Page 141
Having fully scoped out the cave, her gaze falls on mine, and she flicks off the flashlight. “What were they watching you for?”
“When I was very young, my best friend drowned. Right here in this cave.”
Brows dipping to a frown, she glances around again, as if I’ve hidden his remains somewhere inside. “So … how is this your favorite place?”
“The hallucinations started here. For hours, I’d sit and talk to him. Conversations I’d never have the opportunity to have with him again. It felt as if he never left. Which brought me some peace.”
“So, they were watching for these hallucinations?”
“They were always watching.” I think back to the many times I felt someone’s eyes on me. The cleaning staff. The kitchen staff. All advised to pay attention. “Hallucinations, or not.”
“That must’ve been hell when you got older.”
“It was. Until I learned to stop hiding. Once everything was out in the open, they stopped watching.” My thoughts take me back to the day my father insisted that we lie to the media about Roark’s death. The way it felt, as if he threw me back into a sealed box again. “Unfortunately, you can’t always be an open book. Some secrets aren’t meant to be exposed.”
“Like what?”
“You asked how Roark died. The media painted a story that he went missing from the castle. They made the assumption that he might’ve ended up here, and water washed him away.” I stare off beyond her, the memories of that night playing on the fringes of my thoughts, and I will myself not to delve too deep into them. “Amelia was always very careful about her medications. I know this. But one night, she wasn’t, for whatever reason. He found them.” Frowning, I lower my gaze to my hands, where I rub my thumb over my palm, as I recall the weight of my son in my arms. The curve of his head in my palm. “It was an accident.”
“I’m sorry, Lucian. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“You’d be a fool to ignore the rumors entirely. The lies never added up quite right, but they were there to protect Amelia.” At the mention of her name, screams echo inside my head. “She just couldn’t live with what happened, I guess. Anyway, I’ve never told anyone the truth about that night until now.”
“I swear I won’t speak a word of it.”
“I know you won’t. It’s why I told you.” I reach out to run my fingers down the edge of her cheek, and grip her chin, studying the soft gray of her eyes. “There’s a certain freedom in confession. I feel somehow liberated with you.”
Taking the hem of her T-shirt in hand, I pull her into me for a kiss, and rub my palm over her toned belly, goosebumps bobbling against my skin that aren’t only from the cold. The band of her panties greets my fingers as I run my hand lower. “Lie down on the sand,” I whisper in her ear, palming the cheeks of her ass.
Without hesitation, she lowers before me and lies back on the sand, pulling her knees together as my jacket slips from her shoulders. The waves have already begun to reach for her, and it won’t be long before they find her.
I sink to my knees and pry hers apart, while she stares down her body at me.
Running my palms down her thighs, I dig my fingers into her flesh and squeeze, anxious to have them wrapped around my shoulders. At the first nudge of the rising waves, she looks up toward where the sea plays with her hair.
“Should we move back?” she asks, flicking her gaze between me and the waves.
Shaking my head, I unbutton my shirt, eyes locked on her as I peel it off my shoulders and toss it to the side. I hook the string of her panties and slide them down her thighs, over her knees, and chuck them somewhere behind me. “Put your hands on your knees.”
Once her palms kiss her knees, I slide her ankles wide and she gasps, looking down at me.
“Don’t move your hands, understand? You keep them there, no matter what. Do you understand me?”
She nods, curling her fingers over her knees, the digging of her nails and rapid contractions of her chest telling me she’s nervous.
Dragging my gaze from hers, I stare down her thighs to where the pink shell of her pussy begs to be eaten.
The first, heavy wave rolls in, splashing up over her shoulders to wet the thin T-shirt that turns almost translucent over her delectable, braless tits beneath. Round globes peek through the sodden fabric, and I lean forward to suck the salt across her nipple, taking the hardened flesh between my teeth.
She squirms and writhes beneath me, her fingers running over the top of my head.
Breaking the rules.
I nip her flesh, inciting a squeal, and set her hand back atop her knee. “Hands where I placed them.”
Taking the fabric of her shirt in a tight grip, I tear it down the center, jostling her pretty tits, before I let each half fall against her chest. Eyes wide, she lifts her head, staring down at her tattered shirt.
She looks like a mess I want to lick clean.
