“Why can’t I have you naked?” he asked, still glaring as I slipped between the sheets.
I wiggled out of my undies and tossed them toward him. He caught them without breaking eye contact with me, another one of his obscenely unnecessary skills. “You didn’t request naked.”
He spread out his hands. “Is it not implied?”
“This isn’t one of your negotiations.” I patted the mattress beside me. “Get in here or go home.”
Beck stared at me for a beat, but then climbed in, hooking an arm around my waist and dragging me across the bed. “Mine.”
He moved his palms up my legs, across my belly, over my breasts. He was hard, grinding against my backside with enough force that he had to hold me in place with a hand between my thighs. I closed my eyes and let the need rise up in me, each minute that passed made more intense by the still, steady way he held me. He left lazy, open-mouthed kisses on my neck and shoulders along with quiet whispers ofyou’re so softanddon’t youevertake this shirtoffandcan I have you now, please?
A drowsy nod was my only response and then he was there, pressing inside me. I felt him everywhere. The tips of my fingers, the jowly place behind my jaw, the unholy clench in my chest that hinted at how much it would hurt when he left. But I couldn’t think about that now. Not tonight. Not when I could drown in the glory of his breathless growls or memorize the unhurried slap of his hips against my ass or the indelible dig of his fingertips into my skin.
“Do you know,” he started, his teeth on my shoulder and his arm banded across my waist, “what I mean when I say Icareabout you? Do you get it, Sunny? Do you get that I don’t think I’ll ever stop caring about you?”
“I know,” I said, though I wanted more than anything for him to spell it out.Give me all the details. Leave nothing unsaid. Don’t let me misunderstand.“Iknow, Beck.”
He stilled for a moment, his lips parted on my throat, and the air between us changed. No longer were we half asleep and sliding toward easy, indulgent orgasms. We were clinging to this kernel of truth, hoarding every last ounce we could snatch up and rubbing it between our palms to make it real, make it shine. And we were sealing that truth in stone because we weren’t leaving here without proof—proof that wecaredand proof that we’d said that word out loud, even if it wasn’t the correct word. It was the one we had right now and that would have to be enough.
“Sunny,” he groaned, curling himself around me even more.
I felt like a circle, a loop of skin and limbs and pleasure that came around in arcs that stole the words off my tongue. I was powerless in this position, left to do little more than take what Beck had to give—and that was how it would always be for us.
“Tell me what you need,” he said, his tone sharp and insistent like he could bait me into being the one to go all in when we both knew he’d fold.
I reached for him, twining our fingers together, and I let him skim our hands between my legs. We traced my clit while he pounded into me and whispered half-formed promises to my skin. My body gathered and pulsed around him, threatening to fall apart at any moment.
“Sunny,” Beck said, a demand and a plea. “Do you understand? That I’ve never cared for anyone else? Not like this.”
I squeezed my eyes shut because yes, I did know this, even without him saying it. Nodding, I shifted back against him and it was like we’d stumbled into a new, super-sensitive plane of existence. Raw, ravenous noises filled the room and I was certain I’d perish if I didn’t soon find an outlet for all this unbound energy.
“Let me have it,” Beck panted. “Let me have you. Let me keep you.”
I clenched around him, saying, “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”
chapterthirty-three
Beckett
Today’s Special:
Calm Chowder Before the Stormy Salad
It wasthe kind of slow August evening where it felt like everyone had decided they were finished with summer. The deck was empty save for a handful of regulars who enjoyed gravy-thick humidity and the dining room was moving along nicely but we weren’t flat-out packed. I kicked Mel out because the only thing she could do was stare out the window and watch the book club meeting in progress at Naked.
Since I didn’t have anything else to do—and I wasn’t inserting myself into that book club—I posted up at the raw bar and went to work on the bivalves. This spot gave me a perfect view into Naked and the group gathered inside. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of Sunny and her rainbow cast. It made me smile and I felt like a lunatic, grinning as I shucked my way through an endless supply of oysters.
About an hour later, a lull in the service had me studying the waning crowd in the dining room. A large group of women sat on the far end, near the deck, and if the constant hoots of laughter were any indication, they were having a damn good time out there. Some of them looked familiar too. One in particular, with pinkish hair. I’d seen her before, I was positive, though I couldn’t figure out when or where.
I tapped the handle of my shucking knife against my palm as I tried to place that face. More specifically, that hair. Friendship was a strange town but there wasn’t a lot of pink hair and not knowing was driving me crazy.
Sunny would know. She knew everyone. Their histories, their coffee orders, the right thing to say to make them smile.
At the sound of a harsh throat-clearing, I swung my gaze away from the woman to a customer sitting a few seats away at the bar, an empty beer glass rolling between his palms. I met his expectant stare and realized after a blank beat that he was Noah Barden. From Little Star Farm. Everyone knew Noah. Hell, he owned half the farmland in this town. Maybe more than half. Everything bordering the cove.
Did that make us neighbors?
Probably, yes.
