gentle slap of the waves against the dock, and my ragged breathing. It’s then I realize why I came out here in the first place. Before I decided to take a swim.
“Thank you,” I blurt.
He taps my hips with his hands and motions for me to lift my ass up. “For what?”
I raise my hips. His hands come together at the button of my jeans. “For sticking up for me.”
It’s not easy for him to get my wet jeans off, and in the process, my panties go with it. Whoops. “It was the right thing to do,” he grumbles, looking anywhere but between my legs.
“Yeah, but not everyone does the right thing.” I sit up and touch my hands to his biceps and then circle them around his shoulders. “I should thank you.”
“You just did.” With his body straight, his posture stiff, his face becomes expressionless.
“Not the way I intended.”
Something flashes in his eyes. This guy is a closed book, and I can’t pry the cover apart to see what’s inside. Probably a cold, dead heart with a hook in it.
I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. It’s not until I sigh that he finally gives me his answer. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he mumbles and avoids eye contact. With another breath, he runs his hand through his hair.
Um, how am I supposed to process those words? Is he telling me not to expect anything long term? At least by his tone it feels like it. Does it really matter? I’m not looking for a relationship anyways. Leaning in, I press my ice-cold lips to his warm ones. “Then we better make it a good time then, huh?”
At first his body is rigid and unresponsive. I think maybe I’m making a mistake, that I shouldn’t be doing this. He doesn’t kiss me back, at least not at first, but he doesn’t pull away either.
Suddenly, his hands slide from my hips to my face, and he gently takes me in his hands and deepens the kiss. “You know I can’t offer you anything,” he mumbles against my lips, dropping his hands to the edge of the sofa I’m seated on. But then he draws back, staring at me. I have to admit it feels good to be looked at like this. Wanted in ways I can’t comprehend.
It takes me a moment to reply, but when I do, there’s no doubt he can hear the dejection in my words. “I’m not asking you for anything but sex.”
It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s also not a lie.
The corner of his mouth twitches, as though he wants to smile but doesn’t. His eyes stay on mine, intent, his mystery twisting with everything he’s not saying.
His hands move to my thighs. I watch with rapt attention and anticipation of them going higher. I shiver from the cold and the way his touch ignites a flame inside me. Part of me knows I shouldn’t be doing this with him, but a greater part can’t stop myself. Before his mouth connects with mine again, I touch his busted lip, his beard. The whole time he doesn’t stop me, until my fingers sweep over his bicep and the tattoo that resides there. I want to pry, ask what it really means, but I know he won’t tell me. Shifting, he dips his shoulder from my view.
Okay, so the tattoo is off-limits.
Leaning forward, I reach for his belt buckle. His head falls to my shoulder, his breathing heavier than before. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” His hands grip my thighs tighter, his head rolls to the side, his nose brushing the underside of my jaw.
“I want to.” Carefully, I undo his belt and the button to his jeans and slip my hand inside. He’s hard, warm, and without warning, jumps back.
“Holy shit,” he hisses. “Your hand is fucking freezing.”
Well, yeah, dude.
I laugh and remove my hand. Our eyes meet—his smoldering, full of fire and desire, mine, unknown for once. I don’t know what this means or what I’m feeling other than an overwhelming sense of familiarity with him. With another sigh, he comes back, his body pressing to mine.
Our chests touch, his stare falling to the valley between my breasts. Just like he hides the tattoo, I don’t want him focusing on my scar, so I hold him closer. Barely teetering on the edge of the couch, my legs are wrapped around his waist and I know it’s the only reason