with me? My body’s never been this…responsive. This sensitive.

His tongue languorously whirls around the hardened nub. His other movements fade to less frantic, yet not less fierce. For what feels like hours, he roughly drives into me, every push reprograming my entire system to only rely on him for pleasure. I ceaselessly cycle through climaxes, unsure at times when one has truly ended and another has begun. The moment Dusty’s hips falter and his forehead falls to my chest, I know the sweet reward of his release is near. I wind my arms around his neck. Press him into me. Allow for him to bury his shallow breaths between my boobs. His sturdy frame shakes on a harsh hiss and my pussy swells in anticipation of being filled. While I can feel the kicks, the barrier between us absorbs most of the shocks.

Logically, I know going bare would’ve been the most irresponsible thing either of us could’ve done. We know nothing about one another’s past or sexual history. Hell, we barely know anything about each other, but I can’t help the sadness stirring over not being completely filled with him. He’s already managed to write his name on every other part of me. I want this part too.

Dusty litters the skin closest to him with gentle kisses. Afterwards, our eyes meet and he sighs, “We need to ditch rubbers ASAP, baby. I wanna feel every inch of that pussy….”

A whimper of agreement oozes free.

“You on anything? You know, to prevent havin’ kids?”

I’m unable to stop the question I have no business asking at this point in our relationship, I blurt out, “You don’t want kids?”

“I want you havin’ my kids,” he clarifies, hands now folding at the small of my back. “Jus’ askin’ if you’re on anything that would help prevent that ‘til we’re ready.”

“The shot.”

He grins profusely. “Good. Then that means I can take you bare in the near future.” Dusty doesn’t wait for a retort. “We get home. We get checked. And then nothin’ will be between us when I have you in my bed.”

“Or mine,” I’m barely able to whisper before my lips are being captured.

Are we crazy? Not just for making minor plans, like whose bed we’ll sleep in first, but life size ones, like kids. Everything in my brain is shouting to slow down. Take a breath. Remember that romance is a mixture of chemicals in your mind often projecting something that isn’t real. The issue is every instinct inside of me is screaming louder that this is it. This is the man I am gonna marry. The man whose children I will have. The man who will be by my side in sickness and in health. Aren’t you supposed to embrace that feeling if you’re lucky enough to find it? I spend hours, five…six…sometimes seven days a week searching for other people to possibly make this type of connection. Don’t I owe it to myself to at least give it a chance?