Chapter 9
After we’ve finished eating and washed our plates in the sea, reminding me of our days stranded together, we cuddle on the log.
Well, as much as a person can get comfortable sitting on a round hard piece of wood.
“You see Lucy?” I ask. His favorite star is the one made up of trillions of diamonds which astronomers named Lucy after the Beatles song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
“I need a much stronger telescope for that,” he says, resting his head on my lap and stretching out his legs.
The position triggers instant anxiety from the last time we sat like this. I bite my lip and push that horrific memory away.
“I still don’t feel like part of St. Nicholas,” I tell him. “Everyone’s treating me so politely. Like I’m a guest. Except for the fishermen, that is. They’re pranksters.”
“People will treat you like a guest for a long time. You should enjoy it. Plus . . . .”
“What?”
He sits up and faces me. “It doesn’t help that you live at the Cocoa Reef Resort. In one of the high-end villas. Nothing local about that.”
“Where do you want me to live?” I huff.
“With me.”
I crisscross my legs too fast. Sand flies into my eyes.
“Ouch!”
“You don’t have to attack yourself.”
“I didn’t. My foot kicked up the sand by mistake. Are you mad I don’t want to move in?” I ask.
“Not mad. More like disappointed.”
“We’ve talked about this, Keston. I don’t feel comfortable living with you so soon. In such close quarters. That doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Because I do.”
His beach cottage, though cute, is a one-bedroom with a deck.
There’s a lot of surrounding land and a pink coral sand beach in front, but still . . . where would I set up bookcases and a desk? Or have space to myself?
But I can’t tell him this. It sounds petty.
“We just met,” I say lamely.
I deserve the glare I get back.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll consider it again.”
He raises both hands like he’s going to surrender. But then drops them and sighs.
“I love you woman. I want to wake up next to you every day. Go to sleep next to you every night. I want you near me.”
“Clingy much?” I tease him, making a pouty face to reflect his own.
He grabs my arms and pins them around his neck. His lips find mine.
Forget that we just ate chicken and dumplings, his kisses are hungry.
I feel myself falling into the magic of his tongue caressing my mouth. The tingle of his hands running up and down my sides and legs, my back, all over like he’s tracing every line and curve of my body to remember forever. Knowing him, that’s exactly what he’s doing.
I’m so relaxed from his kiss that I almost tumble off the log.
Keston’s arms steady me.
When we raise our heads, I hear clapping. At first, I believe they’re clapping for our blatant PDA. But the applause is for The Mangoes, the reggae band.
“We’re missing the concert,” I say.
He uncrosses my legs and pulls me toward him. Wraps my legs around his waist instead.
“Dude, I want to make a good impression.”
“Too late for that, woman.”
Part of me loves his playful show of affection. Another part feels like we’re being reckless with our future. Suppose we don’t work out. Suppose it turns out I can’t live on this tiny island. Suppose Keston gets sick of me. How do we recover from such overt displays of love and affection? We’d be laughing stocks.
Keston lifts my chin. Stares into my eyes.
“I am clingy. I am needy. I am addicted to you.” He inhales my hair and neck. Like a bear sniffing his next meal.
“Oh God, haven’t you heard about codependence?” I smack his chest. “It’s not a good thing.”
He shakes his head. “Never heard of that. How could loving you and wanting to be with you be a bad thing? It must be a first-world problem, as you guys say. If you don’t like it, sue me. Another thing you say up there.”
“I can actually sue you, too, you know.”
“Fine,” he presses his lips against mine. “I plead guilty.”
He moves even closer if that’s possible. Raises up my hips and yanks me tighter against his open legs. We’re as close as we can get without him being inside me.
“That’s not how the law works. You must be arrested first.”
“Give me a few minutes. I might be.”
I feel what he’s silently promising. His tire iron of a cock presses against my soft pussy in sweet anguish.
“Your cock has a mind of its own.”
“So does your pussy.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“But you’ll try.”
I smack him again. “I hate how well you know me.”
“I hate that you won’t let me know you more.”
“In time.
“Time is for thieves.”
“What?”
He grins against my lips. “I’m going to steal time to keep you here longer. Forever.”
The sweetness of his kiss is something I could never forget.
“Maybe you won’t have to steal it. Maybe I’ll stay.”