“You scared them,” she says through a laugh. She spits water and pushes the mask to her forehead. I stop hard, take a mouthful of lagoon, swallow wrong, and cough. The wrong word in my throat changes shape.
Notdead.Alive.She’s alive. Thank fuck.
“You were face down around a bunch of sharks?—”
“Snorkeling,” she says, still amused, not unkind. She holds up the cheap snorkel like proof.
I tread water and let my brain catch up to the fact that she’s fine. Mina floats on her back now, hair fanning, the mask sitting like a tired crown. The sharks are gone to wherever old dogs go when a stranger claps. I reach and touch her hip with two fingers because my hands need to feel her.
“I’m sorry I broke up the party. What were they like?”
“Curious. Careful. One had a scar on the fin, one a pale blotch behind the gill. She let me pet her sometimes until you showed up.”
“I owe you for that.”
“You do,” she says, and the smile turns from amused to invitation.
The last of the cold drains out of my chest. A different heat takes its place. “Come on.” I slide a hand under her ribs and tow her toward the ladder. She lets me.
The bungalow rises above us, wood dark with pale morning light. At the ladder she grips a rung and climbs two steps. The view of her bikini-covered ass, wet and round, is exquisite.
“Sit right there on the edge.”
“Um, okay.”
I move my hands to the backs of her thighs and lift until her knees find the slats where the ladder kisses the lower deck. Water runs off her in thin lines. The snorkel dangles and drips. I stand in the lagoon and rest my palms on warm wood.
“Take your bikini bottom off.”
She snorts a laugh. “Are you serious? People could?—”
“Off. Now.”
She bites her lip mischievously and takes it off, then leans back on her elbows. I lay her legs over my shoulders and feast. The salt water adds its own flavor—clean and briny—to my breakfast. I mash my tongue against her clit until she’s purring for me. Her fingers dive into my wet hair as she moans my name.
The lagoon is a quiet room. The water carries sound away. I keep one hand on her hip and one on her thigh to hold her steady. I make good on what I owe her and take my time.
I want her to remember this.
I listen to the small changes in breath and note the way her fingers tighten on my hair. When I go more to the left, her fingers grip and her breath goes still. That’s the spot. I center my focus there, and soon, her legs shake on my shoulders.
Curses pour from her lips now, and as much as that makes me happy, smiling would take me off course. Instead, I add two fingers inside of her to raise the stakes. Her keening whine pierces the quiet. “There, oh god, right there!”
Her orgasm has a taste all its own as she gushes on my face. Waves squeeze around my fingers and different waves slap at mywaist, but I keep going until she starts to pull away and squeaks, “Too sensitive!”
It’s impossible not to feel proud of that.
I climb the ladder and lie down beside her as she pulls up her bikini. “Was that worth losing the sharks?”
“Yeah,” she says with a giggle. “You ruin things well.” Her voice scrapes and smooths in the same breath. She looks blissful.
I am no longer sorry I chased away the sharks.
“I know why you panicked,” she says without turning. “You have your own ghosts.”
“I do.”
She goes inside and returns with two towels and the bottle of water we left on the table. She wraps me up, and the towel smells like sun and soap. A small wet curl tucks under her ear. “I have ghosts too, so to speak. But I think mine are more metaphorical than yours. What happened to Bridgette? Vitaly told me his mother was dead.”
