I nod. Not trusting myself to speak. He slowly unfurls his fingers and I gasp in some air.
He circles my clit again, using his other hand to caress my breast. He pinches my nipple and it sends my nerves into overdrive.
“I…” I’m so on the edge it isn’t funny. A combination of desire and adrenaline rushes through me like the headiest drug I’ll ever experience.
“Let go,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
A moment later my body explodes with pleasure, my orgasm crashing through me like a tidal wave. I let out a cry, despite his instructions, and he covers my mouth again, using his arm to keep me upright, against him.
I’m not sure how long I convulse. Long enough to feel completely exhausted and boneless in his grasp. He kisses my neck again, whispers what a good girl I am.
And I think that’s what sends me into a second orgasm. It’s harsher, almost painful and faster than the last. An aftershock with teeth.
When the final wave dies down, and I canstand again, he slowly lets me go. And I realize I haven’t seen his face. Not since I started running.
When I turn around, he’s looking at me. Or at least I think he is. I reach for his glasses, push them off his eyes. He blinks like the light is painful.
“You doing okay?” he asks me.
I open my mouth and for some reason I start to laugh. “I’ve no idea.”
His eyes crinkle as he studies me for a long moment, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths. Then he reaches up and slides his sunglasses back down over his eyes, shutting me out completely.
For a second, I wish he hadn’t. I want to see what’s in his eyes. Whether he’s proud, ashamed, or as shaken as I am.
Instead, he takes a slow step back, brushing the sand from his hands. The distance feels heavier than it should.
“Congratulations,” I whisper. “You won. Looks like you’re still on the committee.”
He almost smiles. Like he forgot what we were racing for. “Thanks, I think.”
My legs wobble like a baby deer’s as I try to take a step. “I’ll walk you home,” he murmurs.”
“No, it’s fine,” I manage to get out. “Thank you, but I’ve got this. And…”
“People talk,” he says, like he can read my mind.
“Exactly.” I hover for a moment. Should I thank him for the orgasm? I’m not sure. What are the rules here?
“Get home safe,” he says quietly. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I won’t. I’m fine.” I don’t want him to treat me like I’m breakable again. I feel strong. I feel powerful.
And I want him to know it. So I turn on my heel andstart to walk away. I can feel the heat of his gaze on my back as I stride along the sand, my skin still overheating from the pleasure he gave me.
And the chase.
When I’m almost at the Salty Dog I realize I’m glad he’s not resigning from the committee.
I don’t want him to.
And it’s not because I need to see him again. Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
Because this thing between us was a one time thing. It was about me taking my control back, showing him – and me – that I’m not something fragile or broken.
And it has nothing to do with the fact that every time I see him he makes me breathless.
eleven
