Nervously, I licked my bottom lip, tasting the salt. “You can swim if you want. I don’t think I can. It’s too cold for me.”
Shaking his head, he said, “I’m not leaving you.”
So much contentment I felt at these words that even the pain dulled, the water growing bearable.He’s not leaving me.
Under my fingertips I could feel the enduring movements of his muscles keeping us afloat even as the wind picked up and the abrading waves pushed us toward the shore, our twined bodies having no choice but to oblige. I became increasingly aware of our smallness compared to the vastness of the sea, our docile existence, our flower-like impermanence on this earth, which had grown very quiet in that moment. Very quiet and very large.
“I feel like we’re all alone in the world,” I whispered, pressed to him, our legs tangling underwater.
Our lips almost touched when he answered, “Maybe we are.”
Another gust of wind ruffled the surface, and a sort of fog descended over us. I felt my eyes tear up, the inside of my nose scalding.
“I think we’ve had enough,” decided Kai, and so we made our slow and laborious way back to the beach.
My body felt so rigid and heavy I could have been made out of stone, an ancient statue washed ashore after years of being lost at sea.
Inside, the fire was still going strong, and it was so warm that I nearly cried from relief. Kai rushed to the linen closet, leaving a trail of wet footsteps behind him, and fetched us a couple of towels. He draped one around my shoulders and threw the other over his head before he returned to the kitchen to plug in the heater.
“Why are you still standing there?” he asked, laughing, shaking still.
I glanced down at my bare feet, drenched and dusty with particles of sand. “I’ll make a mess.”
“I’ve already made a mess. Come on.”
In front of the heater, I slowly reclaimed the coordination of my body. Kai grabbed another towel and patted my hair dry with it, standing so close to me that I could only see the refined bone of his clavicle, moving as he moved.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice as light as I’d begun to feel.
“Yeah. I feel amazing, actually.”
He looked down at me, a pink, healthy glow about his cheeks. “I know, right? It’s horrible while you’re in the water, but later you feel so… I don’t know. What’s the word?”
“Rejuvenated.”
“Yes, rejuvenated.”
But was it the water that made me feel so wonderful, or was it him? His closeness and his way of looking at me like I was the most important person in the world and he didn’t want to miss anything, not a single flutter of my eyelids, not a single parting of my lips.
Both of us knew it was time to pull apart now, change out of our wet garments, slip into the shower, and get properly warm, but neither of us moved an inch to do any of those things.
Steadily, with a murmur of desire, I reached up and seized his wrist, my fingers at his pulse. His breath hitched, and he stopped toweling my hair. I lowered my lips to his hand and kissed his palm, feeling the heady heat of it against my cheek.
“Anya,” he sighed in a low, tortured voice. “Stop.”
But with his thumb he went on tracing the shape of my mouth. I could taste the seawater on his skin. I could see the muscles of his throat tightening, pulsing.
I glanced up at him, wanting him so much I felt faint. “Do you really want me to stop, Kai?”
He shut his eyes, shuddering. Then, “Fuck it,” he groaned and kissed me, lips damp and open.
The towel fell from my shoulders. There was nothing left between us but my wet tank top and our underwear. When he pushed me back against the counter, I could feel him everywhere, his solid chest and arms and hips melting into the softness of mine. Weakness spread in my limbs, but warmth too. In sheer, overwhelming need, my hands came frantic up his back, his shoulders, his neck, feeling the ice-cold droplets trickling from his hair and the muscles beneath his skin working.
Again, he moaned in my mouth, “Fuck,” while his fingers roamed low now, at my hipbones, his thumbs teasing the edges of my underwear. And in me: a deep, liquid ache. Anticipation and agony.
“Kai,” I mumbled, neck wide open for his lips to skim over. “Please.”
Pulling back an inch, he searched for my eyes, lashes lowered, his lips still parted from kissing me. I didn’t have to say it. He knew what I was pleading for.
