19. Chapter 19
When we returned to the yurts, we found the pool glittering and empty. Both pretty worn from the hike and our fun at the nature-made watering hole, we decided a restful day poolside was time well spent.
On the deck, we had our choice of lawn chairs, padded seats by the pool, a hammock, and what Beck went straight to—a queen-sized day bed, circular—just like the one in our room. A peach cover could be pulled over the bedding to block out desired amounts of sun, giving the chair the look of a conch. He plopped down in the middle, smiling—a king on his throne.
I laughed and took a lawn chair nearby. I was being honest when I said I thought it was too late to worry about complicating things, but I wanted to give him space—to decide on his own. However, when I tried smearing sun lotion on my back in blind sweeping motions, Beck said, “Emily, come here.”
I obeyed, barely feeling the heat of the deck beneath my feet as I padded over. All my nerve endings seemed to hold their breath for Beck and his touch. As his big, warm hand glided over my back, contrasting with the cool sun lotion, I had to hold in a groan. His fingers moved slowly but firmly across muscles that ached from two days of hiking. I couldn’t help but wonder how those fingers would feel in other places. I’d never be able to put on suntan lotion again without getting aroused.
“Sorry. The lotion is cold,” he said, probably because I had goosebumps, but they had nothing to do with temperature. My skin sang to his touch.
“‘Ts ok,” I mumbled, my whole body so relaxed, any movement asked too much, even talking, apparently.
“You have so many freckles,” Beck said quietly. And he seemed to draw lines with his finger across them, creating a picture by connecting the dots. It made me shiver.
“Mmmhmm.”
“This grouping on your shoulder looks like the Hawaiian Islands.”
I laughed.
“They’re beautiful.”
My laughter stopped. His comment surprised me because no one had ever called my freckles beautiful. Okay. My mom might have when I was about seven. Butterflies awoke in my stomach, fluttering at Beck’s words.
“Thank you,” I said, both for the compliment and the free massage via sun lotion application. As he capped the bottle, I started to get up from the bed, giving him his spot back, but then came the voices—Koontz’s loud party boy voice audible over the others. Beck pulled me down, and I let him, my head fitting on his shoulder, my side boob pressing into his bare ribs.
He’s making sure we look the part—like a couple, I reminded myself. That’s what we’re supposed to be. But my heart hammered at the closeness of him, at how easy it would be for him to flip on top of me. Because, apparently, that’s all I could think about this whole damn trip.
“Hey, love birds!” Doug called.
“Hey, loser,” Beck lazily called back.
“We’re getting some lunch and heading back to the beach,” Kat said. “You two should come. There’s this spot where the sandbar is shaped like a whale’s tail.”
Beck looked at me, seeing if I wanted to join. “Thanks,” I answered, my eyes trained on him, “but we’re good.”
“Oh, come on!” Koontz said.
I remembered Beck trying to slip out early this morning because he knew this would happen, that his friends would want him to come along, that they, in their own caring way, would bother him about it.
I planted a hand on Beck’s chest and then looked dead at Koontz. “We’ve got some other things planned for the day,” I said with a wink.
I didn’t miss the way Reagan’s eyes blazed at that.
On the other hand, Koontz grinned like an idiot but put his hands up in surrender. “Say no more.”
After gathering supplies and refueling on refreshments, complimentary of the campgrounds, the group headed out with as loud of an exit as their entrance had been.
“Thank you.” Beck”s head rolled to the side to look at me.
“You’re welcome,” I said, suddenly aware of how close we lay and without the audience. I sat up.
“Stay,” Beck said, grabbing my hand with gentle, warm fingers. “Unless you don’t want to,” he added, loosening his grip.
I looked at where his hand engulfed mine. “Have you always hated the beach?” I asked when I’d finally found my voice.
“I don’t hate the beach.” Beck sat up, running a hand down his face. “It’s . . . complicated,” he said, voice tight. “Something happened when I was a kid.”
It may have happened a long time ago, but the pain still looked fresh. “You don’t have to talk about it. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Beck’s eyes found mine. “I want you to know.”
And I understood. There was something about someone looking your pain in the eye and saying, Your ugly doesn’t scare me. I’m not going anywhere. I’d experienced it firsthand with him—more than once.
I swallowed, bracing for what haunted him. “Okay.”
“When I was eleven years old, my family vacationed in Panama. On our last day, my dad ended up having to work, and my mom was taking care of Victoria—she’d come down with a nasty stomach bug. My little sister was disappointed to miss out on our last beach day. So, we snuck out.”
“Little sister? I thought Victoria was older.”
“I’m not talking about Victoria. I’m talking about Poppy.” His voice caught on her name.
In loving memory of Poppy.
The words on the lantern burst into my mind like a camera flash. My hands went to my mouth. The story was darker than I could have imagined. Dread welled in my chest.
“We got in the water,” Beck continued, eyes on the pool now. “And we were having such a great time, I didn’t realize how far we’d drifted out. A wave went over both of us. And I came up laughing.” He swallowed. “But Poppy was gone. I screamed her name until others started helping me search. The police were called, and my parents arrived.”
I could see it. A young, scrawny Beck with his wild hair and sweet eyes, screaming for his sister. The fear he must have felt. The desperation. My heart clenched.
“They didn’t find her body until the next morning, a mile down the shore from where we’d been.”
“Oh God.” I clamped a hand on his shoulder, my eyes burning with the effort to keep from crying. “I’m so sorry.”
“For Victoria, being near the beach, the place Poppy loved most, is like being close to her. For me, going to the beach and having fun without her seems like the worst betrayal.” My hand found his as he continued, “You asked me why I don’t work for my dad. My sister’s death broke something vital in him. Changed him. He was never the same after, and he certainly never trusted me again. And can you blame him?”
“Beck, you were eleven. If he is still holding that over your head, that’s his problem. Not yours.”
Beck squinted at the pool. “He’s trying to make amends. He even offered me a job. I just feel as though nothing I do would be good enough if I worked for him.”
“I hate that you feel this way,” I said, the tears making good on their threats.
I wrapped my arms around him, but Beck repositioned us so he was the one holding me, his head resting on mine.
“I’m not trying to make you sad, Emily,” he murmured. “Most days, I do okay. But as we get closer to the wedding, I can’t stop thinking about Poppy and how she should be here. And I want you to understand. I would love to spend a day on the beach with you, but I can’t. That’s something I’ll never be able to do with you.”
“Your tattoo.” I choked on a sob. “They aren’t carnations or peonies. They’re poppies.”
He nodded, rubbing my back.
I sniffled. “So there really is no secret garden in your backyard?”
The rubbing stopped. “Does that disappoint you?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“A little,” I said with a wet laugh.
Beck pulled back to point to the negative space between the flowers. “I’m planning on getting her name tattooed here. I’m waiting until I find the perfect font. Something that fits her. At the tattoo shop, the lettering options were either gangster blocks or seductive swirls. Not what I’m going for.”
We leaned back together on the mattress, but I turned so I could trace the tattoo. It was his turn to get goosebumps. I reveled in being able to return the favor.
“She’s why you teach babies to swim,” I said quietly.
“When I was in high school, my therapist finally got me in the pool. I’d have a panic attack halfway down the lane and have to grab onto the rope dividers to catch my breath and calm down.” The admission humanized him even more, and I ached to picture a Beck with so much anxiety. So much trauma. “But after months of swimming, I found it peaceful. I was in complete control. No fear. After I got comfortable enough, I realized I needed to do something. Honor her in some way. Keep other kids from dying. I don’t even know if ISR would have helped Poppy or if what I’m doing matters. But I have to try.”
“It matters,” I whispered, having to fight the tears again.
He gave the slightest smile and then leaned down to kiss the bridge of my nose. For a long while, we sprawled on the bed. At some point, he ended up as a big spoon, and I ran my fingers down the stems of his tattoo until his breathing slowed, and the arm he had around my waist grew heavy.
A deafening crack pulled me from a sleep I hadn’t even known I’d fallen into. The sound electrocuted my senses awake. I dug my claws into something weighted around my hips.
“Ow,” a deep voice murmured in my ear.
Realizing I’d used Beck’s arm as my pin cushion, I released my grip on him and pulled myself into a sitting position. We’d fallen asleep in the sunshine and awoken under an ominous gray cloud. Another boom split the sky with a flash of light.
This time, rain followed the lightning. Not a gentle, you might want to go indoors warning sprinkle but a Hurricane Harvey downpour. For a split second, we sat there, shocked. Not even the little shell of a cover could protect us from the onslaught of water. Rain soaked us to the bone in seconds.
“Come on!” Beck said, taking my hand and guiding me off the bed.
Our hands slipped apart as we ran across the pool deck, but Beck reached back to grab my fingers tighter before pulling me after him.
We reached the yurt dripping. Our chests heaved with the adrenaline of it all. Then we dissolved into laughter, and after a day of sharing such painful memories, it felt good to laugh. It was an ointment for the soul.
Beck’s eyes danced as he stared into mine, but his smile lessened as his gaze fell to my lips. The air grew heavier. He swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple dip past that lone freckle of his. Then he tugged me to him, his mouth colliding with mine. I was ready for the impact, my hands slipped into his hair, causing drops of water to break free from his curls and roll over my fingers, down my arms.
Everything else fizzled away, and I was lost in the press of his mouth, the taste of him—how his teeth scraped my bottom lip, careful but hungry.
We didn’t need the beach. We could make a tide of our own with the way we took turns pushing and giving with our lips, our bodies. He dug his fingers into my hips, and I gasped from the pressure.
I needed him. All of him. I took the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. Beck helped, yanking it off. Heavy with water, the shirt slapped against the floor.
Beck pulled me back as if my lips were oxygen, and he couldn’t go too long without coming up for air. Our chests slipped against each other, wet from the rain yet warm from each other. It was dizzying. I wanted to feel that heat everywhere.
I went to untie my bikini top, but Beck halted my fingers. “May I?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I could feel myself pooling in my already wet swimsuit.
He pulled the string with delicate fingers until my top slipped down, stopping only by the band at my ribs. I’m not large-chested or even medium-chested, and I definitely couldn’t hold a candle to what Reagan had in the cup department, but Beck looked at my breasts like they were lost treasure.
“So beautiful,” he whispered before kissing his way down my neck until his lips rested on a nipple.
I arched my body into him as he swirled his tongue ever so gently over the bud. My other nipple ached for contact, and as if he could read my mind, he reached up and lightly pinched it.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” he said, his breath tickling on such a sensitive area as he unhooked the band, completely freeing my chest.
He kissed his way back up to my lips, and my fingers trailed down that delicious bit of hair under his navel. Beck’s breath hitched as I snuck a finger under his waistband, but before I could find the patience to take his shorts off completely, I sank my hand in until my fingers wrapped around him. Hard. Huge.
“Fuck,” Beck said to the ceiling.
I moved my hand up and down the length of him, reveling in how that size would feel in me. It almost hurt how badly I wanted him.
I halted my exploration to remove his swim shorts completely. Beck’s eyes locked on my face as I took in the sight of him: the very image of manhood. In another life, I swear he was a model for a Greek god statue.
His eyes dipped to where my bikini bottoms still hid the rest of me, and he looked ravenous. I could see his pupils flare in the dim lighting. With light fingers, Beck traced the edge where it hugged my hip. My legs nearly buckled at the desire that throbbed between them. His eyes caught mine, a silent question, Is this still okay?
I nodded. I would let Beck do just about anything to me. His fingers curled around the strings. He tugged, then peeled them off and let the bottoms pool at my feet. I stepped out and watched him consume me with his eyes.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” he said.
“Since the other night?” I shivered as he moved a strand of wet hair over my shoulder. “When we went dancing.”
I pressed Beck backward to the bed, and he let me, nearly stumbling over a floor cushion in the process, and then he took charge, easily hoisting me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist, relishing the warmth radiating off his torso, burning away the biting rainwater.
He set me on the bed, spreading my legs so he could stand between them. His thumb brushed against my clit, and I arched off the mattress, the slightest movement both alleviating the need between my legs while simultaneously intensifying it.
“Oh, I was definitely turned on the other night,” he said, rubbing me with steady circles. “But I’ve been wanting you for months. In your living room when you worked on that mirror.” He bent to press a light kiss on my ribs. “When I confronted you for being a fraud at the office, and we stood so close, alone in that room,” he said into my skin. “Honestly, I think I was a goner when I first saw you in your swimsuit, telling me I was in your lane. I’ve been thinking about your thighs—dreaming about being between them ever since.”
Before his admission could fully hit me, he dipped a finger inside. I gasped.
“God,” he said thickly. “You are so wet.” He pushed the finger in until he was knuckle-deep, and at the same time, a flash of lightning lit beyond the canvas of the tent, matching how I’d felt, lit from within. He slid his finger out, only to add a second one, and I whimpered with the pressure. “And so tight.” He curled his fingers in, and I clenched against him, my body taut with pleasure and need.
I couldn’t get enough air, and my heart pounded so fast I thought it would leap out of my chest. While I tried to gain control of my vitals, Beck fished his wallet out of his discarded shorts. He ripped the corner of the condom package with his teeth.
I crawled backward, and Beck joined me on the bed, placing himself between my legs. One thrust, and he’d be inside. The emptiness in me was desperate to be filled. Before he did, Beck leaned over. Either arm braced on the side of my head. And then he kissed the bridge of my nose softly, tenderly.
“Do you still want to do this?” he whispered against my lips. That deep voice could be my undoing alone.
“Yes, Beck.” It came out as a beg. “Anything. Everything,” I managed.
His lips melted against mine. Then, he dipped his hips, thrusting into me. Slowly, so slowly, he entered. I marveled at his size, at how well he filled me.
“Fuck! Emily, you feel—” Beck pulled out then pushed back in, filling me to capacity and then some. “—Fuck!”
Lightning flashed outside the tent and behind my eyelids. He pulled out again, diving even deeper this time, stretching my core. I gripped his back, biting back a moan, not wanting the others to hear us. Then thunder cracked again, and I realized the rain was pouring so hard that we wouldn’t be audible over the storm.
Which was good, because when Beck picked up the pace, it was no use keeping quiet. His size, his strength, was an all-consuming pleasure. When I cried out, he immediately halted.
“Are you okay?” he rasped.
I ground against him, desperate for his friction. “Please,” I begged. “Please don”t stop.”
I saw the comprehension snap into place, and Beck was quick to please. He pulled one of my thighs higher on his hip. The angle made me see stars. There, he pounded in me with that same stamina he showed every morning at the pool. I thought of how long he said he”d wanted me. Months of pent-up energy powered him. All the tension we’d harbored between us, all that competition, with each thrust, I paid for it in the most mouth-watering, mind-melting way.
I gripped the pillow, desperate to cling onto anything, to ground myself, but it didn”t take long before that perfect pressure and rhythm began to build into aching need. “Beck!”
“I know, Emily.” He brushed a kiss against the underside of my jaw. Sweat dripped off him and trailed into my hairline, mingling with mine. “Come on,” he panted. “I’ve got you.” He threaded our fingers together, then squeezed my palms. He had me pinned and filled so completely. The tension pulled—knotted—tighter like it couldn’t stretch any further until the entire thing unraveled. The orgasm tore through my body, and as I clenched around him, his own pleasure followed. He buried his face in my neck, groaning my name, and I didn”t think I”d ever heard a better sound.
Then, he collapsed, shifting his weight so the mattress took the brunt of it, but I savored how he relaxed into me—the way his breath tickled the baby hairs, how his arm draped limply across my breasts.
While we caught our breath, I ran my fingers through his damp curls. After a long moment, he surfaced, kissing my chin, nose, and forehead before rolling off me. “Jesus Christ, Lane.”
I shook my head, still in disbelief at the nirvana we’d just been through.
“I think I get it now,” Beck said, staring at the ceiling.
“What’s that?” I finally managed.
“Pura Vida,” he said. “Because that was pure life.”