“It’s weird… she’s been gone almost ten years, but she’s still with me in everything I do. All the little stuff, the choices I make without thinking? That’s her.” He let out a short, wistful laugh. “Maybe she knew she wouldn’t be around long and tried to cram in every lesson she could, just so I’d have something to hold onto.”
“That’s… actually beautiful,” I whispered, overwhelmed by the depth of him. “She would’ve been proud.”
“Eh, I haven’t done much.”
I turned to him, searching his face. “Not yet. But you will.”
A quiet moment passed. Then Scott stood, sand scattering. He peeled off his shirt, kicked free of his jeans and boxers in one economical motion, moonlight sliding over his bare skin.
“You coming?” he asked, already walking backward toward the water, eyes never leaving mine.
My pulse pounded loud enough to rival the waves. This was insane. Reckless. Exactly the kind of thing I’d always dismissed. And yet his gaze held no dare, only invitation, like he already knew I’d follow. When the surf swirled around his feet, Scott turned and dropped into the receding water.
I stood. Hands trembling, I stripped down—shirt, bra, jeans, panties—cool air rushing over my newly bare skin. There was no dramatic sprint, just a quick, determined walk into the surf after him. The water was colder than I’d expected, biting against my skin, and I gasped as the tide rushed around me. Scott hadwatched me the whole way in, his eyes unmistakably glued to my naked body.
“Well, damn, Gold Coast. I’d pin you to my wall.”
Instinctively, I covered my breasts with my hands.
“Right next to Farrah, no doubt,” I said, the cold enough to steal my breath. “What is this arctic hell?”
“It’s the Pacific,” he said as if that explained why parts of me were going extinct in real time.
The waves rocked us together. Scott’s hands found my waist beneath the surface, steadying, and in a way, even warming me. For a long beat we simply floated there, our breath fogging between us as the ocean nodded its approval. Or at least until my teeth started chattering so violently I bit my lip. It was only when blood dripped into the water that Scott took notice and hauled me toward shore.
We stumbled out, dripping, goosebumps everywhere, and ran to where our clothes were waiting in a pathetic, sandy heap. I scooped up my shirt. He grabbed his jeans. Then we both realized the same thing: our dripping bodies weren’t getting back into anything.
“Scott, I’m freezing,” I chattered, full-body tremors taking over. Even the blood on my lip froze over.
He pulled me against him and rubbed his hands up and down my wet skin, trying to bring me back to life.
I pointed at the shed under the deck. “There’s gotta be some towels in there.”
We raided it fast. The shed yielded no towels, but we emerged victorious with two enormous blankets and a pair of lounge cushions. We hauled them up onto the deck, and while Scott gathered our wet things out of the sand, I spread the blankets across the lounger. By the time he returned, I was already under the top blanket, shivering, my pulse still racing from the cold.
He stood over me, the full moon spotlighting his bronzed chest, carving every line and shadow until my breath caught. It was then that I knew what I wanted. This was the line. The place between the good, proper girl I’d been raised to be and the girl who came alive around him. My choice wasn’t a choice at all.
I peeled back the blanket, baring myself to the cool night air. He slid in beside me, skin chilled but solid against mine. The contact ignited us both. Scott’s fingers threaded through my damp hair, thumbs circling my temples in slow, drugging strokes that made my scalp tingle. Salt clung to his skin, mingled with something warmer, earthier—his own clean sweat and the ocean that still lived on him. I closed my eyes and parted my lips, leaning into the touch like a plant turning toward light.
He shifted closer. His knee slid between mine, the coarse hair on his thigh brushing the inside of mine in a slow drag that sent heat pooling low in my belly. Our eyes locked. Scott wasn’t just looking; he was asking, waiting, giving me the last out. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was sure he could feel it where our chests almost touched.
I nodded once.
His hand tipped my chin higher, and then his mouth crashed onto mine, urgent, hungry, the beer’s subtle bitterness now blooming against the salt as his tongue swept in, claiming and stroking. I met him with equal need; my tongue curled around his, sucking gently until a low, ragged groan vibrated from his throat straight into mine, making my nipples tighten against the cool night air.
His palms slid to my waist, rough calluses catching on my slick skin, anchoring me as I tangled my fingers in his wet hair. Strands clung to my knuckles like seaweed. He tasted me deeper, tongue plunging in time with the slow rock of his hips against mine, and every glide sent sparks racing up my spine. When his hands cupped my breasts, thumbs sliding over thesensitive peaks, I arched hard, a broken moan slipping free. The friction of his roughened fingertips against my tender skin was almost too much—sharp pleasure edged with the faintest sting.
The waves hissed and sighed behind us, but inside my head everything roared: my pulse thundering in my ears, the wet slap of our bodies shifting on the mattress, his breath sawing hot against my throat as he kissed a burning path down my neck. He sucked lightly at the hollow above my collarbone, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
“Michelle,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough with want. “Condom. In my jeans pocket.”
The words sliced through the haze. Yes. We needed that. I nodded, chest heaving, and reached blindly for his jeans. My fingers shook as I fished the foil packet from the back pocket; he took it from me, tore it open with his teeth, the sharp efficiency of it impressing me. Scott rolled it on with proficient ease that only made the ache between my legs sharpen.
He looked up through damp lashes, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from my mouth. Moonlight carved every ridge of muscle, every bead of water still clinging to his chest. I wanted to lick them off one by one. He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me into another kiss. It was slower this time, more thoughtful, mesmerizing me with his want. Then Scott flipped us in one fluid motion. My back met the mattress with a soft thud; the blanket bunched beneath me, cool against my fevered skin. He hovered above, breath ragged, eyes searching mine again.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. He exhaled sharply through his nose and notched himself at my entrance. The blunt pressure made me suck in a breath—anticipation and a flicker of nerves twisting together.
He slid in slowly.
