Blood to Dust(60)

“You’re good,” I whisper.

“And bad,” he argues. “I’m the guy who took you as a prisoner, to be murdered by sacks of shit, remember?”

“But also the guy who ushered me out, and promised to help me seek revenge,” I maintain.

“And that, gorgeous, is why I have a clean part. Even on my skin.”

Even in your heart.

I shake my head. He may enjoy my words. . .but I’m mad about his.

Bending down, my knees touching the damp floor, our eyes level silently. His lashes are dark wet curtains and his mouth is even more perfect dripping with water, bathed in the moonlight. He breathes heavily. I don’t dare breathe at all. Complete opposites, with so much to give to each other. A storm and calm waters, we can create a natural disaster, but it would be beautiful and broken and ours.

Kiss me, my heart sings as my stare falls to his lips. Please, want me.

“I got scared when I saw you weren’t in the room,” I admit. He rests his head against mine, our bodies inches from one another. Pull me in.

“You ain’t listening when I talk, are you, Baby-Cakes? I told you to trust me.”

“I can’t trust a guy who wants to sleep with me. But I can trust a guy even less when he doesn’t,” I half-joke. But I’m scared. So scared. Because the odds are against us. Hell, everything and everyone is against us.

His lips laugh into mine, and the rumble of his wet chest dampens my dress. My underwear too, despite the fact he’s nowhere near them.

“You know, Pea, even though it’s been years since you and Camden broke up, I know that on some level, I’m still the goddamn rebound. This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to get sucked into something that even vaguely resembles companionship. I need to tread carefully, figure out what you’re willing to give me on this short journey of ours. You wanna know the truth? I don’t know how. No one’s ever been careful about my feelings, about my trust. You’ve been sexually abused. I can go and spit some ‘I understand’ bullshit, but you’re too smart and I’m too honest. I don’t understand. So I’m letting you make the first move. If I touch you, I need permission, but make no mistake,” he says then catches my lower lip between his teeth and pulls, at first softly, and then hard enough to suck me into the pool with him. I willingly let my body drop forward but he catches me at the last minute. “I want you. I want your words and your body and your brain and your little stress ball bouncing against my face, even though it’s annoying as f*ck. I want more than you could ever give me, so don’t worry about that part, Cockburn.”

Our chests are so close now, I feel his heartbeat in my own ribcage. And his words. I feel them, too. Everywhere. I’ve gone and done it again. Only this time, it’s ten times worse.

I fell in love.

I fell in lust.

I fell in stupid.

I nod, my forehead bobbing against his, feeling pleasantly yet sickly light-headed. “Thank you.” My voice croaks. “For asking for what they demanded. For what they took. But it’s unnecessary with you.”

Silently, I plead for his touch by beginning to peel off my clothing. He takes a step back in the blue pool, watching me through eyes heavy with desire. The jacket falls to the ground first, my armor against men. My red dress and flip-flops follow and are discarded near a stripy yellow and white lounge chair. I slide into the pool, clad only in my bra and panties, and straight into Nate’s arms.

The water is cold, but all I feel is his heat.

He takes my mouth with his and kisses me desperately, my legs wrapped around his waist. I feel his want for me, and again, am surprised by my reaction. It doesn’t feel sleazy or scary. It doesn’t hold a promise of something devastating.

I drag my tongue along his neck, sucking his pulse and his life into me, my back still pressed to the edge of the pool as his erection moves up and down my stomach. A muffled groan disappears into my hair every time our groins touch. He tastes salty and male and like my own, personal heaven.

“Cockburn. . .” He bites my earlobe, his shaft digging between my legs. Our lips find each other and our tongues move together erotically. I don’t even care if people can see us from the dozens of windows overlooking the pool. Let them look and eat their hearts out. Life’s too short to care about what other people think.

Time.

I want to use it wisely as long as he’s around.

“Delaware,” I tease back into his mouth, panting with what’s beginning to feel like an orgasm building between my legs like a hot Saharan sandstorm.

“Tell me something beautiful, Cockburn,” he whispers behind my ear, stroking my lower back, igniting something sinful. “Tell me something pretty like you.”

I sift through my thoughts, even though it’s damn hard with his hands roaming all over me.

“’A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.’ Robert Frost.”

Hot lips land on my collarbone.

“How rough do you want me tonight, Little Poem?”

“Rough,” I pant.

“Turn.”

I spin around and he lifts my upper body so that I’m lying flat on the concrete next to the pool, my cheek resting against the surface. I feel his fingers peeling down my underwear, my ass facing him. I grin into the cold tiles under the hot night.