Chapter 25 Getting to Him
Getting to Him
Coco
It wasn’t comfortable, to be honest, but the back pain is worth it when we wake up with the first rays of the sun and, without having to say a word, we both sit up on our improvised bed made of towels.
The sleeping bag is thrown off to one side because we rolled around in it so much.
A woman walking her dog on the shoreline looks at us, clearly touched.
I know what we must look like. I wish we were what we look like, of course.
We shake off as much of the sand as we can and go looking for our shoes, which we find by the RV steps. I put on my sandals, he ties up his black Vans, and we head to the bathroom. It’s six in the morning, and I want to keep sleeping, but the beach is not an option.
When we come out of the bathroom, we stare at each other, not really knowing what to do. I have sand in every crevice, and if I climb into a bunk with someone in this condition, I’d understand if they abandoned me to my fate at the next gas station we stop at. This can only be solved by a shower.
“Can you hold my clothes?” I say to Marín.
“What?”
His eyes are puffy, and he has terrible bedhead and a sleepy smile, the kind that makes you want to be with someone for the rest of your life.
“Shut up and hold this.”
I pull off my red floral dress, which is wrinkled to infinity after last night, and hand it to him.
I’m wearing a maroon triangle bra and ugly black culottes, but it was the first thing I found yesterday in my jumbled suitcase.
Finding anything in that turmoil was a miracle.
Marín looks at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Just like that, huh?” His lips form the words slowly before spreading into a smile.
“Well, yeah.”
“No towel?”
“I’ll air-dry, Marín, air-dry. Sometimes we have to get a little wacky.”
I activate the sensor on the beach shower and stand under it, trying not to get my hair wet. My palms feel the water taking the rest of the sand with it.
“Is it cold?”
“Not really.”
But my nipples are sticking out under my bra. I look at him over my shoulder… He has draped my dress over the wall we were leaning on yesterday and is pulling off his shirt.
“You’re copying me now?”
His pants and shoes do a disappearing act, and he surprises me by jumping into the same shower I’m under. He grabs me around the waist when I yelp and stumble. My damp underwear. His black boxers. Water. It’s way too early to be this turned on.
“There’s another shower!”
“I’m not risking getting colder water than you.”
He turns. His back is covered in sand, and I help him get it off, like it’s a reflex.
My hair is getting wet, but I don’t care.
When he’s clean, I rest my head on his cool skin.
I’m in heaven. I’m starting to think we actually were crushed by the beach-cleaning machine and Saint Peter has gifted me this beautiful loop for my own personal paradise.
I put my arms around his waist and bury my nose in his skin. I’m going too far.
“Coco…”
“What?” I murmur into his skin.
“I just woke up.”
“And?” I don’t get it.
“I can feel your tits against my back.”
He turns back to me with a chunk of wet hair stuck to his forehead, embarrassed. I try to look down, but he hugs me to him, dying of laughter. Big fail, champ. I may not be able to see your erection, but I can feel it right where I want it.
“Much better, totally,” I say drolly.
“It’s a natural and uncontrollable reaction.”
“No worries, no worries. You’re in a safe space,” I say ironically.
“It’s your fault,” he whispers, busying himself by wiping off the sand that’s still stuck to my back.
“My fault?”
“All your fault, you little minx.”
I cackle, and we hold each other. I think we’re clean at this point, but when the water stops, I slap the button on again.
“This is turning into a vice,” he says.
“We all have to die of something.”
He pulls back enough that he can look at me. My hair is wet and plastered to my head. His too. He pushes it back. He does the same with mine. I press my belly button against his body to test his reaction: He holds his breath for a second and then lets it out in a pant. He’s really hard.
“You’re really hard,” I murmur. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?
“Coco…” Her closes his eyes when I shimmy a little.
“Want me to stop?”
“You should, yeah.” He swallows.
I put my arms around his neck and press my forehead against his clavicle.
“Fuck…” he moans.
“I stopped.”
“Fuck…” he repeats.
“What?”
He hesitates. His right hand moves down from my waist to my ass.
No, this isn’t a hallucination… He’s touching my ass.
And he’s touching it the right way, his hand wide open and clenching my flesh, digging his fingertips in with a groan and drawing me closer to him again.
I think I moan. I think, because I’m in some kind of astral projection and I can’t answer for what my body’s doing.
We both start panting harder when his left hand slips between us and grabs my boob. He kneads it. I jut my chin down so I can watch his fingers sinking into my flesh and move my hips forward so I’m rubbing against his erection.
The water turns off again, and he takes three firm strides toward the wooden wall of the bathroom hut and pushes my back against it.
His mouth is hanging open, and he’s gasping for breath.
I stroke his chest; he strokes mine, with both hands.
I trail one down to his stomach. His eyes keep darting back and forth between my hand and my face.
I don’t say anything, but somehow I’m asking permission to keep going lower. He bites his lip and nods.
I snake my hand under the dripping waistband of his boxers and grab his cock hard.
He groans, and I moan. I want more. More.
I move my hand along his tight, hard flesh, and he puts his chin on my head, and he moans again, making me wet.
I move my hand with my fingers wrapped around his cock, and we look at each other, mouths open, expressions of pure pleasure, fire.
“Touch me,” I beg, nibbling his chest hair.
His right hand slips into my panties, and his index finger goes straight to my clit.
I catch his skin between my teeth and moan, still pumping his cock.
He slides one finger inside me. Two. He arches them inside me.
He pulls them out. They glide back in. I’m panting hard, moaning, sucking my lips into my mouth.
“You’re wet.” And the words pour into my ear like hot liquid.
We keep moving our hands frantically, moans escaping from our mouths.
With my free hand, I grab his wrist and follow his movements, pushing him deeper into me.
I’m going crazy while he twists his fingers and caresses my clit with his thumb.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I want him to kiss me.
I want his tongue in my mouth, and I want to know if he kisses slowly like I imagine, hard but lingering. Or if…
“Stop!”
I’m still pressed against the wall with my hand in the air when he pulls away from my body, panting, not understanding why I’m suddenly so empty, so cold. I stay frozen. I’m barely breathing.
“No.” He shakes his head, not looking at me. “There’s no coming back from this, Coco. There’s no…”
I pull him toward me, tugging on his wrist. He relents. Our bodies find each other again, all by themselves.
“Coco…” he moans when his cock finds my heat, even with our wet underwear between us.
“We can come back,” I moan too, rocking my hips.
“No.” He puts a hand on my belly and propels his lower half back. “There’s no going back, Coco. And if I have to choose, I’d rather have you forever, even if it’s in another way.”
I barely have time to accept what he just said. Before I know it, he’s gathering up his clothes and striding toward the camper. At least five minutes pass before I can move. Taking three steps back to the shower feels like a voyage.
The water comes out much colder this time, but I appreciate it. I need to cool my skin, my ideas, my sex. I feel like bursting into tears when a mixture of disappointment and frustration hits me hard and makes me feel totally humiliated. But…what the actual fuck?
I drag my soaked self back toward our little corner of the parking lot.
I don’t see him anywhere, not in the car, although I was sure I’d find him there, with his head in his hands, wondering why he just did that with me, when I’m just Coco, his friend.
I grab a towel and dry myself as best I can with it.
The darkness in the camper is violated by the beam of light that shoots in when I open the door.
I kick off my wet sandals, drop them outside, and close it again.
I left a long tank top in the bathroom when I took it off the other day to go to the pool, so I go in, peel off my wet underwear, and throw it on.
I use a dry bikini bottom from yesterday as underwear.
When I close the door of the tiny bathroom again, I’m surprised to see Marín sitting on the bed in the living room.
I make out Blanca and Loren asleep in the bottom bunk; Gus is on the top one.
Aroa must be in the double bed. What an asshole…
She went to sleep in the one that would be most disruptive. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.
I suck my teeth and cover my face because I’m mortified. I feel a lump in my throat, and I pray silently that I don’t burst into tears right here in front of him. His hands pull me closer, guiding me by the hips until I’m between his legs and he can press his cheek against my belly.
“Coco—”
“Shut up,” I whisper. “Please, don’t say anything else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No.” I pull away.
He moves over to one side of the bed and beckons me over. I go because I’m an idiot. I sit on the edge, and he yanks me in until I’m next to him. He looks at me; he seems so apologetic.
“I’m sorry,” he says again.
“It is what it is. Don’t say it again.”
“I’ll say it a hundred times if that’s what it takes, Coco. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know that—”