Lips Close to Mine (Wherever You Go)

by Bielman, Robin

  His looks, his attitude, his kind words—no matter how hard I try, I’m helpless against them. “I could probably reschedule my lessons so I’m done at eleven on Friday. Would that be better?” He didn’t say my time constraint was a problem, but I’m thinking it is.

  “It would. Thanks.”

  He continues to lightly rub my back, and I’m so relaxed my eyes drift shut.

  “Can I ask you something?” he says.

  “Sure.” He’s got me feeling very agreeable at the moment.

  “Who drowned?”

  My eyes shoot open. My heart jumps into my throat. He tried this once before and it didn’t work. What makes him think it will now? I sit up, crossing my arm over my chest to keep my top in place. The quick movement makes me light-headed, and it takes a second for my vision to clear. Twisting I say, “Mind tying me?”

  He finds the strings dangling at my sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” The simple act of tying my swimsuit shouldn’t feel intimate, but somehow it does. He’s putting me back together slowly but surely, in more ways than one.

  “You didn’t. I just don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I get it.”

  I spin back around. “What do you get?” For a moment, I’m lost. Lost in his tanned, well-defined bare chest. I’d been so focused on his face while lying down I’d failed to notice his body. His nipples are round and flat, the color of cinnamon. A light dusting of freckles covers his muscled shoulders. My gaze dips to his abs. The muscle there is sinewy enough to look sexy, not burly.

  He smirks when I look back up. Then he returns the inspection, running his eyes over me while I watch. I’m furious when my nipples point at him.

  “I’m hungry.” I start to stand.

  “Me, too.” There is no innuendo as he stops me with a hand to my wrist. I plop back down, my nerves mixed up because he obviously has something serious to say. “But I’d like to answer your question first.”

  “Go ahead.” I look down at my lap.

  He gently takes my chin between his thumb and finger, lifting my face to meet his warm, sincere eyes. “I know that you don’t want me getting too close.”

  “Good. I’d appreciate not having to remind you of that again.” I sound unfriendly and coldhearted and don’t like myself for it, but I’m not going to apologize for being this way. This is who I’ve practiced to be. Levi’s efforts are wasted on a girl like me. My walls are not coming down.

  “Here’s the thing,” he says pleasantly, like my tone and disposition don’t bother him in the least. “I think you need me.”

  “I don’t,” I huff.

  “You do.”

  “Oh my God.” I lean away from him so that he drops his arm. “I thought Mateo was the one with the big head. Boy, was I wrong. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

  A smug smile takes over his full lips.

  “Why are you smiling at that?”

  “You just proved me right. When someone says they don’t need anyone, it absolutely means they do and they’re afraid to admit it.”

  “That’s bullshit. It means I’m independent and happy to figure things out on my own.” I put my sunglasses back on. I don’t want him seeing any hint of the truth. That I’m the kind of hurt he can’t fix. No one can. That he thinks I need fixing hurts, too. I’m good the way I am. Truly. It’s only when I’m with him that I wonder if I am missing out.

  “I’m not refuting that.”

  “Can we just stop talking, please?” I ask for, like, the tenth time over the past couple of weeks. I push to my feet.

  He stands, catching me around the waist when I wobble from getting up too fast. Our hips line up, my chest brushing his. Tingles shoot down my spine. I can’t read the expression on his face, but I know one thing for sure. The two of us together is a recipe for disaster.

  Chapter Eleven

  Levi

  I could tell you I’m over my ex, but that would be a lie.

  Not a complete lie. I’m over her in that I don’t ever want to talk to her again. I don’t ever want to see her again. And I don’t ever, ever want to touch her again.

  But I’m not over the feeling of betrayal. Of being used and discarded like I mean nothing. I trusted Kayla. Worse, I trusted myself when I was with her.

  So whatever is going on with Harper and me is scary as shit. I’ve been telling myself the bet is harmless, but I don’t think it is anymore. Kayla pushed me away and pulled me back, over and over again, and Harper is pushing and pulling, too. But it feels different. She’s not doing it to hurt me. She’s doing it to protect herself.

  The problem is, if I let it go on too long, it will hurt. I know this, but I can’t bring myself to walk away. She’s the bait on a hook, and I’m the fish struggling between hunger and denial.

  It’s obvious whenever we’re together that sex is something we can agree on, though, so maybe I should stop obsessing over what brought us to this point and just go with it. Only, for some effed-up reason, the thought of her treating me like a hookup and nothing more grates on my nerves. I think of her underneath me, my cock buried deep, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, and her eyes heavy with arousal, all the damn time. We didn’t just screw the night we spent together; I moved inside her with slow, committed thrusts. She responded by grabbing my ass and moaning how nothing had ever felt so good. True that. My toes actually curled when my orgasm barreled down on me.

  “You might want to do something about that wood problem, my friend.” Elliot slaps me on the back, reminding me that, Jesus Christ, I’m at a backyard barbecue and there’s a six-year-old present.

  I step around the built-in bar to block the view below my waist. I walked over here for a refill on my drink, not a semi tenting my shorts.

  “She’s still not into you, huh?” Elliot opens a bottle of beer, pours it into his cup, and tosses the bottle into a recycle bin. “Can’t say I blame her with that tiny pecker.”

  “Fuck you.”

  He laughs. “No, fuck her, or lose the bet.”

  “I’m calling off the bet.”

  “Too late to call it off now. But you can admit defeat and pay up.” Elliot says this in a brotherly way, but he’s bouncing from foot to foot, happy as hell by the prospect of winning.

  The thing is, I’m fairly confident Harper and I will end up in bed again no matter what. The attraction is there a thousand-fold, and we like each other, whether we admit it or not. I said no the other night, but I’m not strong enough to say it a second time.

  “I’ve already been with her.” I’m not sure why I tell him this.

  Elliot chokes on his beer. “You slept with Harper?” There’s a tiny measure of hurt in his voice, either because I hadn’t told him, or because it wasn’t him. I’m not sure which.

  “A couple of months ago. Before I met her as Teague’s roommate.”

  “Wait. Is she the girl you said blew your mind and then blew you off?”

  “Yup.”

  We turn our attention to the Ping-Pong table where Harper is playing against Teague. It’s no contest. Teague is kicking Harper’s sweet ass. She’s kicked everyone’s ass, but Harper’s is the only one I can’t pry my eyes away from. Thank fuck she’s wearing white drawstring shorts over her red bikini bottoms, or I’d be in more serious wood trouble.

  I go on to tell Elliot how we knew each other as kids, too.

  “So why does she hate being around you?” he asks.

  “Good question.” I wouldn’t call it hate anymore, but there’s always tension between us, and I have no idea why the fuck that is. What’s that saying? There’s a fine line between love and hate? Maybe she hates liking me, which still begs the question. Why? Who hates the guy who gives you orgasm after orgasm? It’s not you, it’s me, she said in the car the night Elliot tossed out the bet. I shouldn’t have made light of it.

  Elliot turns to look at me. “You want to find out, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bet’
s still on.”

  I’m about to protest when he continues. “Think about it. You’re still not right, bro. Kayla’s in your head. And Harper’s not going anywhere, since she’s best friends with Teague. So as long as the decision is ultimately Harper’s, what better way to keep the relationship only about sex?” He scratches his jaw. “You’re welcome.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t want the win right now.”

  He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, a bright pink Ping-Pong ball hits him in the side of the head.

  “Sorry!” Harper shouts. “My bad.”

  “You can say that again,” Elliot calls back. He throws the ball to Teague.

  Harper ignores his teasing and goes back to the ready position, bouncing from side to side. She’s the hottest, most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Until I glance down at her tits covered in tiny triangles of red material, and then she’s the hottest, sexiest thing.

  She catches me checking her out. My bad, but I don’t care.

  “Good luck,” Elliot says with a squeeze on my shoulder before he takes off back to Harper’s friends from the coffee shop. What the hell just happened?

  I stay where I am to watch the Ping-Pong game. Harper and Teague talk smack and laugh the entire time.

  Mateo bounds over to the bar to snag a couple bottles of water. “Hey,” he says. “You good?”

  “I don’t know, dude. Girls are confusing.”

  “You mean Harper, don’t you?”

  I side-eye him. “Am I that obvious?”

  “It’s been pretty hard to miss. Plus, it’s really difficult to tune out Elliot’s chant about how he’s going to win the bet with you.”

  “Why do we let him live with us?”

  Mateo laughs. “We could change the locks.”

  “That would go over well.” I rub the back of my neck. “I never should have taken the damn bet.”

  Something in my tone or expression makes Mateo put down the water bottles. “Talk to me,” he says.

  The guy does have experience with giving advice. He surprised the hell out of Elliot and me a few weeks ago when he told us he was the Dating Guy, morning radio’s most popular advice guy on love and dating. He went by the name Bennett and used a British accent so no one knew his real identity. Meeting Teague put an end to his single life and an end to Bennett. Some new guy is doing the reports now, and he isn’t half as good.

  Teague belts a hit over the Ping-Pong net. Harper swings and completely misses it. “Jeez, Tea, could you hit that any harder?” she teases as she retrieves the ball.

  I tell Mateo about my childhood friendship with Harper, followed by how we hooked up a few months ago. He admits he knew about our one night because Teague mentioned it.

  “Oh my God, my aim sucks,” Harper says as her ball sails into the pool. “But at least I got four points this time.” She puts her paddle down on the table. “I think you’re slipping Ms. Ping-Pong Princess.” Zoe retrieves the ball and tosses it to Harper. “Thanks, Zo.”

  “So, got any advice for me?” I ask my friend.

  “Follow your instinct,” Mateo says. “And don’t second guess yourself.” The guy has known me since junior high and is smarter than all of us, so I’m taking the suggestion to heart.

  And right now my inclination is to follow Harper into the guesthouse. “I’m just going to—”

  “Go.” Mateo lifts his chin in recognition, noticing where my eyes have wandered.

  I let myself into the cozy bungalow and close the door. Harper is standing in the kitchen looking inside the refrigerator. Her ass is wiggling to a song only she can hear. I wonder whether, if I watch her long enough, I can name that tune. She hums a few notes, but I’m still clueless. I’m also acting like a total perv standing here unannounced.

  “Hey.” I step toward her.

  She spins around, her hand flying to her chest. “Jesus Christ, you scared me.”

  “Sorry. Got caught up in the view.”

  It’s often difficult to notice her flush with her sun-kissed complexion, but pink stains her cheekbones at my admission. “What are you doing here?” she asks, closing the fridge with her hip and abandoning whatever it was she wanted.

  “Following my instincts.”

  Her eyes widen. She swallows. “And what are they telling you?”

  I close the distance between us. “To talk less and act more.” Fantasies of fucking her right here, right now, crowd my mind. The air heats, thickens, as does my blood when I notice her pulse flutter at the base of her neck. Despite our conversation earlier, for the past two hours we’ve been dancing around each other like it’s foreplay.

  She grips the edge of the counter, arms bent at the elbows. I like to think it’s for support because I make her legs weak. When we’re toe to toe, her chest rises on a slow breath. “By act you mean touch, right?”

  “Do you want me to touch you?” I ask.

  “No.” Her eyes, glittering with lust, say otherwise.

  I wait a beat.

  “Yes.”

  “Turn around.”

  She complies without arguing, which tells me she’s also operating on instinct and really wants my hands on her. Her surrender is potent, a gift I’ll make good on until she comes all over my fingers.

  I put my hands on her small waist and start with a kiss to the shell of her ear. The contact earns me a breathy sigh, and I imagine her full, pink lips are parted. Her head falls to the side, giving me better access. I breathe her in, the scent of sunscreen, chlorine, and woman filling my nose as I kiss under her jawline.

  “Where? Where do you want my hands?” I whisper. Blood pounds through my veins in anticipation of her answer.

  “All over. Please, Levi, touch me all over.” She wiggles her ass against my front, making my dick instantly hard.

  I slide one hand up to her tit and the other inside the front of her shorts. I run my finger over her stiff nipple while I cup the rounded flesh. The feel is sensational, and I’m pretty sure I could come in my board shorts just from playing with her tits.

  She arches her back, pushing her chest up, seeking more from my fingers. I knead, pinch her nipple.

  “I can’t believe how good that feels,” she says.

  Then she switches tactics and tucks her hips, giving me better access to the space between her thighs. I rub over the small scrap of material covering her sex, feeling her flesh swell under my palm.

  All day I’ve stared at her little red bikini and imagined taking it off her. I kiss the delicate slope of skin where her neck meets her shoulder as I untie the knot at the top of her spine. The material falls away. She moans when my hand returns to scrape over her exposed nipple while I simultaneously massage her clit.

  I glance down her front. I fucking love her tan lines.

  She grinds against my hand, inviting more. I’m happy to oblige and slip underneath the nylon of her swimsuit bottoms. Jesus, she’s wet. I push a finger inside her, find the spot I know drives her crazy. My hands work in tandem while I suck and kiss her nape, her jaw. She’s completely at my mercy, the sexy sounds she makes telling me she’s enjoying this.

  My hands work her inside and out until her body goes taut, and then she’s moaning.

  Vibrating.

  Falling apart in my arms.

  “Oh. My. God.” Each word is ripe with gratification, with pleasure that fills my chest with pride. I like making her feel good. This is what we do to each other.

  I slow my hands as she comes down from her climax. Once she’s lax and I notice her grip on the countertop ease, I wrap her in my arms, nuzzle her neck, and say, “I really like feeling you lose control.”

  “I think you should do it again.” She twists around and goes straight for the tie of my board shorts. No preamble. No delay. Everything in me tightens. I can’t wait to sink inside her hot, welcoming body.

  I lift her up onto the counter. Her quick fingers keep working on my shorts.

  “There’s a knot,” she r
asps, impatient with the strings.

  My dick is so hard, I’m surprised it can’t break the tie. “Let me help.” I try to focus on the task, but her tight, gorgeous nipples are so close, I want to rub my tongue over them. I bend to take one in my mouth just as there’s a knock on the door.

  “Levi?” The door to the guesthouse opens.

  I straighten. Harper’s hands fly up to cover her breasts.

  Teague peeks around the frame. Her eyes widen when she sees us. “Oh, uh, shoot. Sorry. I…”

  “Get in here,” Harper says. “Before you draw attention. Levi’s decent.”

  She steps all the way in, her face red with embarrassment. “I’m really sorry to interrupt, but Cane’s here, and I wouldn’t have bothered you except that he can’t stay long.”

  “Great. Thanks. I’ll be right there.”

  Teague smiles and disappears, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  A brief look of disappointment passes between Harper and me. If we hadn’t been interrupted…

  “Who’s he?” Harper asks, tying her bikini top back in place.

  Not wanting to share until I had something concrete, I haven’t mentioned the guy to anyone. Teague knows because she set it up. And if it works out, I’ll owe her a hundred favors.

  “‘He’ is Cane Bertin, a professional kiteboarder.”

  Tiny lines crease the corners of Harper’s pretty, dark, green-brown eyes. She wants further explanation. A weird tightness fills my chest at knowing she’s so interested, but more than that, the ache is because I want to tell her. I reach around her to wash my hands in the sink.

  “Teague set it up for me. When I told her I loved to kiteboard, she mentioned her brother, Luke, had recently photographed Cane. Cane is one of the best in the world, so of course I’d heard of him. I’d also heard he was getting a crew together to make a film in Australia. I jokingly asked Teague if she could hook me up, and she took me seriously and told her brother about me. Luke put in a good word, and Cane was interested in talking. He’s in town for a couple of days and here to meet me tonight.”

  “Wow.”