by Ella James
For the longest moment, we’re just there together, our calves brushing again underwater, our hands clasped. He adjusts his grasp on my hand and glides his thumb over my knuckles. I stop kicking, just holding onto the float and letting my legs drift aimlessly.
“What were you like in kindergarten?” I whisper, trying desperately to ease the tension in my chest. “Tell me what baby Burke was like.”
He smiles again, and it’s this tentative smile—almost a shy smile. For a second, he looks like he’s debating what to say. Then he says, “I didn’t like school.”
“Really? But you’re a Ravenclaw.”
That makes him grin. “I was a homebody,” he says as our legs brush once more, and sparks of heat shoot through me. “My brother was still home then, when I was starting. As well as my mom,” he says.
He swallows, and our eyes are locked over the flamingo’s wings. I can barely drag air into my lungs.
“So you were sad to go?” I manage.
He props his chin on his thick arm, the one that’s stretched across the float, and grips my fingers, giving them a little squeeze. “Yeah. I didn’t like it.”
“Aww. That’s kinda sad.”
“It was a good school,” he says. “Good people. It worked out.” His eyebrows arch. “What about you?”
“Well, I was at the slum school. Kidding.” A breeze blows through the pine trees, and I let myself sink down into the water just a bit more. “I was here, and it was okay. I had wanted to go for years. Because of Shawn and Mary Helen and Sutt. I was a dramatic child.” He smirks at that. “I thought it was hell to be left with my mama playing Play-Doh and watering the flowers and swimming in our pool all day.”
He frowns. “Wait, so you didn’t live in this house?”
“Oh, no. We had a different house. I mean, it’s still there. Down the dirt road a little ways.” I nod in that direction.
“Does your dad live there?”
I make a face then take a long swing of my drink, and he says, “You don’t have to—”
“It’s okay. He never came back to the house after Mama died. Like, not once. The ambulance took her away to the funeral home, and he got in his car and left. It was her place. Mama was a decorator, and she had it all done up just right. And then with what happened…” I try to swallow, find I can’t. And then I do—I get a breath—and words are falling from my mouth like bricks into mud. “It was just the two of us that morning. She’d been doing good, and then she wasn’t. It was so fast.” I blow a breath out, and his fingers squeeze mine. “My daddy checked out, moved himself into town, so we cleaned out the important stuff and shut it up.”
I glance up at his face, and my stomach does a slow roll. His features are stretched into what looks like horror. As soon as my eyes catch his, he shuts the look right down, but then he takes a long pull from his bottle.
Getting way too heavy. Running your mouth, I chastise myself.
I rub his hand.
“What about you?” I’m going for a palate cleanser. “Did you grow up living in the same house the way I would think? If I was putting you in a rich box, that is. Which of course I’m totally not.”
He gives me a quick smile. Then he’s looking down, away from my face. I see him swallow, see his jaw tick. His head bows a little.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know how I know to say it, but I feel it—something sad about him. And I know that it’s because of what I said about my mom dying. Guess it got too close to something.
He looks up, and there’s this lostness in his eyes.
I don’t know why—there’s no forethought involved. But I reach across the middle of the float and walk my free hand up his arm…and then lean forward so I can stroke his shoulder. He leans into my touch, leans his head down on my hand. I sift my fingers through his dark hair.
Poor baby.
I can feel his muscles tighten in the first few seconds. So it’s easy to tell when he relaxes. He pulls back a deep breath, lets it out…and for a little while, I just play with his damp hair. We’ve been floating all around the small pool, both still kicking gently underneath the float, so there’s a moment when his shoulder bumps the ladder.
He lifts his head, and our eyes lock, and I can’t read his face. He grips the ladder behind him. Then he lets my hand go, and he starts to turn the float around, bringing my body to him—so his chest is right behind my back, my rear brushing his swimsuit. His arm comes around my hips, hugging me against him, and I swear I think I feel him tremble.
I feel his breath near my throat as he brings his mouth close to my skin. For a long moment, I think he’s going to kiss me there. Then he grips my waist with both hands, turns me around to face him, and he seals his hot mouth over mine.
Chapter 24
June
He tastes like peach and nighttime, like pool water and pain and just a pinch of starlight. He kisses me long and deep and hard, and I return his kisses—not by accident this time but because I want him.
I want the hot stroke of his tongue against mine and the way he holds me not just close but also up, so I don’t sink into the water. I want his warm, sweet breath against my temple when we wrench apart to gulp the humid air. I want his gorgeous body, how he’s hard where I’m soft, he’s groaning when I’m sighing.
We lose hold of the ladder, end up paddling together for a second, laughing. Then he’s kicking both of us toward the ladder as his hand supports my head.
“High school lifeguard,” he whispers, as he leans me against the ladder. Then his mouth is crushing mine again.
Some men are smooth and careful. Burke is rough, demanding. I can feel the prickle of his shadow on my tender skin, and when he holds me to him, his strong arm is gripping just a fraction too hard. As if he wants me so much he forgot his manners.
But he didn’t. When his fingers tease my nipple through my swimsuit top, he stops and looks at me with lust-drunk eyes and rasps, “Okay?”
I nod, and our foreheads press together. My fingers stroke back through his hair. I nip at his mouth and he laughs, and I feel it move from his chest into mine, and then we’re at it again, going at each other until I have no more thoughts, only the need to rub myself against him and wrap my legs around his waist.
“Fuck, you taste so good.” His gentle hands are on my forehead, pushing my wet hair back. His eyelids are heavy, but his mouth is smiling softly.
“I’ve been thinking about this.” The words are rough; it’s a confession. He looks dazed, with hair that’s sticking up from my tugging hands.
“Oh, have you?” I plant a kiss on his hard shoulder, my lips finding chills on his skin. I bite down on the muscle there, and he groans.
“Yeah.”
“Thinking about what?” I murmur.
“Touching you.”
“When you thought about it…like a daydream…what would I do to you?” I trail my fingers down his bare chest, toward the waist of his swim trunks.
“Don’t do that, June.”
I kiss his throat, rubbing my palm over his six pack. Then his hand is cupping me through my bikini bottoms. His lips trail over my forehead.
“Don’t try to distract me, Mr. Masterson.”
He strokes my tender, swollen skin through the thin fabric of my suit. “What, like this?” He’s grinning wickedly.
“You could do that…” My voice trembles with nerves and lust. “But if you did—” I lift the waistband of his swimsuit and reach inside, where my hand finds the thick head of his thick cock, and for a moment I still. “Then I might have to do this.”
I give him a slow but firm stroke, trying not to gape as I feel how thick and long he really is. Then his fingers delve under my bathing suit. One rubs over my skin and another traces my slit.
I can’t help a loud moan. My hand around him loosens, but I tighten it and stroke him again.
“June.” His voice sounds desperate. Another stroke, and I can feel him swell and throb. “Oh God.”
Hi
s fingertip dips into me, making me lift my hips. Then he pushes his finger inside, and my body starts to quiver.
“Burke…”
“Relax.” His palm is spread between my shoulder blades. With his other hand, he adds another finger, making me groan. He rolls his thumb over my clit. My breathy cries rise up above the lapping water and the night’s song.
“This is what I want to make you do. Come for me.” He fucks me with his fingers till I’m crazy, clutching his shoulder and moaning as he fills me up and then drags out…then stuffs me full again and kisses my clit with a fingertip.
“Oh God…” I reach for him. “I wanna feel you.”
He presses into my hand, and I grip the thick tip of him. Both of us are moaning, but he shifts his hips away. His eyes are half shut as he draws his fingers out of me, putting his hand behind my hips and lifting me out of the water.
“Please!” I gasp.
“Please what?” His smile is wicked.
“Fingers,” I rasp.
I grip the ladder from a different angle, holding myself up, and I realize that must be what he wanted me to do, because he groans, a growl-like sound, and then he’s feasting on me. He’s holding my hips at the water’s surface, licking me as he thrusts his fingers back in. It’s perfect—perfect—and my back is arched, my legs are clamped around his shoulders, my legs sometimes kicking.
I feel it building as I grab at his hair. Then, with no warning, the bomb goes off. I yell out, and he groans with me.
Suddenly the water’s cool, and I’m too warm. I’m drunk and dizzy, and I want to touch him. I want to make him make these sounds; I want to make him lose himself. I paddle upright, and then I reach down underwater for him. When my hand rubs his bulge through his trunks, he squeezes his eyes shut and grits his teeth as if it hurts.
“You’re so hard.”
“Can’t help it,” he says.
“I can help it.” He’s close. I can tell because his balls feel taut and swollen. I give his erection a few strokes, and his forehead comes to my shoulder.
“Fuck, June.”
I drag my fingertips around the crown of his head, wrap my fingers partway around him, stroking. He lets out a harsh moan, and I love the sound.
Then he’s thrusting his hips at me, pressing himself against me. I’m teasing his heavy sac and stroking back up his shaft.
I urge him into my arms, wanting him up against me, even though his torso’s heavy and we’re sinking in the water again. I’m focusing on his thick shaft, squeezing harder than before, and pumping faster. I feel him swell sharply. Then a burst of warmth fills my hand and his arm around me squeezes.
He lets out a tortured groan. I wrap him closer to me. I can feel how fast he’s breathing. I think I can hear his heartbeat—or maybe that’s mine.
I laugh. “That was so hot.”
I feel him smile against my shoulder. “No girl’s ever said that to me.”
“No guy’s ever been so hot. You’re hung like a horse.”
He chuckles, and I rub his abs. I feel heady, almost drunk—although I barely drank the wine cooler.
Burke lifts his head, kisses my lips. Then he hugs me up against him.
“Thank you,” he says into to my hair as I hug him back.
“Ditto.” I laugh. I stroke his scruffy cheek. “Hey, Burke baby?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re beautiful. You know that?”
He lifts his head again so he can look at me. He gives me a strange smile, both sad-eyed and happy at the same time. “You’re the one who’s beautiful, June Lawler. I’ve been aching every time I’m near you. Wanting what I shouldn’t have.”
He kisses me again, and it’s a deep, slow, lust-drunk kiss.
My hand moves between his legs—because I can’t not touch him. I’m surprised to find him hard again. With my hand cupping his bulge, I say, “You got a girlfriend, Sly?”
He shakes his head.
“Too busy?”
“Yeah.” He groans as I rub him. I cup his balls—so swollen and heavy, I can almost feel myself creaming for him again.
“I’ve never dated anyone for very long,” he says.
“I don’t since I got cheated on. The high school guy,” I explain, working him with my fist. “He went to college and thought he’d have somebody there and me here, when he came to town.” I rub my thumb under his rim and feel his hips tremble as he sucks a breath back. “That didn’t work out too well.” I find the spot there at the tip of his head—the little slit—and rub it with my fingertip. “His loss, don’t you think?”
He groans in reply. I’m still sitting on the ladder with one leg hooked around a rung. He’s still treading water, and I think he’s getting tired, because he’s shaking slightly. He wraps his arm around my waist, pressing his cheek against my shoulder.
Due to how he’s floating, sort of horizontal, I can still I stroke him. I work him a few times firmly, and he groans, and I can feel his dick throb.
“That’s right, darlin’. I think I could make you come again—what do you think?”
“I want inside you.” Holy Lord, his voice is rough and ragged. His whole body trembles now, like he’s on some drug. I know I’m clever with my hands. I’m good in bed, too. All it takes is paying attention to their sounds and how they move, and you can drive them crazy. I like making it good for the man. At least in theory. In my real life, I don’t have a lot of practice. Less than four hundred people, remember?
“I’ve got some blankets in the tool box of my truck.”
That’s all the nudging he needs. He scoops me up and sort of tosses me over his shoulder. Then we’re moving up the ladder like a caveman and his lady.
“Your friend up?” His words are grunts.
“I think she’s sleeping.”
He sets me on the ground and holds onto me as I slip into my sandals. Then he grabs his shirt, a pair of kicks I can’t see in the low light, and my hand. We’re heading to my truck, across the yard maybe two hundred feet, and he says, “Only if you want it too, June.”
I laugh and tug his hand. “I always want you.”
It’s like jumping off a cliff—this fierce attraction, and admitting it. Off-limits, insensible and reckless. He’s not mine…but I want to pretend, just for this one night. Call it an itch that needs scratching.
I open my truck’s tool box, pull out two blankets, and he turns on his phone’s light. We check the blankets and the bed of the truck. Everything is clean, though. I’m meticulous about my truck. He spreads the blankets out and sheds his wet trunks. My eyes lap at his flawless body. Then I’m sitting and he’s kneeling by me. He starts to peel my swimsuit off.
“You sure?” His mouth curves into a smile; his pale eyes twinkle in the moonlight.
“Only if you make it good,” I tease.
“Oh, you’ll see.” He lays me on my back and moves between my legs. “You’re good with your hands. So am I.”
But it’s not his hands he really works me with. He licks at me until I’m brainless, till I’m thrusting at his face. I feel full and heavy at the same time, achy and empty and needy for him. I pull his hair and wrap my legs around his hips.
“I’m ready now,” I murmur.
“June. Jesus, you’re fucking beautiful.” He rises up on his knees, his dick pressed against my leg before he leans over again to tease my nipples with his tongue and teeth.
I can’t help a sharp cry.
He rubs his erection against my thigh. “I’m so hard it fucking hurts.”
I trace the V at his hip with my fingertips. “So give it to me, big boy.”
Burke is panting as he rises up above me again, positioning himself right there where I need him and then rubbing.
“Oh Burke…please.”
He spreads me open with careful fingers and rubs his thick tip around again until I’m nearly screaming. Then he comes in with one smooth stroke, one heavy stroke—and then I’ve got him. I’m pinned under him and filled
with him and shaking with him.
He’s so big…more than I’ve taken. I can’t get a word out, just these shaky cries and whimpers.
He groans, low and ragged. Then he shifts his hips and plunges deeper. I grunt, and I think I hear him chuckle. Then he’s moving…and I’m moving. His hands grip my face, and I focus on his tightly closed eyes.
“Oh fuck. God. Oh June.” I feel him swelling in me. He comes in a little harder with each swing of his hips. “Fuck.”
“Come on.” I lift my hips, rubbing my hot spot against him so it feels just right. “I’m ready,” I manage.
He comes with a guttural groan, and when I’m filled with all the warmth of him, and his shuddering body is heavy over mine, I come undone just the same.
It’s a crashing feeling, a hot flush and swell of pleasure that steamrolls me as my body trembles. Then he’s out, he’s on his side beside me. Burke is pulling me against his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” I laugh. “Better than okay.”
I hear the smile in his voice as he says, “Same.”
I can feel his heartbeat through his hard chest. His big, damp body feels so foreign, but it also doesn’t.
“So much bigger than me,” I murmur, curling up against him.
He makes a soft sound in his throat and tucks me up against him, bending his knees until they nest against mine. Then he inhales deeply, holds it for a second, exhales.
“That was…really fucking good,” he whispers. “Thank you.”
He looks into my eyes, and I give him a big grin. “Did it for myself.”
He laughs at that.
“I’m just being honest, Sly.”
His hand strokes my shoulder. “Got a lot of pent-up lust to spend since there’s no dudes around here?”
“Yeah, and wanted to spend it on your fine ass.”
He laughs, and when I peek up at him, he’s grinning like he’s overcome by my wit. I can’t help a cheesy grin. “Just being honest,” I say again.
“You’re one of a kind, you know that?”