17. Sawyer #2
But the show’s over.
I reach for the halter top and tie it on, twist my hair into a bun, and slide my sandals back on like nothing happened at all.
I grab the bag with the rest of the stuff I bought and walk toward the water without checking if he’s following.
I don’t need to check. I can feel him.
The sand is warm under my feet, then cooler as I get closer to the waterline, and the whole time my skin is still buzzing from the cold air in the vents, or maybe from the way he looked at me. I press my lips together to keep from smiling.
There’s a nice, even spot a few feet from the water, so I drop my bag there and take out the sunscreen. A snap of the cap, and a thick line of sunscreen lands in my palm, more than I need.
I work it into my skin in long, slow strokes up my calf and around my thighs. One leg, then the other.
His footsteps sound closer, but I keep focus on my task.
My stomach comes next, then my arms, taking my time on my collarbone, my shoulders, tipping my head back to reach the side of my neck. Cool lotion against my overheated skin pulls a small breath out of me and when I glance up, he’s stopped a few feet away.
He’s looking everywhere but my face, and I’m doing the same to him.
My gaze pulls lower, focusing on the outline of his cock straining against his shorts.
Something hot and satisfying curls low in my stomach at the sight of it.
He doesn’t try to hide it. Doesn’t adjust himself or look away like he’s embarrassed.
He just stands there and lets me see exactly what I’m doing to him.
I slip my hand with the last of the sunscreen along my side, dragging it low until I reach the elastic band. Rolling my lip, between my teeth, I slip just the tips of my fingers inside, lingering while he watches. Heat pools low in my belly.
His breath hitches. I hear it this time.
He thinks he’s got me. That I won’t be able to resist him. He’ll never know how right he is, but I’m great at pretending.
My hand drags up again, and I turn toward the water.
The lake stretches out as far as I can see, flat and quiet with patches of white from the sun.
I walk straight in without hesitating, the cold biting at my ankles, my knees, my thighs, until I’m deep enough that the chill swallows the heat still sitting under my skin.
I keep going until it hits my waist, then let myself sink under.
It feels incredible, exactly what I needed.
When I come up, I push loose strands of hair back and stand there for a second, breathing softly, letting the water settle around me.
Behind me, I hear movement—my plastic bag crinkling, a zipper, clothes rustling.
A smile breaks out across my face. There’s no reason to turn around. I know he’s following.
I hear every step he takes into the water, slow at first, then faster. The cold isn’t getting to him like it did to me. The water shifts and moves with him, waves lapping gently against my back before he’s close enough that I feel the heat coming off him even here, submerged, surrounded by cold.
He stops right behind me. I still don’t turn, even though it’s killing me. I’ve always let Knox win. Let him see the side of me that craves his approval. But not now. Not after everything he’s put me through. I refuse to cave.
“Sawyer,” he rasps, his voice low. He sounds wrecked, like my name’s been sitting in his throat all day and it finally scraped its way out.
I let the silence sit, let him wait for me to be ready. But I’m hiding a smile because I did it. He broke first.
“Every second I don’t touch you, it feels like something’s being carved from my skin. I don’t know how much longer I can do this…stand here, this close, and not have my hands all over your body.”
His words sink in deep. I know that feeling. Being carved out from the inside. I’ve been living in it since Owen’s funeral, since long before that if I’m honest with myself. Hearing him say it out loud, so desperately, chips away at the wall I’ve been holding up all day.
Don’t let it show.
I finally turn.
“You could touch me,” I say, tracing one finger along the surface of the water between us. “Nobody’s stopping you.”
Hope flickers across his face, or maybe disbelief that I’m handing him what he wants that easily. He steps closer, close enough that there’s maybe a few inches of water between us, and lifts his hand.
I catch his wrist before he makes contact.
“I didn’t say where.”
His jaw tightens. A muscle jumps there, and I watch him battle with himself as I roll my shoulders back. Watch him decide whether to push or stand still. His eyes flash to mine and I tighten my hold on his wrist.
“Sawyer,” he pleads. “You’re killing me.”
“Am I?” I guide his hand, moving intentionally slow, to my waist instead of anywhere either of us actually wants it. He shudders, like it’s not enough and somehow still too much. “Seems like you’re still standing.”
“Barely.” He lets out a ragged breath.
I float a fingertip up his forearm, watching him hold himself together by a thread. His breathing goes uneven. His grip on my waist tightens like he’s fighting the urge to pull me the rest of the way in.
“What do you want, Knox?”
“You know.”
“Tell me anyway.”
He draws circles along my skin, stepping closer. “I used to think the accident was the worst thing that ever happened to me.” His voice drops, low and rough. “But it’s not. The worst part was surviving it and still not having you.”
I swallow hard, not knowing how to respond. But he’s not finished. His composure slips, I can feel his body tense, his shoulders tighten. The careful stillness he’s held all day finally breaks, exposing the rawness beneath.
His hand comes up and he grips his own hair, pulling like it could help physically hold him together.
“Every heartbeat since the accident has been borrowed time, and I’ve spent every single one of them thinking about you.
I’m done waiting. I fell for you and I’ve been in freefall for years, and I am so fucking tired of being quiet about it. ”
His words hit me right in the chest, affecting me in ways I don’t want him to see.
He closes the little distance between us, reaching to cup my jaw, tilting my face toward his. I feel the moment he decides to kiss me…the shift in his breathing, the way his eyes drop to my mouth.
Before he can, I press two fingers to his lips.
“Don’t,” I say. “Not there. Not until you do what you need to do.”
If he kisses me here and now, my resolve will shatter. There’s something too personal about it, too real.
His brows knit together, but he doesn’t push. He exhales, rough, and instead of my mouth, he drops his head to my neck, lips finding the spot just below my ear.
“Fine,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll take whatever you’ll give me.”
His mouth trails lower, over my collarbone, and I tip my head back to give him better access.
This is still on my terms. My boundaries. If I tell myself enough times, I’ll believe it. My hands find his shoulders, his chest, the solid warmth of him even under the water.
I suck in a breath as he kisses my sternum, and glances up at me. “These tits, Sawyer. My God.”
He lifts me and I wrap my legs around his waist, feeling his hard length against the thin fabric of my bottoms. And when his mouth finally closes around my nipple through my wet top, I have to bite back a moan.
“Knox. Oh, God—”
He groans against the fabric. “Say my name again.”
“Knox.” I give it to him, breath catching as his fingers find the tie at my neck. He tugs it loose and my top falls open, breasts bare to the cool air and his heated gaze.
He stills for a moment, staring, like he needs a second to believe I’m real. “Fuck, Sawyer.”
Then his mouth is on me again and the pull of his lips against my bare skin drags a sound out of me I don’t try to hold back this time.
His hand comes up to cup my other breast, thumb dragging over my nipple, and I arch into it, into him, my hips rolling.
There’s nothing but my thin, wet bottoms, and his boxers separating us.
He groans against my skin, wrapping his hands around my ass and grinding me over his length. My whole body clenches. It’s too much and not enough.
“You see what you do to me.” His voice is strained, teeth grazing my collarbone. “How badly I want you.”
His grip on my ass tightens, and he moves me up and down, his cock hitting my clit in the perfect motion. I roll my hips again, chasing the friction, and he groans low against my throat.
“Fuck.” I grab a handful of his hair and yank. “That feels so good.”
He sucks my skin into his mouth, teeth sinking in, and the sting of it goes straight between my legs. I’m so close already, riding the drag of him through soaked fabric, and it’s not enough anymore. I need more and less all at the same time.
I reach between us, fingers finding the waistband of his shorts, and tug.
He goes rigid, a broken sound tearing out of him the second my fingers graze his cock. His hips jerk toward my hand and he shudders. “Fuck. Yes. Please, Sawyer—baby, whatever you want, just don’t stop—Don’t stop touching me.”
I get his boxers down so his cock is free and wrap my hand around him. He shudders again, forehead dropping to my shoulder, hips rocking into my grip like he’s lost every bit of control he had left.
With my free hand, I push my bottoms to the side and guide him, notching his head right at my entrance. He curses against my skin, hips flexing forward on instinct, and I tighten my grip, holding him there.
“Just the tip,” I murmur. “That’s all you get.”
“I don’t think I—”
“Is this not enough for you?” I start to move away, but he holds me still.
“Don’t you dare move.” His forehead presses hard against mine, voice guttural. “I’ve spent years starving for scraps of you. I’ll take whatever you give me and beg for more. I don’t have any pride left where you’re concerned.”