Chapter Nineteen
Noa
We slept hard until grumbling stomachs woke us up around dinnertime. Then we only got up long enough to eat, take quick showers, and fall back into bed again.
It was the squawks of seagulls that eventually woke us early the next morning.
“Fuckers will find you anywhere,” Caymen said as I rolled onto my back and stretched the sleep out of my limbs.
“God, I don’t think I’ve ever slept that much.”
“We needed it. Our bodies have been through a lot the past couple of days.”
I could feel the lasting impacts of that. The pain in my feet, my shoulder, my ankle. As well as the soreness in my thighs, calves, and, yeah, ass, from all the running.
“How’s your ankle and shoulder doing?” he asked, lifting up my arm to check my elbow. God, I’d forgotten all about my elbows and knees. That felt like it happened ages ago already.
“I think the swelling hurts more than the fracture itself,” I told him. “My shoulder is okay. Achy. But I think it’ll be fine if I don’t bang it too much.”
“Your elbows and knees are closed up. Still might want to be careful so they don’t open up again, but they’re looking better.”
“The feet are going to be the worst. For both of us.”
We’d both been tiptoeing everywhere, trying not to put pressure on the cuts.
“We gotta redo our wraps or Ama will have our asses. Well, Ama will have yours. Zayn would probably make another joke about me losing my feet.”
“I think maybe international arms dealer was more his calling than medic,” I said, getting a chuckle out of Caymen.
“Why don’t you stay here? I’ll get us coffee and some of those breakfast scrambles.”
“Breakfast in bed? Yes, please.”
And not just because hobbling to the bathroom seemed to sap half the energy I’d just gained from sleep.
It was just… nice to be taken care of.
It wasn’t really a life I’d known.
Sure, my father would have cleaned up my wounds too. Likely while telling me all the ways I could avoid the injury in the future. But he wouldn’t have held me, wouldn’t have offered me comfort.
And guys I dated?
Forget about it.
The quirk of being so independent is no one really realizes your cup needs filling too. Except, of course, when you’re with someone else who was always used to pouring as well.
Maybe it was too soon to think about such things, but as I listened to Caymen moving around in the kitchen, I found myself thinking of ways I could show up for him the way he was showing up for me.
Lord knew it would never be cooking.
And letting him chase me through the woods didn’t count. Even if it did seem cathartic for him.
But, like me, Caymen had led a life that didn’t have a lot of softness, a lot of comfort. I could be those things for him. I could be a respite from everything.
“That’s a serious look,” Caymen said as he came into the room with a food tray. “I know, he even has a damn tray. He, or his staff, really does think of everything.”
He let the serious look thing slide. And I wasn’t about to say that I was thinking about make-believe future scenarios in my head about us… when things were still so new, still so based on forced proximity and near-death experiences.
“These seem decent,” he said as he set the tray down between us. “Eggs, cheese, sausage. Can’t really go wrong. The cornbread seems suspicious, though. And he only had vanilla syrup.”
“Hey, I’ll take it. Vanilla is always good.”
I picked a movie.
Then we just… ate breakfast, drank our coffee, and enjoyed each other’s company.
Suddenly, I could see every morning starting that exact way. Calm, comfortable, together.
We tiptoed back toward the kitchen, cleaning up our dishes, grabbing the bag full of first aid supplies Ama sent us away with, then got changed and made our way out toward the sun pad.
“Definitely needs to be part of the retirement plan,” Caymen said as the morning sun warmed our faces.
The beach wasn’t so far off that we felt like we were in the middle of the ocean, but we were far enough away that we couldn’t see anyone, that we felt like we were in our own little world.
Caymen pulled my legs onto his lap, carefully pulling off my brace, unwrapping my bandages, and inspecting my soles.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Honestly thought they would be worse. Still looking kinda angry, but seem like they’re clean and not inflamed.”
Once he was done with me, I did the same for him, ignoring his protests that he could do it himself.
“Mine might be better than you were expecting, but yours are a lot worse than I thought,” I told him, running the pad of my thumb near his arch where there was a deep, wide cut. “Zayn was sure this didn’t need stitches?”
“He didn’t think it needed them. I heal pretty quick. It’ll be fine. No signs of infection?”
“No. And that’s the only cut I think we need to keep our eyes on. Everything else is more superficial. If we can keep them clean and stay off of them, I think most of these will be sealed up by tomorrow.”
“That’ll be good. My calves hurt from tiptoeing everywhere.”
“Right? Mine too. Okay, deep breath,” I said before swiping some cream over the nasty cut.”
“No, come over here,” he said once I was done and went to slide back.
He grabbed me, pulling until I slid between his legs, my back resting against his chest.
I angled my head to his shoulder, and he took the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss to my neck, making my belly do a thousand little flutters.
“Hey, Caymen?” I called, my voice soft and dreamy, speaking before I could really think it through.
“Yeah?” he asked, his hands sliding gently up and down the tops of my thighs. It wasn’t a touch meant to excite; it was more like he just couldn’t stop himself from touching me.
“What happens a week from now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let’s assume a week from now, we’ll have found the shipment, neutralized the threat that keeps coming for us, and we’re mostly healed and back to regular life.”
“Okay.”
“What happens? With this? Us?”
His hands froze on my thighs, making my heart do the same. I wanted more than anything to suck the words back in. Because what the hell was I thinking? Starting that kind of conversation when we were on a boat. Trapped. Unable to get away from each other if this turned ugly or awkward.
“Scratch that,” I said.
“No,” he said, hands going flat on my legs. “No, let’s talk about it.”
“Okay,” I croaked. My heartbeat, when it came back, punched against my ribcage.
“When the guns are out of our hands, the threat is neutralized, and neither one of us is hobbling around anymore, I wanna take you to a movie.”
“Wait… what?”
“A movie. You, me, popcorn, big screen in front of us.”
“You want to take me on a date?”
“Yeah, guess that’s what I’m saying.”
“Why?”
“Because we jumped ahead a few steps. Thought it might be nice to do some of the other shit. Go to a movie. Have a meal that’s not in a safe house or safe boat.”
“I like that idea,” I said, my heart feeling like it had expanded twice its size. “I pick the movie. You pick the food.”
“Know a banging Italian place. It’s owned by the mob.”
“Of course it is,” I said with a little laugh. “I love Italian.”
“It’s a date then.”
“Yeah. But just for the record, we’re not rolling back on the sex.”
“Wasn’t planning on that,” he said, his hand slipping inward and up, teasing with the little tie of my bikini bottom.
A soft sigh escaped me, prompting his fingers to pull at the tie until it loosened, then working on the second tie.
His hand slid between my legs, teasing up my sex, then gently circling my clit.
There was nothing hurried or demanding about it. It was almost as if he wanted it to be gentle, lazy.
I turned my head, leaning my face up toward him.
His lips came down slowly, the pressure gentle as he kissed me until my toes felt tingly and my mind went blank.
Caymen’s fingers moved downward, sliding inside me. My moan was muffled by his lips.
We stayed just like that for a few moments, his fingers slowly thrusting, his lips on mine.
It was my own frustration at the position that had me turning, sliding my legs over his, wrapping my arms around his neck, and taking his lips again.
“No,” he mumbled against my mouth as I tried to shift up, to slide against his hardness. “Your ankle,” he reminded me as he bent forward toward me.
I leaned back as he came over me, feeling the comforting weight of him against me, then the press of his cock as he slotted himself between my thighs.
His lips took mine again. But this time harder, hungrier, more demanding.
With sore feet and a bad ankle, I had no choice but to leave my thighs flat on the sun pad, leaving me fully at the mercy of Caymen.
And he was not in a hurry, even as I whimpered, moaned, begged.
My hands moved down his back, pushing at his waistband but getting nowhere.
“Please,” I begged, reaching between us to palm him through his shorts.
Only then did his lips break from mine on a groan. He watched me as I worked him for a moment before pushing back onto his knees.
Gaze locked on me, he pushed down his shorts and reached to fist his cock, stroking lazily.
Seeing him kneeling on the pool deck, the blue water all around, the morning sun kissing his skin golden as he moved his hand up and down his length might have been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen in my life.
My own hand slid down, going between my thighs, and circling my clit to ease the clawing ache inside.
Caymen’s gaze watched for a moment before it slid up toward my chest. Then he was reaching out with his free hand, pushing the cups of my bikini out of his way. Closing a hand around one of the swells had me arching into the sensation, a ragged cry on my lips.
Caymen drew in a breath, his chest shaking, as his hand squeezed, as his fingers circled, rolled, pinched, pulled, until the sounds escaping me were nearly pained.
“Caymen, please.”
“No, baby. Make yourself come for me first.”
“No, I want you,” I whimpered, shameless with my need.
His hand drifted down my belly to press against my fingers, guiding my movements until the orgasm I’d been teetering on the edge of ripped through me, making me cry out.
His hand moved away, and I was vaguely aware of him sliding on the protection before he came over me, his cock sliding inside me—inch by delicious inch.
By the time he was settled deep, I almost felt on the edge again.
“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, his lips on my ear as he started to thrust—slow and deep.
It was all touch and sighs and bodies moving in sync. Everything slow and intimate, a complete difference from how things had been before—a new layer of him I hadn’t seen or felt before.
My good leg wrapped around him, my arms holding him close as if he had any intention of moving away as the sun warmed our skin, as our bodies climbed closer to the edge.
“Just like that, baby,” he murmured. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”
Just like that, I did.
As did he.
We were left boneless and shaky in the aftermath, his weight pressing mine into the deck, but I held him tight, not ready to let go.
Almost as if some part of me knew things were going to go sideways sooner rather than later.