“What’s up there?” I ask.
“Rooftop terrace. Hot tub. The bedroom. Panoramic view of the ocean.”
“Show me,” I say.
He leads me up the stairs. The primary bedroom takes up the entire second floor with an enormous bed that’s draped in gray linen. It’s positioned in front of a glass wall that faces endless ocean. Dyson presses a button, and the wall disappears, and the steady wind rushes in. The water stretches in every direction with nothing between us and the horizon. My favorite flowers sit in a vase on the nightstand.
“It’s the small gestures I appreciate the most,” I say, bending over to smell them. “The little things you do because you listened to what I said. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I could say the same.”
He’s standing by the bed with his hands in his pockets. The candlelight catches the stubble on his face. The linen shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, and I can see his tan line from weeks of living in Coconut Beach.
He’s no longer the man who checked in with an attitude and an expensive watch. He’s not the trust-fund billionaire and CEO the internet writes about. He’s just Dyson. The man who played poker with seashells and fell in love with me on an island when he wasn’t supposed to.
I move closer to him, not wanting there to be any space between us. His fingers find my zipper, and he pulls it down slowly. The silk loosens, and it slides off my shoulders. The material drops to my feet, and the warm ocean breeze moves across my bare skin. Goose bumps trail over me as he takes a step back and admires every inch.
“Fuck,” he whispers, kissing my shoulder and my neck before capturing my mouth.
I help undress him, carefully undoing every button. My palms press against his chest, and his breathing increases. I undo his belt, and he steps out of his slacks. He picks me up, and my legs wrap around his waist.
Dyson carries me to the bed and lowers me onto the mattress. The blanket is cool against my back, but his body is warm above me. His mouth traces a path from my throat to my hip, and I disappear into the sensation of being known by him. Not just sexually, but emotionally too.
When he pushes inside me, I pull him closer, and we move together. We don’t rush.
His hand slides beneath the small of my back and lifts my hips to meet his. The angle changes, and I gasp against his shoulder. I squeeze my eyes shut, giving in to the sensation of him buried so fucking deep. My nails drag down his back, and the sound he makes is almost enough to unravel me.
“Right there,” I breathe out.
Every stroke pushes a sound out of me that I don’t recognize. I wrap my legs tighter around him as he moans against my neck. He fights to keep a steady pace as I race toward the edge.
“Look at me,” he says in a hushed tone. “I want to see you.”
I open my eyes.
“There you are.”
I smile, staring into his blues that pierce straight through me. This time, he called for eye contact and it means more to me than he’ll ever know. We hold each other’s gaze while our bodies move together like one. There’s nowhere to hide when we’re together.
He keeps going as every muscle in my body tightens.
Seconds later, I lose myself with his name on my lips. My entire body seizes up, and I see stars as heat and pleasure roll through me.
“Dyson,” I whisper into his neck, over and over, not wanting this night to end.
He follows a few moments later. I hold him as he releases deep inside me.
We’re breathless and drunk on each other.
He pushes the hair from my forehead and kisses me.
We clean up and lie naked with our legs tangled in the sheets. We don’t say anything for a long time. The candles burn low, and the sound of the ocean enters through the open deck door. His hand rests on my stomach, and he turns to me.
“This summer has flown by,” I finally say, peppering kisses on his neck.
“It has.”
“Do you have any regrets?”
