by Ember Leigh
“Oh, hello,” I whisper.
“Spying on you all night got me horny,” he mumbles against my lips. He tugs at my bottom lip with his teeth. I draw in a sharp breath, rocking my hips against the thick ridge in his pants. “Mmhmm.” He bucks beneath me. “See, this is the hack to sex on the beach. Huge towel. And cowgirl.”
“Of course you would know,” I tease, but all my conviction is gone, now that the steel of his arousal is pressed against my clit. I just want him inside me. I want to erase the barriers of clothing and have him penetrate me. “And are you calling yourself a horse?”
“You can call me whatever you want.” I can hear the smile through his words. “Just as long as you get on top of me.”
He’s pushing up the fabric of my dress until it bunches at my hips. The humid ocean air tickles the tops of my thighs. Every deep inhale is freedom. Risk. Unfettered lust. And I only want more.
“Fine. My sexy horse.” I buck my hips against that rock-hard ridge, and he grunts, palming my breasts, fingers seeking the tight points of my nipples beneath my bra. I suck in a breath. I never imagined being on top. Not with him. Much less on this beach, where hundreds of people roam freely each day. But hey. When in Aruba.
“That’s right.” His lips find my collarbone, leaving a damp trail to my cleavage. Every inch of my skin lights up with goosepimples. Between him and the moonlight and the humid sea air, I’m halfway to climax.
“Okay. I need you to stick it in already,” I moan, flattening my palms against his sturdy chest. He doesn’t respond, not verbally at least, but he kicks into action all the same. He’s fumbling with his pocket, and then I hear the soft rrrrip of the condom wrapper. He guides me backward for a moment, and I watch the shifting shadows beneath me as he unzips his pants, frees his cock and rolls the condom on.
“You ready, Princess Nova?” His voice already sounds strained. He guides me back on top of him, the fleshy heat of his dick finding the damp crotch of my panties. He tugs away the scrap of fabric with his thumb, exposing my intimate, throbbing parts. He rolls my clit between thumb and forefinger, his breath coming out hot on my chin.
“So fucking ready,” I whisper. He grips my hips, which feels like he’s taking the reins. And that’s fine. I want him controlling this as much as me. He guides me into the right spot, cockhead nudging at the slickness between my legs, easing into the tightness. And then the slow, mind-numbing creep of warmth as he pulls me back down on top of him.
I let him control the pace, because oh my god, there’s never been anything that feels better than this. My eyes flutter shut. Everything in my brain goes deathly quiet. All I can think, hear, see, or feel is Weston pushing himself into me. Even though we did this roughly twenty hours ago, it feels all new, because this is all new. We’ve never done it on the beach before, under an almost-full moon, with the waves lapping at my heels while the anxiety of being discovered streaks like a comet at the back of my mind.
It all adds up to a powerful equation. One that threatens to push me over the edge before Weston’s even pushed himself fully inside me.
“Holy shit,” I whimper, gripping the ridge of his shoulder.
“I know.” He grunts, finding the last inch of depth inside me. He fills me so completely that it seems like explosion is the only option from here. He cinches one arm around my waist, erasing all the remaining space between us. His other hand is pressed onto the towel behind him, the arc of his bicep lighting up silver in the moonlight. “You feel so fucking amazing, Nova.”
The gritty honesty in his voice makes me limp, vulnerable. I don’t know why, but this is the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. He’s not trying to woo me, yet he is. This is special in a way I can’t even articulate, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to move past this.
How could I? He’s so warm and perfect, moving beneath me like we’ve been practicing for centuries. His breath comes out in husky grunts as he drills up into me in slow, thorough thrusts. I rock back and forth in time with his movements, the friction sparking like electricity.
I love you. The thought is ludicrous. I bury my face in his neck, embarrassed I even thought it. But the embarrassment fades quickly under the steady waves of pleasure. He reaches a part of me that’s never been touched before. And I don’t just mean his dick.
“Why does it feel this good?” The question is rhetorical. There is no answer. It’s an anomaly even God himself can’t account for.
He grunts again, his lips skating along my jawline. “You know why.”
He thrusts deep into my core, both stunning and eviscerating me. The meaning sears through me. I don’t know why it feels this good…but somewhere deep inside, actually, I do.
“Look up, Nova.” His gritty command makes lust streak through me, giddy honey through my veins. I tip my head back, just as he takes a big handful of my breast through my dress. His thumb draws a lazy path back and forth over my rock-hard nipple as I drink in the inky black sky. The yawning expanse of the galaxy greets me just as Weston drills deep.
A choking noise slips out of me. I’m gurgling at the sky. He moans and buries his face in my chest.
“Fuuuck,” I moan, not bothering to moderate my volume. It doesn’t matter anymore. Let anyone and everyone hear us.
“Did you see?” His voice is breathy now. Like he’s close to the brink.
“See what?”
“The fucking universe.”
Silent laughter overtakes me. If I laugh any harder, I’ll dissolve into tears. This man has me bumped up against three different precipices at once. “Yeah. Yeah I saw it.”
“I want you to come while you look at the universe.”
More laughter. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. Have I just fallen in love? Like right here, on the spot? Only Weston would encourage me to leverage the galaxy for an orgasm.
“Only if you do it too,” I say, rocking against him again. The tightness in my belly is a warning sign. I’m one hard thrust away from spilling over the edge, stargazing be damned.
“All I need to do is look at you,” he whispers, tugging at my earlobe with his teeth. “Because every time I do, I see stars.”
My laughter cuts through the roar of the ocean. “You don’t need the pick-up lines, Weston. You done picked me up.”
He sucks at his teeth as he buries himself inside me, as deep as he can. “A guy can never be too sure, with a babe like you.”
That’s cute—funny, even—that he thinks I’m the hot one. He’s so wrong. But I don’t have much time to laugh internally about it because he sinks his teeth into my neck. The pressure, combined with the clit action and his enormous cock buried balls-deep and his plea for me to come with the universe has got me twisted all sorts of ways. My head tips back, because he has commanded it, and the sticky, slow tendrils of pleasure begin to unfurl, like the close rumble of thunder on a sultry summer night.
And this orgasm, oh, it’s the rainfall, the blessed rainfall after the humid, expectant dance preceding the storm. Just as the thunder gives way to clear skies, this orgasm is a relief. It blasts me open, resets something unseen and partially obscured inside of me. My thighs jerk and the shout gets caught in my throat as I come, come, come, drinking in the galactic black expanse just as Sir Weston has asked of me.
Yes, I get lost there. Yes, I am so consumed by the passion and the perfection that I cry. Except I’m not aware that I’m crying, until Weston has scooped me into his arms, heaving chest and all, drawing labored breaths as he comes down from his own climax and rubs my back.
“Those are good tears, right?” he asks.
Of course they are. He’s the only man who’d ask me to share my orgasm not just with him, but with infinity.
“Yes. That was just…amazing.”
“It was.” He laughs softly, nuzzling my nose with his. “Holy shit.”
And I melt into him, pressing my sweat-and-tear stained cheek against his.
I’d say that I don’t know what
happened here tonight between us, why it felt like this…but I do.
I actually do.
It’s because of those three little words I don’t even want to think about.
Chapter 20
NOVA
Dawn comes early. Way too early, for how late Weston and I stayed on the beach, rolling around on that blanket, kicking sand everywhere and giggling up into the heavens.
But it’s not just a new day—it’s THE day. The wedding day.
The sheer amount of orgasmic tranquility that Weston gave me last night would have assured I’d sleep until noon today. But Amelia and I, we have another sunrise photo shoot scheduled. So I’m up by six thirty and packing my camera bags when Weston rouses from his angelic and handsome sleep.
“Beach?” he asks.
“For me,” I clarify, fighting the silly grin that threatens to reverse all my forward motion. If he so much as blinks at me wrong, I’ll tumble back into bed with him, so help me God. “Amelia and I are doing one last sunrise shoot.”
He grunts, sinking back onto the bed. “Can I come?”
“Unfortunately not. She’s probably gonna be partially naked at some point.”
He nuzzles into the pillow, his voice sounding farther and farther away. “I won’t look. It’s just that you need my help. I should be there.”
I grin. It’s sweet that he wants to help. Even sweeter that I’m considering making him my second shooter for no reason at all. Wouldn’t that just be perfect? Nova and Weston—photographers at large. Hell, we could even set up a business in some far-off corner of the world. My heart twists at the thought of it. Better not get too wild with my fantasies. After all, there’s a pretty serious end date to all of this, and it sits just two days away.
I need to make the most of the following forty-eight hours, and pretend that end date is never going to arrive.
My chest is tight as I bend down to kiss him before I go. “I’ll stop back after the sunrise shoot. We can get ready together.”
“You better,” he mumbles, and then a moment later he is asleep again. I grin, watching him for a few moments. It’s too easy to get lost in Weston. But I tear myself away—the longer I watch him, the more tempted I am to crawl back into bed with him—and quietly let myself out of the hut.
The morning air is damp and roaring. Dawn has started the cobalt creep across the horizon. Footsteps scuff down the boardwalk, and I see Amelia just coming down the steps toward the huts.
“Good morning, bride!” I gush, sweeping her into a hug. She wraps her arms around me, and we stand there for a few moments.
“Good morning, bestie and photographer.” She sighs. “I’m so worried everything is going to fall apart.”
“Normal jitters. Let’s start the day off right with some epic pictures.”
She expels a cleansing breath, and we hurry off toward the other side of the resort, where the more picture-perfect, wedding-ready beach is. This is where we’ll have her shoot—and where she’ll get married in roughly eight hours. A flimsy white robe billows behind her as we glide down the steps toward the white sand. She already looks epic and gorgeous, and she hasn’t even done hair and makeup. She gathers her blonde tresses to one side, nervously flicking the ends of her hair, as we assess the best spot to take pictures.
“Over here,” I tell her, where the sand is mostly undisturbed and dry. She stands against the backdrop of the brightening sky, and I take a few test shots while she arranges her hair and robe.
“So are you going to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Weston?” she asks, mischief curling at her lips.
Thank God I have this camera in front of my face so she can’t see my blush. “Oh, right. About that.”
She snorts. “Yeah, that! Spill it, girl. You made me wait all night to hear the story.”
I fight a dopey grin as I check out my test shots, but apparently I didn’t fight it hard enough. “Ah-ha!” she shouts. “Look at that smile. How long have you two been hooking up?”
“Just a couple nights,” I tell her. “And trust me—this was very unplanned.”
“No shit! On Monday, you two were at each other’s throats.”
“And now, we’re at each other’s…well…”
“Genitals?” she cracks.
A laugh bursts out of me. “Yes. Precisely.”
The shutter snaps a few times as I leap into photography mode without telling her. The way she’s looking at me, so candid and earnest, is precious. The money shots are close, and I can feel it in the way my skin is vibrating. There’s something intuitive about photography, as much as mechanics. And the best shots lay just around the conversational corner.
“Is it wrong to say I’m glad you two hooked up?” she asks. “I always thought you would make a cute couple.”
“You did?” Snap, snap. “Even though we’ve been clashing for the past four years?”
“Yeah. There was just always something about you two that seemed to mesh.”
She’s not wrong. I feel this meshing now, harder than ever. I clear my throat, pretending to examine the screen. But really, I’m just trying to see past the emotion welling up inside me.
“I just never could figure out why you two didn’t click before,” Amelia murmurs.
“I think it wasn’t our time,” I say, moving to capture a new wash of light. “And I’m not gonna lie. I’m falling for him.”
Amelia squeals, bringing her knuckles to her mouth. I capture the sweet gesture, wink at her, and then keep the shoot moving along. “Enough about me and this budding romance. Let’s talk about your romance.”
I guide her into new postures—toward the sunrise and away from the sunrise. With the robe, without the robe. And so on. I keep her talking about all things love and romance, because the dreamy look she gets in her eyes is too perfect not to capture. She’s going to love approximately all of these pictures, and if there’s anything I want to give my friend, it’s that feeling of forever contentment. She’ll get that with her actual wedding pictures too, but this shoot exists just for her. Her last moments as a bachelorette. The morning before she wed her love.
This is the type of thing I love doing.
This is the type of thing I’d love to make a living doing.
Senior portraits are great and all, but let’s be real, the sparks it ignites in my chest are hardly a fire hazard. But this, right here? I could do this for fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, and still want more. Especially in some place like Aruba.
I remember Weston’s words—You can do anything you want—and imagine some far-off life where I’m able to blend both beaches and making a living from photography. It would have to involve Gram, too, somehow, and I just can’t see a solution. If she wasn’t in the picture, maybe—but leaving her out of the picture is a non-option.
She’s my gram. She’s my ride or die.
“How did you know Rhys was the one?” I ask Amelia as we’re winding down. She scratches her head, contemplating the pink and red hue in the sky.
“There was a sign,” she finally says, giving me a mysterious little grin. “And that’s how I knew.”
“A sign?”
“Yes. I’d already been thinking that I loved him and wanted to be with him long term. But it was when I went to visit him in London two years ago that I got the sign.”
For how close we are, I somehow missed the story about the sign. “And it was…?”
“His tie. It sounds silly, which is why I never talk about it. But when I went to meet his parents, he was wearing a tie that looked exactly like the one my dad used to wear.”
Her father passed away when she was fifteen, so this is a big deal. My face softens, the gravity of her meaning settling between us.
“In fact, I’d never seen Rhys in a tie before then, and I haven’t since,” she says, laughing a little. Her eyes are shining as she looks out at the water. “It just felt like a sign from Dad that Rhys was the one. Giving me the green light.”
&nb
sp; “That’s beautiful,” I say, squeezing her wrist as I come to her side.
“I think we get signs,” she says, looking over at me. “Before big decisions or big moments. Maybe they’re just little nudges. But they’re there if you look for them.”
I don’t know what to think about this idea. Because part of me does rely on signs. Even though they all point toward returning to my shitty job and meager bank account. My innards are equal parts rational and dreamy, which makes things even more confusing.
The sun has shed its light over all of creation by the time we wrap up. She has to hurry back to her room for hair and makeup, which means that I need to be ready as well. We part ways, and on the way back to my room, only one thought cycles through my head.
What sign will I get about Weston?
Chapter 21
WESTON
Wedding days are always a blur. But when you’re fucking—no, dating…well, having fun with—the official photographer, things turn into a special type of Tilt-A-Whirl.
For starters, she is zipping around with both photographer and bridesmaid duties so I can’t cross paths with her for even a second. And I’m dying over here. It’s been four hours since I last glimpsed her, and I’m officially jonesing. I want to see her dress. Her hair. What sort of lipstick she’s got on. Whether or not I can sneak a kiss or ten or more behind the altar before everything gets even crazier.
I’m fully decked out and ready. All I’m missing is Nova.
The groomsmen are all wearing taupe seersucker suits with pressed white linen shirts, and we look sharp. The altar and seats are arranged on a semi-circular wooden patio jutting out over the northern beach. White fabrics drape behind the altar, moving gently in the breeze. Romance is in the air…at least, it’s getting there.
There’s a lot missing; that much is certain as I scan the area. I’m with Rhys and the rest of the guys, reporting for official wedding duty. But nobody else is here.