Surf & Surrender

by Riley Edgewood

  "Quinn." He shakes his head. "What are you doing?"

  "Sawyer." I can see the hope in his expression, and the way he's trying to fight it. "Don't you get it? What my mom's been holding over your head to keep us apart? It's over. We can be together. And, even better, your dad has nothing to worry about."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  SAWYER

  "IT'S OVER." I repeat Quinn's words, but they're like a fog covering my thoughts, not sinking all the way in. My body, though, my body's applauding the news so hard it's a wonder I haven't torn through her bikini bottoms yet. And like she knows, she twists against me in the most perfectly painful way, her eyes dancing. Her movements send about a gallon of blood pulsing straight down my gut and riding up to the very tip of where I'm pressed against her. Jesus.

  "No more hiding anything," she says, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. "We can have each other. We can be together. No more secrets, Sawyer."

  No more secrets, Sawyer. I wait for the tension to drain from my shoulders. I wait for my spine to unclench. But maybe I've been holding myself tight so long I don't know how to relax. "It's hard to trust after all this time that she's going to let it go."

  "Because of me, don't you see?" She slides her body against my again, until I'm so stiff it's almost all I can think about. But there's too much on the line right now for my brain to blank out all the way—as much as it wants to. I focus on what she's saying, instead. "I'm the reason she's tried so hard to control everything. And she's lost me already, the moment I found out the truth. Now all she has left to cling to is her precious reputation, and if she takes another step in the wrong direction, I'm going to do everything within my means to ruin it."

  "That's not a whole lot to cling to," I say. "Maybe she'd rather get revenge. Maybe you knowing the truth will spur her into not giving a shit about her reputation."

  Quinn stares at me—and then bursts into laughter. "Have you ever met my mother? She'd run over a little kid in the street if stopping would mean missing a hair appointment."

  It's not a funny image. It isn't. But damn if I'm not laughing in a second myself because, yeah, Lillian's exactly that obsessed with appearances, so much so that she'd stop at nothing to make a hair appointment. Maybe the laughing is the first sign of loosening up. Then Quinn puts her mouth to my neck and laps at my skin with her smooth tongue and one vertebrae loosens with a sigh. Her lips find my jaw and another one unclenches. She runs her hands up my body to hook them around my neck, and my shoulders lighten a few pounds. I grip my board a little harder when her teeth find my earlobe, nibbling, nibbling. And when a wave swells beneath us, pushing me harder against her, the rest of my spine unwinds itself into something much, much more fluid.

  No more hiding. My dad's not going to end up in jail because I'm holding Quinn right now.

  I can hold Quinn.

  I can kiss Quinn. In public. Without needing to look over my shoulder after.

  We can have each other.

  I'm smiling so hard it almost hurts, and the moment Quinn frees her lips from my jaw, I capture them with my own. The inside of her mouth is somehow both sweet and brackish, from the salt water she's licked from my skin. Her tongue circles mine and she moans against my lips and when another swell lifts us I slide one hand down her back, dipping below her bikini, tracing the gentle curve of her ass with my fingertips.

  Her skin is chilled from the water and smooth because, well, she's Quinn and she's always been covered in velvety smooth skin. I slide my hand further down, gnawing at her lower lip when her breathing quickens, and when I make my way to the middle of her legs, to play with her and slide one finger into her, her moan turns into a whimper.

  God, I love the way she feels. Soft and tender, and when I flatten my palm against her, she's warm, a hidden spot of melted sunlight against the coolness of the ocean. And so unbelievably inviting.

  She drags her hands back down my chest, freeing me from my shorts, wrapping her fingers around me and giving a little squeeze that has me groaning. "Pull my suit to the side."

  "I don't have a—"

  "Doesn't matter. I'm clean, I'm on the pill, and you've never done this before."

  My entire system fucking goes hot at that, and I yank the small amount of fabric away—just as she curses and ducks under my arms, resurfacing a few feet away.

  "You've never done this before," she repeats, more slowly this time, treading water. "Shit."

  I get what she's thinking. "Listen, honey, this is the perfect spot for my first time. Please. Come back. I'm dying here, hanging out by myself."

  She giggles. "Nope. No way, Sawyer. The first time we do this, it's going to be without an entire beach-worth of an audience. I need to get this right."

  "It'll be with you. It's going to be right no matter what." I glance toward the beach, and yeah, it's crowded. But we're in our own little area of water and the waves are all crumblers right now, so there are only a few stragglers on their boards out as far as we are—but they're not close enough to have any clue what we're about to do. "Get your sexy ass over here."

  She splashes water toward me and laughs. "Sorry for the blue balls, babe. But you'll have to wait until tonight."

  "Quinn," I groan. "You've got to be kidding me."

  "Meet me in the cove when the sun sets. You know the one." She flashes her bright blue eyes at me, blinking like she's innocent, but her wide, sexy-ass grin says otherwise. Then she dips under the water and doesn't reemerge until she's almost at the shore.

  Damn it. I'm stuck in the water with my useless surfboard, a grin I can't quit, and a boner the size of a damn city.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  QUINN

  I'M AT OUR cove way earlier than I need to be, but I want it to be perfect. And to turn away any random people—not that this place gets a lot of visitors, tucked away the way it is, and surrounded by plenty of other, bigger, busier beach on either side. It's why it's been the perfect spot for the bonfire circuit in the past. It's why it was the perfect spot for us to start this the night we almost did four years ago.

  There are a few fishermen out in the distance, but the likelihood that they'll cross back through this small sand embankment is pretty much nonexistent. To my left sits a half-rotted piece of an ancient cottage sticking up in leftover jagged peaks from the ground, and I'm otherwise surrounded by chest-height dunes and beach grasses. Though the dunes have shifted some, not much else has changed over the past four years.

  I spent the day crafting with flowers until I was too antsy to be patient with the process. And now, setting up early, thinking about what's about to happen, helps to keep me from fixating on the emotion I don't want anywhere near me tonight. The absolute disgust at the the lies my mother fed me four years ago. I mean, I knew she was awful, but this…the more I think about it, the worse it gets.

  God. No. I'm not going to think about her. Not another second. She doesn't get to ruin this, too.

  I turn to head back to my car for one last trip, but Sawyer's standing by the beach exit. Way earlier than he needs to be, too. And suddenly my mind has room for nothing other than him.

  Okay.

  Oh, God.

  I thought I had another thirty minutes to figure out how to stop feeling so damn anxious. But nope. Here he is. All sexy as hell and barefooted and just… Yum.

  Okay.

  Play it cool.

  Yes. Play it cool.

  I point toward the sun, still very much in the sky, and call, drolly, "I said not to come until the sun had set."

  "I wanted to watch it set with you," he calls back, and great now I'm basically a melty puddle of goo beneath my skin. "Plus, you're not the boss of me, honey."

  And then he's striding oh so purposefully toward me and really just forget the whole playing it cool thing because I'm running at him and I'm throwing myself into his arms and he's wrapping them around me and spinning me in circles and I'm giggling and I'm nervous and excited and feeling like it's about to be my fi
rst time, too.

  Which, in the most important way, it is.

  I kiss his mouth, his nose, his cheeks, his chin. I never, ever want to stop kissing him. But eventually he puts an end to it by placing me on the sand and stepping back to study my face. I drink in his, too. The straight slope of his nose. The strong cut of his jaw. The tiny freckle above an eyebrow—nearly hidden by the blond mess of his hair hanging against his forehead… When his gaze meets mine again, his solemn, studious mouth slowly parts into something much more breathtaking. A grin. All for me.

  And his eyes, so bright, so deep and vivid green, they dance.

  And I start to fucking cry because he's looking at me so unguardedly and it's been four years since I've been allowed this sort of access to Sawyer.

  I know I already cried over this in my old backyard against the fence, but I don't even care that it's happening a second time when it makes him put his arms around me again. I definitely need to learn how to cry on demand if this is the reaction it inspires. Because this is where I want to live now. I want to take up residence in his arms. He'll be my shelter.

  I'll be his.

  Behind me, the ocean's roaring out a forced whisper, its tempo both unhurried and chaotic. Much like what I'm feeling right now. As though on one hand, time is molasses between us, sweet and slow—while on the other, everything's whipping around us, between us, through us, with no rhyme, no rhythm. An outer layer of wildness circling the calm, which somehow remains serene.

  Which maybe, I think, is also how love works.

  I'm happy. I'm happy and I feel secure. Everything here is…just…right. Like my soul's breathing for the first time in four years.

  "I brought a blanket," he says. "But I guess we don't need it. Is that—"

  "The tent you set up for us four years ago?" I finish his question. "Yes."

  "Figured you'd burn it."

  "I wanted to. So many times." I turn to look at the weathered, blue contraption, leaning against his chest. "But I couldn't ever bring myself to do it. It's been in a box for years."

  "You're such a softie." He's teasing me, but his words are tinged with a tenderness that makes my eyes wet all over again.

  "I think giving up the tent would've meant the last strand of hope was snapped."

  "You held on to it." He wraps his arms around me and we stare at the tent a while longer, taking in what it once almost meant to us—and what it will after tonight. The leftover sun isn't particularly hot anymore, but Sawyer's skin scorches me with a very different sort of heat through our clothes. I shift a little, letting my shoulders enjoy the shapes of his pecs. He pulls me more tightly against him and for a moment I forget to breathe, because we're pressed so closely together now even the seam between us is blurred, and still, it's not enough. Eventually, he says, "I'm actually going to get that blanket. We can sit and watch the sun set."

  "Will you grab the cooler from my Jeep?" I tug at the top of my dress. It's strapless and has a tendency to dip down. Not that I think Sawyer would mind… "There's food. And beer."

  He ducks through the tent for my keys and goes to grab everything else. When he returns, we spread the blanket, a ratty old yellow thing, big enough to stretch out on and shield us from the sand. I sit between his legs leaning, again, into his chest. But a moment later I twist toward him, because there are things that need to be said and things he needs to hear, and now's the time.

  I sit on my knees before him and I take his hands. He lifts a brow. "What's up?"

  Deep breath. "I can't believe for even one second I allowed myself to think you'd do anything to purposefully hurt me. That for all these years you chose to break my heart and walk away. I should've had more faith. I hate myself a little because I didn't—and I understand if you do, too."

  His mouth slants into half a smile. "Not in a million years. Your—"

  "Wait. Let me get this out, okay?" I give him a second to nod. "I'm so sorry for what my mom did to your family, and I'm sorry for the role she's played in hurting Jess and in how she twisted the things that were important to you—like family loyalty, something she'll never understand—and made them into things that bound you to her. I'm so happy you're here, that you came, that you're with me now, in spite of everything. You could hate me as much as you hate her, and you don't. And…"

  "Is that all?"

  "Almost." I glance at our hands, the way our fingers are tangled together, the way they're meant to be. "And I want you to know that tonight, what we're about to do? It means everything to me. Everything."

  He's very, very still for a second, studying me, that same half smile still across his mouth. "You know what means everything to me?" he asks. "You. You do, Quinn. It's not tonight I've waited for all these years. It's you. And before this sun sets? I want you to tell me every single thing I've missed the past four years. I haven't asked before now because I…" He clears his throat. "I didn't think I could endure knowing you more deeply if I had to leave again."

  God, he's sweet enough to make my limbs go all melty. And I'm an asshole, because I can't keep my filthy mouth from saying, "Well, you're about to—"

  "If you're going to say something about how deeply I'm going to know you before the night's out, I'm way ahead of you." His grin goes full tilt and mine joins it. "Can't stop thinking about it, actually."

  "See, you already know me deeply enough to know where my mind was headed."

  "But I want to know everything," he says. "Because I love you, Quinn. You already know it, but four years away from you was torture. I wanted you to forget me so you weren't feeling the same pain I was, while at the same time I hated myself because I wanted you to love me still, too."

  I lean forward, gripping his face. "I loved you then. I love you now."

  He rises onto his knees and then he presses his mouth to mine. For a moment, it's the only thing I know, this feeling of his lips against my own. This feeling of his hand wrapping around the back of my neck. This feeling of his fingers winding up through my hair…

  And then he pulls away.

  "That's it?" I ask, raising a brow.

  "I told you. I want to know you."

  I place my mouth so close to his that my lips brush his when I speak. "I'm an English major. Art minor. I want to open an arts center when I graduate. Bring in the best of the best to teach week-long workshops and charge ridiculously high admission fees for those who can afford it. And then use all their money to provide scholarships for kids who can't rub two nickels together." I caress his cheek with my thumb, loving the way the focus in his gaze tightens. "And that, sir, is all the information you'll be getting from me without…working for it."

  I pull his face to mine, opening my mouth to him, and he retaliates by yanking me down on top of him. It's a fluid, easy transition and I find myself straddling him and he finds himself with an erection. Or maybe he's had it for a while, but it's the first chance I've had to notice and now it's the only thing I'm thinking about. A very, very large part of me wants to simply slip out of my panties and allow that very, very large part of him to slide into me…

  But I want his first time—our first time—to be more than a quick fuck.

  I mean, a quick fuck with Sawyer could be hot. Will be hot, maybe on the next go round. And probably a ton of other times in the near future. But tonight? Right now? I'm going to take my time.

  And apparently he feels the same way because in another fluid move, he rolls us until I'm on my back and he's pressed up on his forearms above me. "Favorite color still green?"

  "The exact shade of your eyes," I say. "Always has been."

  He pays for the information with his lips on my neck, running them along my skin until my head arches back and my nipples tighten, going completely hard, dying for his attention. As if on cue, he rubs his thumb over one, a little roughly… A lot perfect. I bridge my back, pressing into him.

  "No bra tonight, honey?" he asks against my skin.

  "Didn't see much need for one," I manage.

/>   "You drive me fucking crazy." He uses his teeth now, to tug at the tender skin along my jaw, and his hand tugs down the top of my dress until it's bunched at my waist. "Always have."

  "Nothing makes me happier." My words come out breathy. "Except, maybe, when you kiss me."

  "Oh, honey, I'm going to kiss you. Thoroughly. There won't be an inch of your body left unexplored by my lips." He lifts his head to watch my face, and then his eyes lower to my chest and he wets his mouth. "By my tongue."

  And like he needs to prove his point, he leans down to lick my lips, dipping his tongue through them, his eyes wide and on mine the entire time. His fingers pull at my nipples, teasing me and traveling lower. Down my stomach, across the bottom of my dress, along the tops of my thighs.

  "Tell me a secret," he rasps against my mouth, his fingers inching higher, dancing up under my dress.

  There's only one that comes to mind.

  "I didn't just love you then and love you again now. I never stopped loving you," I rasp back against him, my hips starting to rock, shifting back and forth and reshaping the sand below the blanket. "And I never. Ever. Ever stopped wanting you."

  He groans. "Likewise, Quinn. On both accounts. You have no idea." But I do. I do have an idea. He never stopped loving me, wanting me, and the knowledge blooms flowers in the spots I thought would never heal in my heart.

  "Tell me another one."

  I glance to the side, where his forearm is straining against my face. His other hand is at the spot where fabric meets skin between my legs, and I'm about to go fucking crazy with the way I'm beginning to throb. "I've been fantasizing about tasting you again, ever since I had you in my mouth in that backroom."