I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up #3)(30)

Rian slips her shoes off as we make our away across the white sand to the shoreline. The water laps at her feet, and she stares out across the horizon, captivated by the sliver of sun sinking into the water. The waning light reflects in her hair and on her face. Her cheeks are pink from too much sun, but the golden glow frames her face.

“God, the view is gorgeous,” she murmurs.

“It really is.” I tuck a loose tendril of hair behind her ear and bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing when she looks my way and rolls her eyes.

“Please hold your cheesy lines.”

“You really are beautiful.”

“You can stop now.” Her cheeks flush further, and she moves deeper into the surf.

Dusk has settled, sending a gray cast over the beach and darkening the water. Rian stumbles and then shrieks. She flails, her vigor creating a wide splash radius that manages to reach me. “Something’s touching me!”

It’s too dark to see what it is, so I drop the bags on the beach and rush to remove my shoes.

“Ow! Oh my God! I don’t know what that is! What if it’s a shark? I stepped on something slimy and it’s moving!”

I laugh. She’s standing in less than a foot of water. There’s no way it’s a shark, at least not one that could actually do any damage. It’s more likely something harmless, or a jellyfish at the very worst.

She launches herself at me as soon as I’m close enough. She’s not all that graceful about it, and her aim is off, so I have to rush to catch her before she falls face-first into the shallow water. She scales me, wrapping her legs around my waist while slapping at her ankle. Her chosen position isn’t a great one, my right arm is pinned to my side—by her crotch.

She’s a lot stronger than she looks, considering the way she’s hanging off me. The side of her face is pressed against my chest as she reaches around to pull at whatever has her so tangled up. She sets me off balance as she continues to kick and flail, causing us to both go down.

I spin so I’m the one who lands on my back in about six inches of water. She drops onto my chest with a grunt. “I got it!” she yells, victorious, thrusting her arm in the air.

I check out the offending attacker. “Some lethal seaweed you got there, huh?”

She glances at the green slippery leaves in her hand and frowns, then looks down at me, still half lying in the water. My pants and shirt are soaked through the back. Her jeans are wet, and her shirt is splotchy with water.

She cringes and bites her lip, one hand planted on my chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“You know, if you wanted to get your hands on me, all you had to do was ask. You didn’t need to pretend you were being eaten by the plankton.”

“That wasn’t … I didn’t mean to…” She doesn’t make a move to get up, despite the way the tide rushes in rhythmic sweeps every few seconds, covering her calves and licking at my elbows.

Now that I have her this close and unguarded, I’m fully prepared to take advantage of the situation. I sit up in a rush, upsetting her balance once again. She grabs my shoulders as I bring a knee up to prevent her from toppling backward, and wind an arm around her waist.

We’re face-to-face. Her eyes lock on mine, full lips parted. I want to know what they feel like. I want to find out if she kisses like she’s fighting or submitting. Or maybe both.

I brush her cheek with mine, breathing her in, mouths close but not touching She stills. I wonder what’s going through her head in that suspended moment. Whatever the conflict, she must resign herself because the hand on my chest slides into the wet hair at the nape of my neck and she turns in instead of away, nipping at my bottom lip.

First kisses are powerful. This imperfect situation has all the right components. Romantic with a setting sun backdrop and a beach—not ideal that I’m mostly soaking wet, but definitely memorable.

Her lips part in expectation, but I don’t claim her mouth. Not yet. Instead, I sweep my lips along the edge of her jaw. She shivers, fingers flexing against the back of my neck, nails biting in as she tips her head back, exposing the long, gentle line of her throat. I run my nose down the expanse and press my lips against the sensitive space where her neck meets her shoulder.

Threading my fingers through the long silky strands, I cup the back of her head so I can adjust the angle. I nibble along her throat until my lips are almost at her ear and suck on the sensitive skin there, smiling at her soft gasp.

“Rian.”

She makes a sound, more of a moan than anything, really.

“I’d like to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

I get another moan, this one lower, and she attempts to turn toward me.

I duck my head, lips moving along her collarbone and up the other side of her throat. Then I follow the edge of her jaw, slow, soft brushes interspersed with light nibbles the closer I get to her chin.

She must realize I’m not rushing this, because she stops trying to twist her head toward my mouth. Instead, she readjusts her position, settling her weight on my thighs, edging closer until her chest meets mine. One hand stays against the nape of my neck, while the other begins to wander, sliding down my bicep. I feel a slight squeeze before it drifts along my forearm to where my hand rests on the dip in her waist.

Her pinkie slips under mine, possibly in a subtle attempt to encourage me to touch more of her. While that’s definitely something I want to do—eventually—I also don’t want her attention divided.