SHE THINKS SHE’S CUTE, ASKING me if I like her with that smile on her face. If she’s fishing for an answer, she isn’t going to get it.
No, I already said that I liked her. Now it’s time to show her.
Shifting around so my chest is facing her, I lean over. Closing the distance between us. Bringing our mouths closer and closer together.
Before my lips touch hers, I hear her sharp intake of breath and I can’t stop the smile that forms as I capture her lips, demonstrating to her just how much I like her.
Moving my mouth slowly over hers, I feel her body fall onto mine. Melting against my chest. Hooking an arm around her waist, I haul her up onto my lap so her thighs are on either side of mine.
Straddling me.
Hands move up her jean-clad thighs, I slide my fingers into her belt loops, keeping her close.
The tentative kiss I began quickly turns into a frenzy. Lips crash, tongues tangle, and bodies collide.
Her hands lace behind my neck and she rocks her lower body into mine. We both groan. She rocks again and I have to move my hands to her waist, holding her still.
She makes a strangled noise, pulling her mouth away from mine. She doesn’t go far.
Her hot, swollen mouth moves to my scruffy jaw, down my throat, kissing my bobbing Adam’s apple as I inhale a sharp breath. Her mouth moves further down, closer to my collarbone where she begins to suck on my skin. Hard.
My breathing is labored, but I’m able to find my voice enough to get out a breathy laugh and ask, “Trying to give me a hickey?”
“Maybe.” Her voice is a caress on my skin.
Taking her chin between my thumb and forefinger, I tilt her face up. Her eyes are hazy and heated; lust boils within the depths of her green eyes. “If I get one, so do you.”
My hands slide under her shirt and she stiffens, jerking off my lap so fast she trips and falls to the ground. I glare, confusion and concern conflicting with each other as I bend down to help her up. She scrambles away, holding her hands up. “Above the clothes action only.” Her tan skin washes out several colors as her eyes plead with me. Her voice is desperate and shaky when she says, “Please.”
It’s the please that worries me the most. I’d never force myself on her, on any woman. Whatever man does isn’t a man but a sick, twisted fuck who deserves to be castrated, among many more uncivilized punishments.
I force myself to soften my expression, pushing the confusion aside and focusing on the concern for her.
Emery is brave, so brave she surfs before the sun breaks the horizon. She says what’s on her mind, does what she wants, and doesn’t care what others think.
She’s her own person, so sure in her footing, but right now, she looks small.
Like a child afraid to fall asleep because of a monster hiding in the closet.
Scooting closer to the edge of the couch, I lean closer to Emery. She’s shaking. A horrible realization washes over me.
What if something happened to her? What if someone put their hands, or other parts, on her—unwelcomed?
Rage, fire-burning rage unlike anything I’ve ever felt tries to rise to the surface. I barely have it contained but try to keep my voice calm when I tell her, “Okay, Em, okay.” I fall to my knees in front of her, my tone soft. “You set the pace.”
I remember the party, how she stopped my hands from going under her clothes. And this past weekend when she had her panic attack. A lump forms in my throat. “Whatever you want to do or don’t do, that’s what we’ll do. I promise I won’t rush you or make you feel like you have to do something you’re not comfortable with. Just tell me what’s too much or if I cross the line with you.”
“Okay.” She nods, voice small. She won’t meet my eyes. Her gaze is focused on her hands that are splayed out on the carpet on either side of her.
Slowly, so slowly, so I don’t spook her, I scoot closer. I wrap my hands around her ankles, connecting us. I need to have part of her tethered to me so she feels my touch, knowing I won’t change or think of her in any other way, when I ask her, “Have you—have you been attacked, Emery?”
Forcing the words out feels like swallowing chunks of glass.
She freezes and my heart breaks.
Breaks into uncountable pieces for the girl in front of me, who’s brighter than any light I’ve ever seen, but now, this conversation, has dimmed her shine. I want it back. I release her ankles. “I promise I’ll never hurt you, Emery. I promise.”
“I know, Bash.” Her eyes grow wide and she sits up higher, pulling her legs to her chest. She reaches her hand out and touches my arm. “Bash,” she repeats and I cover her hand with mine, giving it a squeeze. “I wasn’t raped.”
My chest collapses and a wave of crashing relief comes down on me.
“But I was attacked.” So much for that relief. The fire is slowly building again, but I don’t ask questions, seeing her struggle for words. Emery wants to talk about this. I see the need to in her eyes.
She has to get this out at her own pace. I won’t force her. For her, I have all the patience, even if I want to trash every piece of furniture in this room and then go find the fucker who hurt her.
Both of her hands rub her face and she makes a sound between a sob and a laugh. “I don’t know why it’s so hard to tell you. It’s not like it’s a secret. If you just searched my name you would already know. But you don’t look at me like I’ll break or I can’t handle something because the memories are too much.” She’s talking in circles, not making sense, but I sit beside her, squeezing her knee again. My thumb is moving across her skin in rhythmic strokes.
“Anyway,” she goes on, “I got attacked by two sharks during a competition. It was pretty bad and my parents made me stop surfing. I was reckless when I was younger, still am. But my body has scars, a lot of scars, and I am really weird about people seeing them. I’ve accepted my body for what it is, but I just don’t like showing them to other people. The stares, the whispers, the questions are just something I don’t feel like dealing with day-to-day.”
“And if you don’t like people seeing them, you don’t like people touching them,” I fill in.
Her reaction makes more sense now and I like the reasoning behind it a lot more than my initial thoughts. But I wished to God she’d never had to go through a shark attack.
As uncommon as they are, they still happen. Even I forget how dangerous sharks can be since I see so many when I surf.
Fuck, I’ve seen them in the actual waves I’m riding before and have even fallen on one or two in my time.
“How old were you when it happened?”
“Sixteen, but I didn’t get back into the water until I was seventeen.”
“Two years? You’ve been surfing alone for two years?”
Again, she nods. “After a few months of being lonely, I fell into a routine and hardly noticed. Until you came along and missed that day. That was when I realized just how lonely I had been. It’s been nice having you around.”
Lonely. In a sport full of other people, we’ve both been so alone.
Isolated.
“The first time I surfed in months was the day you crashed into me.”
She blinks. “The morning after the party?”
I nod. “I came here because I needed a break from everything. You missed surfing so much you came back, but I was starting to hate it so that’s why I left.”
“Going pro isn’t all that fun, is it?” She scoots over, pressing her body to me. I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Dad always said that surfing was the only part of the job he liked.”
“The endorsement money isn’t bad either,” I tease, then soberly add, “For about two and a half years I’ve hated surfing. I was bored with my dream job. It’s what I lived for. But somewhere along the way I stopped living and just existed. I went through the motions because I had to and it’s been hard to get back ever since.”
“But you always look like you’re having fun when we’re out there.”
“It’s hard not to when you’re there.”
She inhales, looking into my eyes. I refuse to look away.
We stay like that until a phone, my phone, rings and breaks the silence around us.
But even then, I hold her eyes as I reach for my phone and answer.
That’s the move that proves I made a mistake. For the second time, to be exact. If I checked the caller I.D., I would have seen who was calling and could have avoided answering. I made the same mistake at Dez’s. I paid for it then and I’m paying for it now.
Whatever good mood I was in is now gone with my mother’s voice in my ear.
I give Emery’s knee one last squeeze as I stand up. I mouth I’ll be right back and am moving out of the living room and onto the porch. Fast.
“Sebastian, you need to come home.” Her icy voice contrasts the humidity of the Florida weather. “Now.”
Groaning, I roll over and roughly turn off the alarm on my phone.
My body aches.
My neck pinches.
And my bed feels uncomfortable as hell. Like a plank of wood.
“Uuung.” With eyes shut, I roll onto my side despite the stiffness of my body, an arm stretched out looking for my pillow. Instead of a pillow, I’m met with a softness of another kind.
The softness of a woman.
Opening an eye, I see the soft waves of Emery’s brownish-blonde hair as they tumble down the back of my T-shirt. The one I gave her last night when she got too cold in hers. The long sleeves were rolled up to the crook of the elbow.
Her arms are folded and tucked under her head, breathing steady. My hand touches her side, making her shiver, skin freckling with goose bumps.
With a curse, I sit up, going for the blankets that must have gotten kicked to the foot of the bed sometime during the night.
Except.
Except, we’re not in my room. The reason for my body aching this morning becomes a lot clearer.
As I slowly start to wake up, the surroundings come into focus.
We’re in my living room, on the floor, where the fan is on full fucking blast.
With another curse, I get to my feet. Making an executive decision, one that will no doubt piss off Em, I gather her in my arms and walk us into my bedroom.
Emery will kick my ass for not going surfing, but right now I don’t give a single damn.
She can take one day off—especially after last night and opening up with what happened to her.
Once the phone call with my mom was done, I came back in and Emery must’ve seen the mood written on my face because she asked if I wanted to watch a movie. I think we both needed time in our thoughts after that, so I put on the first movie I saw on TV and Emery cuddled into my side. I think we watched two movies, completely forgetting about the morning.
My body was too keyed up to relax. I wanted to touch her, to feel her skin against mine, but she set the pace.
After seeing how she reacted, I relinquished whatever power I had and gave it to her. She controlled everything from there. I wouldn’t push her for anything she wasn’t willing to give.
After a while, my body deflated and I was lulled to sleep by her steady breathing.
Now, I tuck Emery into my bed, making sure she won’t get cold. I walk into the bathroom to piss before climbing in beside her.
I doubt I’ll be able to sleep for long, if at all. But somehow I’m able to fall asleep for maybe forty-five minutes before something wakes me up.
Correction, someone wakes me up.
Opening my eyes, I see a sight that makes my morning wood very happy.
Emery is straddling my waist, sitting right below the waistband of my shorts. Her face is flushed, with slightly pink cheeks, either from sleep or from anger. Green eyes that shine like grass after a rainstorm narrow down at me.
Holy fuck she looks hot.
“You better not fucking pinch me.” My voice is harsh from sleep. “This is the kind of dream I like.”
She glares harder and my dick twitches. Sometimes he’s a kinky bastard.
“I’m not going to pinch you. I’m going to strangle you.”
“Kinky.” I raise an eyebrow and grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
I’m not into choking or being choked; it does nothing to get me off, and I know she’s not talking about it in a sexual way, but it’s way too good to pass up. Especially since Emery’s too cute when she’s mad.
And hot as fuck as she straddles my body, right above my dick.
Fuck, Cleaton, think of something else besides that.
Emery’s fist collides with my chest. It barely even tickles. “What the hell, Cleaton?”
I know I probably shouldn’t, but I really like her saying my last name in her pissed off voice. My amusement must show on my face because Emery slams her palms on my chest as she leans closer to my face. I try to fight a grin. “Why did I wake up in your bed? And more importantly, why aren’t we surfing right now?”
“We’re in my bed because we fell asleep on the floor last night and I like to think this mattress is better than hardwood floors, but that’s just me. As to why we aren’t surfing, I was sore and tired from being on said floor and I liked seeing you in my shirt.” I lean up on elbows, bringing our mouths closer together. “So I made the executive decision to sleep in today.”
It wouldn’t take much to close the distance. All I’d need to do is sit up a little bit further.
Jesus, I’m horny this morning.
Emery’s hand is over my mouth before I’m able to put my plan into motion. It’s probably written all over my face. “Don’t even think about it, Bash.” At least I’m back on a first name basis with her. “Not only am I pissed right now but we also have morning breath.”
The way she says morning breath makes me believe she’s really repulsed by the idea of kissing with MB.
I don’t care either way. I want her lips on mine.
With her hand still pressed to my mouth, I dart my tongue out. Licking her palm. Running it from the base all the way up to the joint in her middle finger, I watch her. My gaze never wavers from hers as she shivers above me and some of the anger turns to a different kind of heat.
“Stop being cute.” She retracts her palm, pushing away and off of me.
I roll over to face her, my grin still in place. “Am I being like a pug?”
She groans, crossing her legs, and looking down at me. “Will you let that go?”
“Nope.” I make the “p” pop as I reach over, grabbing her waist. Rolling us over so she’s on her back and I’m above her, I brush some hair away from her face.
“I’m still mad at you.”
“I can handle that,” I tell her.
“I have a rule to never miss a day when I’m in town. You don’t know how hard it was to be landlocked at college and have the closest beach like an hour away.”
“That sounds like torture for you.” For me too. The beach has always been in my backyard and I need to smell salt in the air. “Can I ask you something about that?”
“Sure.” She runs her fingers through my hair.
“How come your parents don’t want you to surf?
“After my accident when I got released from the hospital, I snuck out and went to the beach with my board. You know that whole cliché saying about falling off a horse and getting back on? Well I did that. And had a panic attack because I saw a shadow that looked like a shark. It was a turtle. I fell off my board, got caught in a rip current, and panicked even more. It was a mess and I scared my parents shitless.”
Jesus H. Christ.
“And technically I’m an adult and can do what I want but I live with them, you know? I don’t want to disappoint them, so I don’t tell anyone. Because word of mouth is a real thing in this town.” I rub my hands up and down the back of her calves. The fabric of my gray sweatpants she put on last night move with me. “Plus I’m scared. I’m scared if I stop for a day, I won’t go back out there. I want to be a pro surfer, for fuck’s sake, but I can’t even tell my parents I’ve been surfing again. And have been doing it for years.”
“Emery, following your dreams takes a lot of courage. It’s the uncertainty that scares you but that’s where the adventure begins. I wish I could tell you that you can hide behind your alarm clock forever, but the second you go back on the circuit, people are going to be all over you because of your name. You have to be ready for not just your parents but for everything that comes along with this life.”
Silence.
My words are greeted by silence.
Emery stares at me, eyes a little glazed over, and I wait.
And wait some more for her to say something. Anything.
I didn’t mean to lecture her. I didn’t mean to actually say any of that yet. She deserves every chance to go pro, but she can’t do it in secret.
It’s not just the fear of disappointing her parents, but it’s also the fear of failure.
“Can we go get pancakes?” Emery asks, her voice not quite off but not normal either. She’s deflecting and for right now, I’ll concede.
So, we get pancakes.