She moved to pass me and I grabbed her by the arms, kissing her, groaning when I felt her soften for an instant. I tasted her, tasted her tears. Or maybe they were mine.
Her hands went to my hair, fisting it, pulling it hard. She turned her head, breaking the seal of my mouth.
“Crossfire,” she sobbed, the word cracking like a gunshot.
I released her abruptly, stumbling back, even as my mind screamed at me to hang on.
I let her go, and she left me.
—
THE sea breeze blows through my hair and I close my eyes, absorbing the feel as it buffets me. The rhythmic push and pull of the waves against the beach and the raucous cries of seagulls anchor me in the moment, in this place.
It’s home in a way I haven’t known for a long time, although I’ve spent less than a handful of days here. It is a place I’ve shared only with Eva, so all of my memories of here are as drenched with her as the sand is with rays of the sun. Like the sand, I’ve been crushed down into fine, tiny bits by the forces around me. And like the sun, Eva has brought joy and warmth to my existence.
She joins me on the deck, standing behind me at the railing. I feel her hand on my shoulder, then the press of her cheek against my bare back.
“Angel,” I murmur, and place my hand over hers.
This is what we needed, to come back to this place. It’s our retreat when the world closes in on us, trying to separate us. We heal each other here.
Relief washes through me. She’s back. We’re together. She understands now why I did what I did. She was so angry, so hurt. For a moment, I had felt crippling fear that I’d destroyed the most precious part of my life.
“Gideon,” she breathes, in that husky siren’s voice. One arm slides around my waist to hold me from behind.
I tilt my head back and let the power of her love pour through me. Her fingers glide over my hip, and then she’s holding my c**k in her hand. Stroking it from root to tip. I harden and thicken, ready for her. I live to serve her, to please her. How could she have doubted it?
A moan rumbles up from the very depths of my soul, the desire I always feel for her climbing through me. Pre-cum leaks from the swollen head of my dick, my balls growing heavy and full.
Her hand on my shoulder glides down my back, pressing lightly, urging me to bend forward.
I obey because I want her to see how she owns me. I want her to understand that I would do anything, give anything, to make her safe and happy.
Her hand traces my spine, kneading lightly. I grip the wooden handrail that circles the deck and spread my legs at her urging.
Now, both of her hands are between my thighs, her breath hot and panting against my back. She’s pumping my c**k with a firm, practiced grip. Harder than I’m used to from her. Demanding. Her other hand is massaging my sac, driving the urgency into me.
Her grip slickens as the pr**cum streams steadily from the slit at the tip of my dick. The salty air washes over me, cooling the sweat misting my skin.
“Eva . . .” I gasp her name, so hard for her, so desperately in love.
Her fingers, now creamy and always cleverly agile, slide back and tease the dark rosette of my anus. It feels good, even though I don’t want it to. The stroking of my penis is making it hard to breathe, to think, to fight . . .
“That’s it,” she coaxes.
I try to arch away, but she’s got me trapped with my dick in her hand.
“Don’t,” I tell her, squirming.
“You like it,” she purrs, working my cock, her touch something I crave and can’t resist. “Show me how much you want me.”
She pushes two slick fingers inside my ass. I cry out, writhing away, but she’s rubbing and thrusting into me, hitting the spot that makes me want to come more than anything. The pleasure grows despite the tears burning my eyes.
My head falls forward. My chin touches my heaving chest. It’s coming. I’m coming. I can’t stop it. Not with her . . .
The fingers inside me thicken, lengthen. The thrusting becomes frenzied, the slap of flesh against flesh drowning out the sounds of the ocean. I hear a rough, lusty growl but it’s not mine. A c**k is in me, f**king me. It hurts and yet the pain is tinged with a sick, unwanted pleasure.
“Keep stroking it,” he pants. “You’re almost there.”