Beautiful Graves(32)

He steps forward. I stumble back, liking this game. The chase.

“Nothing you say to me would be considered TMI. I want to know you better than you know yourself.”

Dom takes another step. My lower back bumps against the wooden fence. I’m breathless from giggling and swimming and kissing. Positively buzzed.

He boxes me in place, resting his hands on either side of me against the fence with surgical precision. His face is so close to mine I can taste his breath on my tongue. There’s nothing I want in this world more than to have sex with this man right now.

“I’m clean,” he croaks.

“Me too.”

“Are you . . . ?”

“A virgin?” I resist the urge to smile. “Sorry to disappoint, but no.”

“Just wanted to make sure. I’m not completely confident in my ability to be gentle right now.” He smiles sweetly. I reach for him between us, running my index finger along his shaft, stopping at the tip teasingly.

“Hmm, what do you know? Turns out you like me back.” I revisit our conversation in the witchery store all those weeks ago.

“Guilty as charged. I like you too much for my own good, Everlynne.”

Dom lowers me to a dune of sand, his mouth moving over my jaw, drifting lower. His tongue trails a hot line between my breasts and toward my navel. My fingers sink into his hair. We’re grainy and cold and drowning in this perfect moment.

He pries me open with his tongue, kissing me where I’m the neediest, where I ache for him. My legs fall open. I buck my hips forward, wanting more. He takes his time, licking leisurely, until I come undone, physically and emotionally, clutching his shoulders.

“Please, Dom.”

He lifts his body and slides into me without warning. Bare. Several seconds pass, but he doesn’t move inside me. I’m guessing he is giving me time to adjust. But then he starts kissing my face, and I realize to my horror that I’m crying.

“Sweet Lynne,” he whispers, capturing another tear between his lips. “I’m sorry the last few years have been hard for you. I’m here to change that. Trust me?”

Nodding yes in response, I kiss him back.

Maybe Dom does get me, because he knows I don’t want to stop. Instead of retreating, he starts driving into me harder and faster. It takes me a few moments to gather myself, but after a couple of thrusts, I begin to loosen up. To enjoy it.

I writhe beneath him and clutch onto his forearms as a second wave of pleasure crashes against my body. Dom climaxes too.

He collapses on top of me. I sink deeper into the sand, hugging him.

He kisses the crown of my head. “Thank you. I know this hasn’t been easy for you. But I’m here to stay. You won’t regret this decision.” Then, after a pause. “By the way, I’m the decision.”

I smile. I’ve spent years thinking it would never be okay, wasting days and months angry at the world, and Joe, and cell phones, and myself.

At the same time, I can’t help but draw parallels between the last time I had sex and this one.

Both times were with a guy from Massachusetts.

Both were at the beach.

In both, we danced around the subject of a condom awkwardly before doing the deed.

But not everything is similar. Because no matter how much I like Dom, he does not consume me. I’m not desperate for him. I don’t feel like the world would end if we end.

Dom feels safe.

And that’s exactly what I need.



The next morning, we go whale watching, play mini golf, and take a scuba diving class in a shallow pool. By the time we get back to our room, I’m exhausted. Tomorrow, we’ll drive back home and return to our reality. But we still have tonight, and I’m afraid my overdriven boyfriend (he is my boyfriend, right?) will want to bungee jump, go to the rail trail, and adopt a village during this time.

As if reading my mind, Dom gets out of the bathroom, steam trailing behind him. His torso is sun soaked and glistening. A small towel is wrapped around his waist.

“Babe. Do you want to go out? Grab a few beers, maybe catch a late-night show?”

I want to say yes. After all, this is his place. His passion. But the truth is, I miss being Ever. I want to veg in front of a good book and eat things with more artificial colors than actual food.

“Would you mind very much if we stay in tonight?” I ask from my position on the mattress.

Dom sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his forehead. “I wore you out, didn’t I?”

“A little.” I smile.

He squeezes my foot, and it wants to scream in relief. All my muscles are bunched up from walking all day. I’m not as athletic as he is. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get carried away. Let’s have an Everlynne Lawson evening.”

“Really?” I light up.

He nods. “What’s on the menu?”

We order room service and have sex while we wait for the food. The sex is great, and the generic burger with fries is divine. Then I send Dom downstairs to bring us the most uninspiring, common snacks he can find while I browse the pay-per-view movies the inn has to offer. When he comes back, we tumble into bed again, because there’s nothing sexier than a guy who brings you junk food. For a movie, I suggest we settle on a classic, but Dom insists we watch what I would watch if I were all by myself. I choose Parasite, since it won a bunch of awards, and because I love watching foreign films. It’s like winning a free trip somewhere.