He doesn’t question the lie. His hands spread across my stomach, and he steps closer until only a breath of space remains between us. Suddenly, I’m not self-conscious about what’s beneath this top. All I can focus on is where his fingers travel and the trail of heat they leave behind.
Abel is thorough—covering every inch of my top half, then going over the same spots again. I don’t think he even has cream left on his palms.
When his hands slow, signaling the end, I lift my top just slightly—just enough to reveal an inch more skin—the start of my breasts, the uncovered valley between them.
“Tatum…” The way he says my name makes me lean back against him. If he weren’t built like a wall, my legs would have given out by now. “You’re sure?”
I nod once, afraid my voice will crack.
He exhales shakily against my throat, his breath hot and uneven. “Let me see, then. I don’t want to miss anything.”
My heart pounds. He’s on board. He’s giving orders. One I stumble to follow.
With only one thing on my mind, I pull my top up enough to free my breasts. They don’t remain bare for long—Abel cups them immediately, his palms like a man-made bra. He’s not rubbing or squeezing, just testing their weight, his touch reverent. Worshipful.
I wish I could see his face, read his thoughts. Instead, I look out at the water, and the combination—this breathtaking view, being touched like this—is perfect. For once, there’s no room for worry about my situation or the unknown future. There’s only Abel and everything I want him to do to me.
“Fuck, look at you.” His beard tickles my throat as his eyes roam my chest. Another curse follows, disbelief thick in his voice. I understand—I’m feeling it too.
Anyone could come across us and call us out. If a hiker appeared, I don’t know if I’d feel embarrassed or furious at the interruption. But no one’s here. It’s only us.
“Abel…” Whispering his name, I arch against him as he squeezes gently.
Against my throat, his breathing is ragged and heavy—like he’s the one being touched.
His thumbs stroke my skin, then his fingers graze my nipples. They’re peaking and aching, and when he rolls them between his fingertips, pleasure jolts straight through me.
The moan that leaves my lips crashes into the groan that tears through him.
I arch harder and feel it—his hardness pressing against the curve of my ass.
We’re both aching right now. Maybe it’s wrong, impulsive, but I want more. I want him to nudge my feet apart, shove his hand between my legs, push my bottoms aside, and discover what this is doing to me. I’m soaking. Desperate from sensations that I don’t even know how to address myself.
“Abel… I—”
A bird squawks overhead—a screaming sound that ruins everything.
We jerk apart, panting heavily. Heat consumes every inch of me as my heart crashes wildly against my ribs. I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the weight of his hands, the hardness of him against me.
When I dare to glance at him, his chest is heaving, his jaw tight. And in his eyes—before he looks away again—that hunger is still there. Burning hot enough that I don’t know how nothing catches fire beneath his gaze.
Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves toward the water.
We just stand there, breathing hard, pretending we don’t both want to pick up right where we left off.
He’s the one with the answer to our problem when he spins around to face the water. “Join me when you’re ready.”
And just like that, I’m left watching him stomp toward the water before plunging himself deep, leaving me standing here hot and really freaking horny.
Maybe this is for the better. An ounce of falling off the edge could’ve made everything fall apart. My vacation could’ve turned really awkward—or totally awesome—and I wouldn’t know where I would’ve ended up.
Telling myself to stop lusting after a man I’m only going to know for a few more days at most, I make the smart decision to enter the water far away from him. Far enough that I can cool down and reset.
Surely, this had to be a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. Really, what’s the chance of it happening again? Especially after that hit of rejection.
The smartest thing I can do is stay far away from that walking form of temptation before I find myself in a position I don’t want to leave. Far…faraway.
4
