Chapter 13 #2
His palms slid to my waist, rough calluses catching on my slick skin, anchoring me as I tangled my fingers in his wet hair.
Strands clung to my knuckles like seaweed.
He tasted me deeper, tongue plunging in time with the slow rock of his hips against mine, and every glide sent sparks racing up my spine.
When his hands cupped my breasts, thumbs sliding over the sensitive peaks, I arched hard, a broken moan slipping free.
The friction of his roughened fingertips against my tender skin was almost too much—sharp pleasure edged with the faintest sting.
The waves hissed and sighed behind us, but inside my head everything roared: my pulse thundering in my ears, the wet slap of our bodies shifting on the mattress, his breath sawing hot against my throat as he kissed a burning path down my neck.
He sucked lightly at the hollow above my collarbone, his teeth grazing just enough to make me gasp.
“Michelle,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough with want. “Condom. In my jeans pocket.”
The words sliced through the haze. Yes. We needed that.
I nodded, chest heaving, and reached blindly for his jeans.
My fingers shook as I fished the foil packet from the back pocket; he took it from me, tore it open with his teeth, the sharp efficiency of it impressing me.
Scott rolled it on with proficient ease that only made the ache between my legs sharpen.
He looked up through damp lashes, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from my mouth.
Moonlight carved every ridge of muscle, every bead of water still clinging to his chest. I wanted to lick them off one by one.
He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me into another kiss.
It was slower this time, more thoughtful, mesmerizing me with his want.
Then Scott flipped us in one fluid motion.
My back met the mattress with a soft thud; the blanket bunched beneath me, cool against my fevered skin.
He hovered above, breath ragged, eyes searching mine again.
I wrapped my legs around his hips, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer. He exhaled sharply through his nose and notched himself at my entrance. The blunt pressure made me suck in a breath—anticipation and a flicker of nerves twisting together.
He slid in slowly.
The first push met resistance—tight, unyielding—and a sharp sting bloomed low in my belly, making me gasp and tense.
My nails dug into his shoulders. I couldn’t help the small, involuntary flinch, the way my thighs clamped tighter around his hips.
Scott stilled instantly, breath ragged against my mouth, eyes searching mine.
I nodded once. “Keep going… just slow.”
He did. Another careful inch, then another, the burn sharpening for a heartbeat before it began to soften, to stretch and give way.
The pain ebbed into something fuller, deeper—a heavy, aching pressure that bordered on too much and yet wasn’t enough.
My body opened to him gradually, inner walls fluttering around the slow invasion until he was seated fully, hips flush to mine, every inch of him buried inside me.
We both froze there, breathing hard. His heartbeat hammered against my breastbone; mine answered in frantic counterpoint, wild and unsteady but no longer afraid.
It was then that Scott began to move in long, sure strokes that rocked me into the mattress.
Each withdrawal left me aching, each thrust filled me, the slick glide of him inside me slicker with every pass.
His hand slipped between us; one finger found the spot between my thighs and circled in tight, teasing spirals that made me tremble.
I dug my nails into his shoulders—hard enough to leave half-moons—and rolled my hips up to meet him.
The angle changed; he hit something deep inside that sent white sparks behind my eyelids.
A low, keening sound tore from my throat.
He swallowed it with his mouth, tongue stroking mine in the same rhythm his hips drove into me.
My breasts slid against his chest with every thrust, nipples carving against his skin in delicious friction. The pressure built, coiling and tightening until it was almost unbearable. I clutched at him, nails raking down his back, legs locking tighter.
“Scott—”
He circled faster, thrust harder, deeper, until the wave inside me finally broke.
Pleasure crashed through me in blinding pulses.
I cried out against his mouth, body clenching around him in rhythmic spasms. He groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed, burying himself to the hilt and shuddering through his release.
We collapsed together, tangled and slick, chests heaving.
His weight pinned me to the cushion, and I could feel every aftershock ripple through him, echoing in my own body.
A helpless giggle bubbled up—then another—until we were both laughing, breathless and delirious, the absurdity of it entertaining us both.
“I don’t even know what’s so funny,” I managed.
“My ego is crumbling as we speak.” He huffed a laugh, rolled us so I was draped across his chest, and pulled the blanket higher. Our heartbeats gradually slowed.
“Do you regret it?” he asked.
“It’s still too soon to tell.”
“Right,” Scott replied. “I’ll circle back around in a few.”
“Actually, no,” I said, after thinking about it for a second. “I don’t regret a thing.”
We lay wrapped together, our bodies fitting seamlessly, and for a long time, we just listened to the tide. I couldn’t explain it, but in that moment, I didn’t feel like I had to shrink to fit someone else’s expectations. I felt… freed.
“Michelle?”
“Mm?” I lifted my face to his, close enough to feel his breath.
“I think…” He hesitated, his thumb tracing slow circles on my shoulder. “I think I’m in trouble with you.”
“Trouble how?” I asked, buying time I didn’t need. I knew exactly what he meant. I’d been fighting it too.
“Don’t make me spell it out,” he said.
He was going to have to. I wasn’t about to volunteer first.
He looked at me. “I’m falling, okay?” Then, almost to himself. “And I don’t do that.”
I forgot how to breathe.
“Neither do I,” I finally said. “But I think I am… falling too.”
His fingers glided over my cheek.
“Yeah?”
I nodded.
He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips, pulling me closer until his heartbeat thudded in rhythm with mine.
“Good,” he said. “Then we’re on the same page.”
And that was that. So simple. And why shouldn’t it be? Falling for someone wasn’t supposed to be hard. And when I was with Scott, it wasn’t.
“You remind me of her, you know?” he said.
Instinctively, I knew who he meant. His mother.
“Not in looks,” he added. “More… in the way you carry yourself. You’ve got her same strength.”
Scott was comparing me to the woman he’d loved most, the one who’d shaped him, the one he’d watched die. And he didn’t flinch after saying it. His gaze held steady, certain. To him, it wasn’t a line. It was truth—the highest praise he had.
A lump rose in my throat. My whole life I’d been measured by what I wasn’t—never thin enough, obedient enough, perfect enough.
My mother’s voice had carved those judgments deep.
But lying in Scott’s arms, hearing him call me strong like her…
the old shame lost its grip. He didn’t see disappointment. He saw me. And he saw strength.
“I hope I can someday live up to her. To what she meant to you.”
He lifted his hand and traced his thumb along my skin. “You already do.”
His fingers slid to the back of my neck and drew me in. The kiss was unhurried, less about heat and more about promise. Everything we hadn’t figured out how to say passed between us. When we finally broke apart, he hovered close, and something heavier settled behind his eyes.
“It was an accident,” he said. “Her death. It never should’ve happened.”
I could feel the hesitation, the way his words were fighting their way up his throat, and instinctively I stayed quiet, letting his memories quietly reveal themselves.
“We were in the car when she spotted a dog on the freeway. My mom volunteered with an animal rescue. Carried a slip lead in her car just in case.”
He closed his eyes, inhaled, then opened them again.
“She didn’t hesitate. Pulled over, got out, and in a few minutes, she’d coaxed the terrified dog right to her.
And as she wrapped the lead around his neck, he lurched forward…
” Scott’s voice cracked, and he stopped, taking in a breath. “Dragged her into oncoming traffic.”
“Oh, my god.” The words tore out of me. “You didn’t see—”
“Yes.” His nod was slow, agonizing. “The whole thing. Right in front of me.”
Tears filled my eyes, feeling his pain like it was my own.
Empathy wasn’t something I’d grown up with.
Emotions were to be hidden, managed, pushed down.
I wanted to comfort him, but I didn’t have the right words, so I leaned into him, letting my closeness say what I couldn’t.
We lay there, silent but connected, the waves keeping time for us.
Our breathing fell into an easy rhythm, and somewhere inside it, the night slipped away, leaving morning to catch us by surprise.
“Michelle!”
The sharp voice cut through my dream, snapping me awake.
Scott stirred beside me as sunlight poured across the deck. My father was standing a few feet away, his cold, furious expression carved from marble. His boardroom face.
“Daddy!” I scrambled upright, only then realizing I was completely naked. I yanked the blanket higher. “How did you—?”
Scott had somehow snagged his jeans off the deck and was halfway into them when he swore. The buttons were all wrong. He looked like he’d assembled himself out of spare parts in a panic.
“The neighbor called me. Said there were trespassers.” His eyes swept over me in disgust. “Are you…? My god. Put some clothes on. What a disgrace.”
“It’s not what it looks like,” I said, the lie so pitiful it almost insulted both of us. “He’s my friend.”
“Your friend?” My father’s voice cracked like a whip. “You’re naked, Michelle. With an equally naked dock rat.”
Dock rat. My shame curdled into fury.
Scott straightened, barefoot, shirtless, out of place, and still somehow dignified. “With respect, sir,” he said, “don’t talk to your daughter like that.”
My jaw dropped. No one spoke to my father that way. Not employees. Not colleagues. Not even my mother, when he got that look in his eyes.
And yet here was Scott—the surfer boy my father had dismissed on sight—planting himself between a man who could ruin him with a phone call and me. The audacity stole my breath. The bravery made me proud. And the loyalty, when he owed me nothing, made me want to cry.
My father didn’t move, and for a split second, something like hurt flickered behind the fury.
It didn’t last.
“You dare,” he finally said, voice low and sharpened to a blade, “to stand on my property with my naked daughter draped across you and presume to tell me how to speak?”
Scott didn’t flinch.
The vein at my father’s temple pulsed once.
“If you have any shred of decency,” he said, “you will leave this property immediately. And if you care so much about Michelle’s well-being, you will stay away from her. Permanently.”
Scott’s fists curled, and his jaw set. A storm was gathering.
I laid a hand on his back. “It’s okay. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
Scott turned to me, eyes searching mine. I silently begged him not to make this worse. Not to fight him. Just… not. And whatever protest had been building inside him quelled. He bent, gathered the rest of his things, and walked away.
“Put your clothes on,” my father snapped, already turning his back to me.
I scrambled to dress, fingers shaking. I’d barely gotten my clothes on before his hand closed like a cuff around my arm.
“To the car. Before you embarrass yourself—and this family—any further.”
I didn’t argue. What was there to say? I’d known this confrontation was coming.
In some twisted way, it was almost a relief.
The sneaking around and the lies had all been borrowed time.
My parents never noticed my life until they did, and this time they’d regret it.
Because Scott wasn’t some dock rat they could hose off the pier.
He was the man I think I loved… and suddenly everything I’d been taught to want felt wrong.
Through the window, as we pulled away, Scott stood on the sidewalk, barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand. With the other, he lifted his two fingers in the peace sign—the one he always gave me.
Later, Babe.