Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tess
My breath comes in quick, excited bursts as I cut through the lobby, making a beeline for the small cluster of chairs by the door that leads to the pool deck. Kit’s waiting for me there. One ankle is balanced on the opposite knee. His chin is tilted up, gaze focused on the photo of my parents. The realization has my steps faltering just a few feet before I reach him. Normally I avoid that picture like the plague. But seeing him there, peering up at it with a half smile on his face, fills me with a happiness that tastes bittersweet on the back of my tongue. It feels like I’m interrupting a conversation between Kit and my parents. Something I’ll never get to experience in real life but suddenly want to so badly it makes my chest ache.
Kit turns to take me in over his shoulder, his dark features suddenly intensified by the contrast of a huge, white smile. “You look so much like your mom, you know that?” Then his gaze drops to my right hand, and he laughs. “That’s what you just drove forty minutes round trip to get?”
I glance down at the purple sandcastle bucket I’m holding, still a bit off-kilter from his comment. I know I look like my mom. I take pride in that fact. Something about him noticing, though—about the intimacy of it—is so precious it makes me feel weepy. I clear my throat and force myself back into the moment, willing the excitement to creep forward once more and push that aching nostalgia to the back burner.
I take the seat opposite him, keeping the photo at my back. “Unfortunate but necessary. You can’t get anywhere quickly around here in the summertime.”
Kit nods like he, too, has realized this, then holds up the oversize flashlight he was charged with snagging from Mauricio. “So we hunt them in the dark?”
I point through the window to the sun dipping low on the horizon. “Yes. They’re more active at night. Soon as that sun goes down, it’s crab-hunting time.”
His gaze flickers from the glass to my face. “And do we eat them?”
“Not that kind of crab.”
“What do we do with them then?”
I shake the bucket. “We put them in here. And then, when we’re done, we set them free.”
He narrows his eyes at the bucket for a second, a frown disturbing the hard lines of his jaw. He didn’t shave at all during our trip, leaving his stubble somewhere on the border of beard territory. I imagine how it would feel scraping the insides of my thighs, and heat floods my cheeks.
Finally, with a shrug of acceptance, his gaze returns to mine. “All right. But I’m ordering crab legs at dinner, because now that’s all I can think about.”
My stomach growls as though it heard him and vehemently agrees. I nod on both our behalves. “Sounds like a plan.”
He rises to his feet, all those long limbs unfurling, and uses a firm grip on the bucket to pull me from my seat. He plants a kiss on me that steals my breath. For a second I consider cutting the kiss short. Pulling back and ducking my head in case someone sees us. But then I think of his words in the aquarium. I think of standing still. And the very thought of it settles something inside me. That’s how I find myself melting into his embrace fully, right there in front of my family photo.
If only that little girl in the photograph could really see me now. Maybe knowing something this good was waiting for her would’ve made the awful years it took to get here a bit less painful.
Maybe the sweetness of having experienced it will make losing it hurt a little less.
* * *
“Crab hunting is as much an art as it is a sport.”
I can’t quite make out Kit’s expression in the moonlight, but his snort is translation enough. He’s knee-deep in powdery sand, scouring the surface for movement. I’m supervising, while sneaking peeks of his ass when the light hits it just right.
“Brutal way to find out that I am neither artistic nor sporty, apparently.” He must spot the little crab at the edge of the flashlight beam at the same time I do, because he dives for it, landing with a huff of breath in a spray of sand. “Damn, they’re fast.”
I cover my laughter with a swipe of my hand. “You just have to be faster than the crabs, Kit.”
“That’s what my sex ed teacher said, too.”
“And?” I ask with an arched brow, not that he can see it.
He rises to his feet and gets to work dusting sand off every surface from chest to shins. “And what?”
“Did it work?”
He pauses, and I swear I can feel his gaze like a brand the minute it lands on me. “Tess, are you asking if I have crabs?”
I snort. “Among other things. Gotta be careful, you know. Given what’s on my list.”
I can just make out the shape of his arms folding over his chest. “All clear on my front.”
“Same.” I try to sound casual, but excitement has both my blood pressure and my pitch spiking.
“Does this mean we can abandon crab hunting and get to work on other tasks?” he asks suggestively.
He takes a step forward, but I bring the flashlight up to his face in an instant, effectively blinding him. “Nuh-uh. We’re not leaving here till you catch a crab.”
He yanks the flashlight from my hands and turns it on me. I blink against the harsh light, my whole world shrinking to that single beam.
“You’ve caught, like, thirty-five.” He swings the beam to the bucket at my feet. “See? It’s so full that they can use each other to climb right out of there. What’s one more going to do?”
“Give you the satisfaction of a job well done,” I say matter-of-factly. “And get you into my pants.”
“Deal.” He turns and marches away with renewed vigor, sweeping the flashlight over the sand frantically as he searches for movement.
I can’t help but laugh as I tip over the bucket and free my cache. They scramble and scurry, tickling my feet in their misguided attempts to escape. Some are the size of my palm, while others are no bigger than the tip of my finger. They’re everywhere at night, making it even more baffling that Kit hasn’t managed to capture a single one. For all his measured intensity, when it comes to even this amateur version of hunting, he has no grace. He fumbles through the sand, crashing and stomping so loudly the crabs disappear before he’s even made it close.
After another failed attempt, he grumbles, “You make it look so easy!”
I shrug into the darkness, smiling even though he can’t see me. “Lots of practice. My dad guided us on at least one hunting session per summer. Sometimes two, if I was being restless. Though I think the second one was to let Mom grab an extra nap when I was driving her crazy.”
“You? Driving someone crazy? Impos— oof!”
We fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, me straddling him from behind and him landing full-frontal on the ground with a grunt. I nip his ear, tiny granules of sand coating my lips. “Take it back.”
“Did you just tackle me?” He huffs in disbelief. Then he rolls us, careful to disentangle himself so he doesn’t squish me in the scramble. In a flash, he has me pinned beneath him, and I’m breathlessly trying to figure out how he managed to turn the tables so easily. The flashlight casts us in stark relief, his left side blindingly clear while his right remains in shadow. “Say you’re sorry.”
“Excuse me? You’re the one who should say sorry!” I squeal.
He shakes his head, and sand rains down from his hair to dust my face. “I was about to catch one when you pounced on me.”
“You called me crazy.”
“No,” he corrects, chest heaving with rapid breaths. “I said you drive people crazy. There’s a difference.”
“And the difference is…?”
“Crazy would be me scooping you up and dragging you into the ocean in the dark.”
My lips pop open, and his gaze drops to meet them. I narrow my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He goes on like I haven’t spoken, still zeroed in on my mouth. “But if I stripped you bare and took you right here on this beach, I bet that’d drive you crazy.”
My heart soars into my throat. Every bit of pent-up tension coils tightly in my abdomen, begging for release. There’s sand everywhere, people with balconies not even a hundred yards from where we lie, yet even with all these impracticalities, I find myself picturing it. Wearing nothing but moonlight while I finally figure out what it feels like to have Kit Llewellyn inside me.
I swallow hard, blinking away the image even as heat grows in intensity between my thighs. “You wouldn’t dare.”
The corner of his mouth tips into shadow. “You said that already.”
He starts tickling my side, and the sound that escapes me is somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. But that’s impossible, because his hands are currently occupied with pinning mine on either side of my head. The tickling sensation intensifies and moves, climbing the lattice of one exposed rib and disappearing when it reaches my bandeau. I glance down, and Kit does too. There, in the small space he’s left between our chests, a tiny crab has paused to stare at me. Or us. I can never tell what direction their eyes are pointed.
Kit shifts his weight slowly, backing onto his knees and releasing my hands.
“Be gentle,” I whisper.
“Always am.” The words are dark and double-edged, implying a second meaning that I can’t help but ponder at, though I get the feeling I’ll find out for myself soon enough.
His hand brushes my breast as he sweeps up the little crab, causing me to ache in more ways than one. He brings it close to take a better look, and from my vantage point, I see both the cradle of his strong hands and the impossibly beautiful smile that breaks up the shadows on his face.
“Hi, little guy,” he coos. “You just made me the luckiest man on earth, you know that?” His gaze flickers from the crab to me, and he quirks a brow. “So, can we cross crab hunting off the list?”
I swallow hard and nod, feeling sand bury itself farther in my hair. “I’d say so.”
“Good.” He lowers the crab into the sand on my right and releases it to scurry free. Then he begins to rise, offering a hand that I gladly accept. We both make it upright while I imagine that little crab running for its life somewhere in the dark.
I sweep a hand over my body. “I’m covered in sand.”
“You won’t be in a second.” He gathers the bucket, the flashlight, and finally, my hand, then starts toward the wooden walkway leading back to the Carmen.
Our footsteps thud over weather-worn wood, still warm though the sun set hours ago. Light from the pool deck spills down the path, stopping just a few feet short of the outcrop where several showerheads were installed for rinsing off before returning to the resort. Kit sets our bucket on the railing, then clicks off the flashlight and sets it inside the container. He kicks off his shoes and turns to me. “Anything you don’t want getting wet, you better take it off right now.”
He says it wickedly. Teasingly. I quickly unbutton my jean shorts and lower them to the ground, revealing bikini bottoms beneath. My bandeau top is white and will be made see-through the moment it gets wet, but I don’t have any alternatives, so I leave it in place. Kit’s eyes glitter in the near-darkness as he takes me in, a guttural sound vibrating his throat. He strips his shirt off and shucks his flip-flops, leaving him bare-chested in a pair of board shorts with no more than a five-inch inseam.
He really is beautiful. My eyes have adjusted to the shadows, and despite them, I can make out the lines of muscle and sinew carving out his abdomen. Broad shoulders swell into firm biceps, then hollow out to form valleys between the corded veins of his forearms. My gaze drops to his legs, and the taut thighs that fill out the hem of his shorts. Every hour spent running, training, whatever else it is he does to stay in shape for his job—it has paid off. Royally.
The pipes squeal as he turns the faucet on. Lukewarm water spews from the overhead spout. Kit pulls me beneath the spray, instantly dousing us both. His hands roam my skin under the guise of wiping off sand, but I know better. He palms my ass. Cups my breasts through my top. Turns me toward him and pulls me in close to stroke my spine.
His hands are warm everywhere they touch me. I find myself craving the rasp of his fingertips, arching into it like a cat seeking affection.
“Feeling clean yet?” he whispers against my hair.
“Mm,” I hum. “I think you might’ve missed a spot.”
He pulls back enough to lock eyes with me. “And where’s that?”
I turn, aligning my back with the hard ridges of his muscular chest. He’s facing away from the resort, which leaves me blanketed in his shadow. With my gaze trained on the dark, undulating ocean, I grab his hand and guide it over my abdomen, to the seam of my bottoms, then slip it beneath. How long have I imagined this moment? How it would feel? Countless times, even when I knew I shouldn’t. But I never could’ve imagined the delicious scrape of his calluses brushing my sensitive skin. I sigh at the sensation, letting my head loll as his hand dips lower of its own accord.
His fingertips brush my throbbing clit, drawing a shocked gasp from my lungs. His hips surge forward as though on instinct, pressing the hard ridge of his desire into the hollow at the base of my spine. “ Fuck. ”
He delves lower, spreading me to test my desire. I’m soaked. I don’t need to touch myself to know it. He strokes my wetness, coating his fingers, then plunges into my aching core. First one finger, then two. I bite my lip to swallow my cry. So good. He feels so good. Even like this, which is nothing compared to what I want from him. But he handles me perfectly, curling his fingers to stroke me in a steady rhythm, drawing me to an edge I hadn’t even realized was so close.
Straddling his hand, I rest my head against his collarbone and groan his name as loud as I dare. “Oh God, Kit.”
“You’re so wet for me, gorgeous. So ready.”
And I am. Because for all my teasing, I probably want this even more than he does. So I surrender myself to the feeling of his fingers sinking into my aching core. Every nerve ending in my body is a live wire. From the warmth of his hard palm against my hip to the rivulets of water spilling over my pebbled skin to his breath, hot and quick as it brushes my throat. It stokes the flame higher. Demands my attention. I forget my surroundings and lose myself in him, riding his hand the way I want to ride the man attached to it, biting my bottom lip so hard I’m certain it’ll bleed. In a matter of seconds, any worry that someone will see is lost to the feeling building in my belly, like a wave of pleasure surging toward a break.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Tess. Taking your pleasure. Are you going to come for me, baby? Right here, where anyone could see. Are you going to fuck yourself on my hand until you scream?”
His words are as tantalizing as his touch. I soak in every sensation: The hard press of his palm against my throbbing clit. The burning heat of his other hand moving to grip my breast and pinch my nipple through the thin fabric of my bandeau top. And finally, the whisper of my name against the hollow behind my ear that sends me skyward, exploding like it’s the Fourth of July and I’m the show everyone came to see.
I choke on my own cries, fighting and failing to keep quiet. Kit helps. He releases my breast to cover my mouth, grip so tight on my jawline that I come harder, riding his hand until my legs feel like they’ll collapse beneath me if I try to take one single step.
“That’s right, baby. You did so good.” He nips my shoulder at the same time he removes his hand from beneath my waistband, then brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them clean. “You taste like heaven.”
On wobbly legs, I turn to him, rising on my tiptoes to take a taste for myself. Our tongues tangle and dance, mixing the spice that is him with the flavor of my desire. At some point he reaches back to kill the spray of the shower, replacing its warm blanket with a breeze that has my nipples aching against my top.
Kit steps back, bracing me with a hand on either shoulder, and smiles. “You’re incredible, you know that?”
I nod, smiling breathlessly up at him. “Can you take me to your room? Now. ”
He chuckles darkly. “So bossy.” Then his gaze drifts lower, and he arches a brow. “What will we do about this?”
A quick glance downward confirms my suspicions. My top is completely transparent, dark pink nipples making themselves known through the fabric. I suck in a breath through my teeth and peer up at Kit. “Looks like I’m borrowing your shirt.”
He retrieves it from the railing and tosses it my way with a wink. “Not for long.”
We dress quickly, gather our things, and run hand in hand up the boardwalk.