Bayside Passions (Bayside Summers Book 2)

by Melissa Foster

  His arm wrapped around her waist, pinning her to his hard frame. His other hand moved along her back, into her hair, tangling and tugging demandingly, angling her face so he could intensify the kiss. His beard scratched her skin erotically, giving her bursts of slight pain with insurmountable pleasure. She knew her face would be abraded, and she didn’t care. She kissed him harder, digging her fingers into his wet suit. A purely masculine sound erupted within him. It was the hottest thing she’d ever heard. Fireworks ignited inside her, sparking and exploding in rapid succession, shattering her ability to think of anything but Dean. He squeezed her tighter, and she could barely breathe.

  She didn’t want to breathe.

  Never in her life had a kiss made her feel so alive, so intimately bound to a man. She wanted more. More electric kisses. More of his chest heaving against her, because of her. More of him.

  Lord help her, because she wanted all of him.

  When he eased his efforts, kissing her softer and somehow more deeply, too, her body vibrated like a live wire. Their bodies swayed with the force of the waves. They weren’t in danger of the waves breaking on them, but she wouldn’t care if the tide took them out to sea. She clung to his shoulders, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, feeling his strength, his corded muscles, his resistance.

  Sweet baby Jesus. If this was Dean holding back, what would it be like when he gave her his all? When he kissed her with reckless abandon? Oh, how she wanted to find out!

  He explored every inch of her mouth, slow and steady, like she was a fine dessert and he didn’t want to miss a single taste. Even while she was lost in his decadence, her overactive mind wondered why he was holding back. She tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip on her hair, taking her in a rougher, more controlling kiss, and her curiosity fell away.

  Oh yeah, big guy. That’s what I want.

  She surrendered herself to his demands, meeting every stroke of his tongue with one of her own, grinding against him. A guttural groan escaped him as he tore his mouth away, leaving her panting and bereft.

  “Emery,” he ground out.

  His fingers clenched tighter in her hair, stinging her scalp, and their surroundings slowly came into focus. The surfboard bobbed by the shore. The beach was nearly empty, the sun barely visible over the horizon. How long had they been making out?

  “Sorry” came tumbling out, though the reasons for the apology escaped her. She wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.

  “What the fuck, Emery? Sorry?”

  “I’m not,” she said quickly. “I’m not sorry. I didn’t know what to say.”

  His hand pushed into her hair again and he recaptured her mouth, taking her in another wet-suit-melting kiss. This time, he didn’t hold back, kissing her forcefully, holding her with the strength of ten men, his entire being demanding more, until she was a writhing, boneless, horny mess, clinging to him for dear life, because if she tried to stand, tried to use her legs at all, she was sure she’d sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  When they finally drew apart, it was a slow separation. Dean brushed tender kisses over her lips, whispering in between each sensual touch. “That was a taste of how much I want you.” Kiss, kiss. “No regrets.” Kiss, kiss. “Don’t deny us.” Kiss, kiss. “Tell me you want us, Emery. Let’s stop playing games.”

  When his words weren’t followed up with another kiss, she opened her eyes, and found him watching her intently, his gaze a demand. And she fucking loved it.

  “I’m not playing games.” She wanted their friendship, and she was still supposed to work with him. But he was right. Their friendship was already in jeopardy, regardless of what they did next. She swallowed hard, trying to calm her frenzied swirling thoughts, and said, “I’m tendering my resignation from your company.”

  His hearty laughter smothered against her lips as he crashed his mouth to hers again, alighting her every nerve anew. “I already fired you.”

  “I didn’t accept your dismissal. I quit.”

  He laughed again, gracing her with several more tantalizing kisses. “You’re a rebellious, beautiful, funny pain in the ass.”

  She smiled into their kisses. “I gave you fair warning. I’ll drive you crazy.”

  “You already are. In the very best way possible.”

  Chapter Eleven

  AFTER THEIR IMPROMPTU make-out session and her resignation, Emery had pulled back a little, as if she wasn’t sure how close she should allow herself to get to Dean. While Dean respected her need for space, their smoking-hot connection made him surer than ever that they belonged together. He wasn’t about to back down.

  They had dinner at PJ’s Restaurant, and when Emery sat across the table from him, he moved beside her, earning a slightly uneasy look that was so opposite of what he was used to, it took all his resolve not to take a step back. Instead, he put his arm around her and said, “Stop fighting it, Emery. This is exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

  She was stunned into silence, but he’d broken the ice, and they recovered quickly, falling into the comfortable, fun friendship they’d enjoyed for the last few months—with underlying promises of much more.

  Emery insisted she didn’t want fries with her lobster roll, and she ended up eating most of Dean’s. His quirky girl was nothing like the women he was used to. She ate like she didn’t care if she gained an ounce of weight and seemed to prefer to eat everything as if it were a finger food, licking the salt from her fingertips. She looked so fucking hot, he’d spent most of the evening with his cock at half-mast. She also cursed often, laughed too loud, and fought him on everything—and for whatever reason, each of those things made him fall harder for her.

  When they arrived back at his place, she headed outside to shower beneath the moonlight. Being the gentleman he was, Dean had offered to join her, to help her wash her back, of course. But she’d gotten that uneasy expression of not knowing if she should cross that line…yet. He relented, showering alone inside the house, thinking about his naked beauty beneath the warm shower spray. Even turning the shower to Nordic temperatures didn’t help. With the hopes of making it through the night without sporting a steel rod, he’d taken things into his own hands, using images of Emery in her bikini to help him find relief.

  Showered and dressed, he carried a blanket outside and tossed it on a lounger. Emery’s melodic voice sailed into his ears. “What if…I might hurt you.” Hum, hum, hum. “…or leave you…” Hum, hum, hum. “Find someone else…or don’t need you…”

  His chest constricted. Was it a coincidence, or was she giving him a message? He knew the song by Kane Brown, and the tune was right, but she had the lyrics wrong. He, Rick, and Drake had played in a band together when they were growing up. Drake now owned a chain of East Coast music stores, and they all still played from time to time. “What Ifs” had become one of his favorite songs over the winter. Now, as Emery sang about the sky falling and if the sun stopped burning, he finally understood why. The lyrics were Emery’s deepest fears.

  He stepped closer to the shower, cutting her off mid-lyric as he sang his own rendition of the song. “I hear you, doll. I feel your worry. But before you make up your mind, I gotta know…”

  He heard her gasp, and he let the words fall free. “What if we were made for each other? What if we were meant to be? What if the stars aligned and we had our last first kiss in the deep blue sea?”

  The water turned off, and the towel slipped from the top of the stall. Dean held his breath, and just when he was sure he’d blown it, her melodic voice filled the cool night air.

  “What if I mess us up? Break our hearts in two?” She was quiet again, and he heard the sound of her pulling on her shorts and hoodie. The wooden door opened, and she stood before him, a vision of beautiful vulnerability. Her hazel eyes were shadowed with trepidation, a few wayward strands of hair stuck to her cheek, dripping water onto her clothes.

  She nibbled at her lower lip, her long lashes fluttering as she whisper-sang, “What if I don’
t know how to do this? What if I hurt you? What if—”

  He reached behind her, taking the towel from where it hung on a hook, and used it to gently blot her hair dry as he sang, “You won’t hurt me, because hurting me will hurt you, too.” He tossed the towel onto the bench inside the stall and tucked her hair behind her ear. Gazing into her eyes, he gathered her close, swaying to the soft tune he heard in his head, and sang, “What if I show you how incredible you can be?”

  “Dean,” she whispered, touching her forehead to his chest.

  He tipped up her chin and gazed into her eyes. “What will it take for you to believe that whatever happened with your previous guy friends will not happen with us?”

  “I know that now,” she said, surprising him. “Whatever this is between us is nothing like anything I’ve felt before. It’s stronger. I can’t, and I don’t want to, deny it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not worried that I’ll screw it up.”

  “I have faith in my woman,” he said earnestly.

  “Your woman?”

  “Don’t fight me.” He grabbed her ass and squeezed. Her eyes widened with surprise. “You know we belong together. I just watched you attack the waves until you figured out a way to conquer them. You asked for help, which I’m sure you struggled with as if your life depended on it, and the end result wasn’t conventional, but I don’t think there’s a single thing about you that’s conventional. And because I know you, because I have spoken to you nearly every goddamn day since the day we met and I know how caring and strong a person you are, I am one hundred percent certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that if you want this to work, you won’t allow yourself to screw it up.”

  “I told you I don’t know when I do things that piss guys off.”

  Her response came too fast. It was too much of a knee-jerk reaction to be anything but an old standby. He knew she hadn’t really heard and processed what he’d said, so he tried a different approach. “You know what, doll? While I believe that you might not be cognitively aware of the things you do, I’m not buying that you don’t know exactly what you’re doing on some level. Even if subconsciously.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and he felt her stiffen against him. “Did you just call me a liar?”

  “No, Miss Rebellion. I called you human. We all hide from ourselves on some level. Maybe you knew those guys weren’t right for you, or maybe you were scared of getting too close. I don’t know, and frankly, it doesn’t matter. What does matter is this. You might not have been aware of your actions before, but that doesn’t mean you’ll keep yourself in the dark in the future.”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” she said, her shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch.

  He flattened his hand on her lower back, keeping their bodies flush, until the defeat in her eyes turned darker and her body began to melt against him. And then he remained quiet, letting their silent seduction take over. The desire that had been there all day, that had exploded to epic proportions in their kisses, thrummed between them. An inescapable force she’d refused to see for too long.

  When her tongue swept across her lower lip, leaving it shiny and alluring, he brushed his lips over hers, lingering there in the silence, reveling in the quickening of her breathing, the press of her fingers into his chest. Oh yeah, she was too into him to fuck this up. He was sure of it.

  “You’re worth holding my breath for,” he said in a voice so raw with lust he didn’t recognize it. “We’ll just have to spend a hell of a lot of time together so you can expose me to all those supposedly horrible things you do. Only then will I know the truth. And make no mistake, beautiful girl. I am fully aware that if you want to fuck this up, you will. I’m willing to take that risk.”

  “Promise if I screw up, we can still be friends?” she asked.

  There was no thought involved with his answer. Honesty didn’t take thought; it only took courage. Dean was the king of courage. He’d spent his life going against his father’s wishes.

  He threaded his hands into Emery’s hair, greedily soaking in the want in her eyes, the stiffening of his cock. He tangled her hair around his fingers, shifting her mouth beneath his, and said, “No. I won’t promise you that, because if you fuck this up, it’ll be intentional.”

  DEAN’S MOUTH HOVERED above Emery’s, his warm, minty breath teasing over her lips. She’d always thought she had her shit together, except in the relationship department. She knew she was broken. Her whole family was broken. The Andrews: Too Fucked Up for Happily Ever Afters. But if what Dean said was true, if she was sabotaging any chance she had at happiness, she was really messed up.

  She swallowed hard, knowing she’d practically worn a neon sign telling him to run away. Only he refused to go—and she didn’t want him to!

  He stayed.

  He pushed.

  She loved his pushiness, and she craved his intensity. He’d catapulted her right out of denial and into the land of desire so powerful she was drowning in it. And she only wanted to satisfy it with him.

  His lips grazed hers, sending shivers down her spine.

  “Kiss me,” she said breathlessly.

  Then his hands were in her hair, his mouth on hers, pushing away all thought. The insanely erotic scratch of his beard made her core burn and ache. When he pressed his entire body to hers, hips, chest, thighs, she stumbled back against the side of the shower stall. She barely caught her breath before he was taking their kisses deeper, and only one thought flashed in her mind. Please let him be right. Let me be capable of not fucking this up.

  His kisses were rough yet sensual, demanding. Always demanding. She opened her mouth wider, accepting his magnificent assault. His hips ground against her in a dizzying rhythm as his hands caged her in—one around her waist, the other buried in her hair. She’d already come to crave his possessive hold as his hands moved up along her waist. His kisses unraveled her, but his fierce domination annihilated her. She’d always wanted a man who knew how to be a man, who knew how to take without forcing, how to give without becoming too soft, and was sensitive enough to listen and care without losing his edge. Yes, she craved it all, even if she didn’t think she could hold on to such a magnificent creature. But she didn’t worry about that too much as she dreamed about the perfect potent male, because until Dean, she’d never come across a single one.

  As their lips parted, a whimper escaped. No! She wasn’t done yet. Maybe not ever if he kept up these mind-blowing kisses. How could she have denied this heat? The passion arcing between them? She grabbed his shirt and pulled his mouth back to hers. Their tongues thrust, hips ground. Electric currents zinged along the surface of her skin, and her entire body exhaled, like she needed Dean to breathe. His hands were everywhere at once, on her shoulders, arms, hips, trailing up her sides. His heavy palms grazed the sides of her breasts, and she heard herself moaning, willing him to take more as he nipped a path along her jaw. Each stinging bite heightened her arousal.

  He clutched her hips, holding her exactly where he wanted her as he gyrated with impeccable precision against her swollen, needy sex. His mouth took up residence in the sensitive area beneath her earlobe, devastating her one openmouthed kiss at a time. The delicious friction between her legs, coupled with his hard suck, his insistent tongue on her neck, and the firm press of his hands on her hips set off an explosion inside her.

  “Dean! Don’t stop—”

  The desperation in her voice mirrored the agonizing pleasures tearing through her. She dug her nails into his shoulders as her entire body pulsed erratically. He didn’t relent. His hips thrust faster, and he sucked harder. Heat and ice burned through her core, pooling between her legs. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her sex throbbed beneath her soaked panties. An orgasm taunted her from just out of reach. She arched forward, grinding against his cock. He must have sensed her teetering on the edge, because his powerful thighs pushed her legs open wider as he sank lower, angled his hips, and pressed his thick length upward against her sex, thrusting fast and hard
. The thin layer of denim between them felt nonexistent. She felt every bit of his girth and imagined how good he would feel buried deep inside her, his engorged head breaching her entrance time and time again…

  “Come for me,” he growled with such ferocious passion, she lost it.

  A stream of indiscernible sounds flew from her lips as she grabbed at his shoulders, her body bucking uncontrollably. His mouth crashed over hers, muffling her cries as she soared to the peak. He deepened the kiss, and it intensified everything, keeping her at the peak longer, pleasure rippling from her scalp all the way to the tips of her toes, taking her up, up, up, until her whole body trembled and quaked, bringing a descent in earth-shattering waves.

  When the last of her orgasm shuddered through her, she collapsed, spent and sated, against him. He lifted her into his arms, lavishing her with tender kisses as he carried her to the lounger. He sank down, tucking her safely along his side, and covered them with a blanket. Shocked by what he was capable of without so much as touching her in the places she always thought needed it most, Emery was lost in a sea of emotions.

  She turned toward him and his leg moved over hers. His arm circled her waist, bringing her into the safety of him. He was wearing shorts, and his skin was warm despite the cool temperature. She snuggled closer. His erection pressed against her belly, awakening her body again. Just as quickly as she reignited, she cringed inside. She’d been so swept up in him, she hadn’t reciprocated. Way to go, selfish.

  She pressed a kiss just above the collar of his T-shirt and began kissing her way south. A niggling of worry stepped in, and she froze. Blow jobs ranked right up there with full-on sex. In fact, they were even more intimate. Once they moved past their clothing, there was no turning back. Is there really any turning back now? She didn’t want to turn back, but what if things got awkward? Would they look at each other differently afterward? Would she ever be able to look at him again and not see him naked?