Sweet Cheeks(72)

“Oh, I will gloat.”

His hands work his belt followed by the sound of a zipper. Then the unmistakable movement of his hand sliding over his cock.

“But f*cking you is more important.”

I wet my lips in anticipation. His eyes darken in ecstasy when he rubs the crest of his cock up and down my swollen sex. My moan is reflexive. My need unyielding.

The wind whips all around us but he stops to draw my eyes up to his. And when our gazes connect, he slowly pushes his way into me. I tense around him, my body and mind overwhelmed by the all-consuming pleasure the slide of his cock creates within me.

The groan he emits when he’s fully sheathed is incredibly sexy. Everything about him is. The way his head falls back, how his lips part, and how his fingers tense on my thighs.

And then he moves. His first slide out and then forceful slam back in causes that sweet, painful burn to spread like wildfire to every single part of me. I know he’s as consumed as I am. Lost in the moment. In the feeling of us connected. In every damn sensation between us.

Hayes sets a bruising pace from the get-go. There’s no apology in his movements. Nothing uttered from his lips other than my name. No other focus than the end game.

Time occurs in flashes of lightning. Snapshots of time when his figure is lit up amidst the dark around us.

His shoulders taut. Hands firm. Hips thrusting. Mouth pulled tight. Eyes focused on our union.

It’s erotic to watch him. Sexy. Empowering.

“Yes. God, yes, Say. Tell me yes,” he groans out as his hips buck wildly against me. I’m transfixed watching the orgasm consume him. The expression on his face and the broken way he says my name will forever be burned into my memory.

Tell me yes.

Yes to what though? To him? To there being an us? To having a future together?

And all I can think as he slowly pulls out of me and gathers me in his arms is I hope that’s what he was asking me to say yes to.

Because after everything that has happened between us, how could I say anything but yes? In this short span of time, he’s made me feel validated, adored, accepted, and loved.

Everything Mitch didn’t. Couldn’t.

Emotionally, I’m spent. Exhilarated. Revived.

So many revelations on this day. So many mixed emotions. So many truths shared.

But this? Hayes asking, no, begging me to say yes?

Slayed.

Owned.

His.

Perhaps he’s right though. Words can be cheap, but he’s sure as hell proved it with actions.

So I give him the only answer I’ve ever had when it comes to him.

“Yes.”





The storm has passed.

It’s my first thought as my eyes flutter open and feel the sun warming my skin through the open blinds. We forgot to shut them last night when we finally collapsed into bed after a midnight snack. And another round of incredible sex.

The Captain definitely knows how to steer this ship of his to ecstasy.

I bite back the giggle over my ridiculously cheesy thought and snuggle deeper into the heat of Hayes’s body behind me. I revel in the weight of his arm over my hip, the possessiveness of his hand resting on my abdomen, and the unmistakable morning hard-on pressing against my backside. Everything about him feels like my perfect heaven.

And then I remember what the morning brings: our last day. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to memorize this feeling, and enjoy it despite the sudden dread that shadows the few hours we have left together.

I run last night through my head. Mitch and Sarah get a fleeting thought. Their weird relationship and bizarre need to confront me at their wedding of all places. Then I move on to Hayes. To how he made me laugh and put me at ease despite the constant scrutiny and nastiness from the guests around us. Then the dance. Sigh. The dance where he lit the match just enough so I’d be left wanting but unable to have him. To my confessions in the thunderstorm and his long, slow, wet kisses that I swear could have lasted all night without any complaints from me.

Well, I lie. Because what happened next was pretty damn incredible.

So why am I the only one who did all the talking? All the soul-baring? I know he said words are cheap and action is everything, but I can’t help wonder if stepping in to kiss me was his way of not having to figure his own feelings out. The thought triggers a flicker of panic. I shove it down along with the sudden unwelcome idea that maybe he doesn’t feel the same as I do. I told him I love him, had always loved him.

Don’t do this, Saylor. He showed you how he felt all night long. With tenderness and reverence and passion. I hold onto that thought along with the reminder that he was never very expressive about his feelings.

Cocooned in his security and warmth, I realize I need to accept what he was able to give me in the way he was able to show me.

Time passes. Seconds I soak up. I lose myself in the emotion. The acceptance. The hope for something more, something better than we could ever have imagined, and purposely try to ignore the particulars of how that might be able to happen.

The minute he wakes up I know it. I can feel the fleeting tension of his muscles and the break in his even breathing. And yet he doesn’t speak.

So we lie in the silence of the morning, the storm having moved on, and the rain having washed away the grime from the past. The breeze blows in off the ocean and our hearts try to settle in their new places. A little fuller. And hopefully, a lot less permanently broken.