"No teasing, sweetheart." I feel him shift, and then: "Wrap your legs around me," he orders. Without question, I do, and he carries us through the water, to the cliff wall. It scrapes my back until something is between it and me. I don't know what—I don't care. All I care about is his dick, teasing at my folds, nudging my clit, but not where I want it. Not inside me. I whimper, and he kisses me, slowly.
"What is it, baby? What do you want?" he teases.
"Please," I beg, shifting helplessly against him.
He shoves into me, sliding into the deep heat of my core, and I shriek, convulsing against him. He's laughing, a deep, satisfied laugh, and then he's thrusting, again and again, deep strokes that make me moan.
"You like that, don't you. You love when I'm so deep inside you—all that dick in your tight pussy. You fucking love it."
His words are pushing me higher, dirty and coarse. He thrusts twice, shallow and barely there, then deeper, and I wail, half sobbing his name as I splinter in his arms and still, he's talking, praising me, dropping tiny kisses and half nips along my neck, his hand between our bodies. I can feel myself tightening around him and he does, too.
His gaze, when it meets mine is filled with lazy pride. "God, you’re so greedy. So hot and ready for my dick, and so eager to come all over me. I love how much you want me. It gets me hard just thinking about."
"Fuck, Atticus." I gasp. His thumb does something, and his right hand drops behind me, cups my ass, and drags me closer, his finger teasing the crease of my ass.
"Come for me," he orders, his voice harsh and hoarse.
And because I can't help it, because the pleasure is too intense, too there, I do, screaming his name and biting his shoulder, and falling apart.
Trusting him to hold me together.
Chapter 22
Atticus
It's a nice wedding. I'm sure Avery would have more to say about it, but all I really see is her, in that dress that screams fuck me, her hair a riot of curls that beg to be played with, and her skin sun-kissed from our day on the beach.
Which, I totally can't think about right now. Sporting a hard-on while going through the reception line is probably frowned upon, and I want Avery's family to like me.
I watch as a relative of hers—a third cousin or some shit—shakes Andre's hand.
Okay, I'm fine with her father hating me. It wouldn't be that far from mutual.
Kevin grins at me, and I shake my head. They're so young—so fucking young and insanely in love, and I want to warn them. Want to show them what I did wrong with Nik. But it's not my place, and who knows? Maybe they'll be the exception—maybe they will beat the odds.
I shake Kevin's hand, kiss Amelia's rosy cheeks.
I hope I'm wrong. I like Kevin, like Amelia. They deserve to be happy.
Avery is just beyond the bride, holding Amelia's flowers. I step toward her, not even caring that I'm holding up the reception line. "How long are you stuck here?" I ask, my voice low.
Her eyes get a little sleepy. "Another twenty minutes. Then they're taking the couple pictures and I get about thirty minutes free before the reception starts."
Thirty minutes isn't long—but it's enough. "Meet me in our room."
She smiles and kisses my cheek quickly. Reluctantly, I move along. Servers are moving through the crowd, handing out glasses of champagne and small cups of rum punch. I snag one—I have a feeling I'll need a lot of alcohol to get me through this party.
"Nice wedding, isn't it?"
Josh's voice is almost friendly. I force myself to relax, and grin. "It was. I wish them all the best."
"Of course, nice weddings don't always mean anything," he says, sipping his champagne. "Like yours, for instance. It was the talk of your little town. But it wasn't quite as talked about as when you left your pretty little wife."
I look at him, really look at him, and he smirks. "Funny how much information can be turned up when you do a Google search. Professor."
"What do you want, Josh?" I ask, trying to ignore the surge of fear choking me.
"I want you to leave her alone."
I laugh. "Dude. You don't get to decide who Avery does or doesn't see. You gave her up. You forfeit all claim to her when you did that."
"We were kids," Josh says, dismissively. "She's still angry, but she'll come around."
"Do you really think so? After you left her in front of her entire family, everyone she's ever known, after you spent three years sleeping around Grovetown—yeah, I did my own research, you little shit. You aren't blameless, and she isn't stupid."
His eyes are furious, but he keeps a smile on his face—we're both aware of the crowd of happy well-wishers milling around us, and the girl we're fighting over a few hundred feet away.
"Stay the fuck away from Avery, or I'll report you to the board of directors at UB," Josh says.
It's the threat I've been waiting for, the one I haven't been quite sure how I'd handle. I look over at her, unsurprised to find her watching us, concern etched on her pretty face.
"I don't really give a fuck," I say honestly.
I start to push past Josh, and he catches me by the arm. "Don't," I warn, my voice tight and dangerous. I'm furious, a short step away from beating the ever-loving shit out of him. "This is Amelia's day. You won't ruin it for her."
He releases me abruptly. "She doesn't know, does she?"
"Know what?" I ask wearily. His gaze flickers behind me, and I tense. She's standing there—she's abandoned her sister to find me and whatever he says, it won't be good. It can't be.
"Your marriage to Nikki."
"I do know about that, actually," she says calmly, and her hand slips into mine.
"Did he bother to tell you that he isn't actually divorced? She still wears his ring, his name. She is still his wife."
Shock ricochets through her, and her grip on my hand tightens painfully. Her gaze darts to me, searching. I don't respond. There's nothing to say. Nothing that will wipe out those words or make them untrue.
Avery's eyes close and when she looks at me again, she's distant. Cool. I want to touch her, take her in my arms and kiss her until the distance vanishes. "Excuse me," is all she says, "my sister needs me."
“Avery,” Josh starts, and she gives him a furious stare.
“Is it that you just can’t stand for me to be happy? Because you are really fucking awesome at ruining that for me.”
He flinches and shakes his head. “I get it, baby. I know you hate me. But I just…I want you to be happy. We could be happy.”
She stares at him in silence for a minute, and he wilts, defeat settling over him like a cloud.
Josh doesn't say anything as Avery leaves us. Because there isn't anything to say—everything has been said. Except this.
"She made her decision about you, Josh. She's been very clear she wants you to leave her the fuck alone. Lose her number. Bother her again, and I swear to god I will drive to Virginia for no other reason but to kick your motherfucking ass. Are we very clear?"
"She won't want you either," he says, and his voice is empty.
I punch him.
Because it might be true, and because he hurt her, and because I can't do anything else to make this whole cluster fuck worse.
Blood gushes from his nose, and I hear a little scream, and her voice, tight and furious, snapping my name. I flash her an apologetic look and leave the reception.
She doesn't want me here.
Avery
Mark handles Josh while the bridal couple takes pictures. By the time they return, all evidence of the violence is gone.
Everything but the words that keep reverberating through my head.
He would have told me. If they weren't divorced yet, Atticus would have told me—if not in New Orleans, then sometime in the month between us going home and leaving for the wedding.
I wanted to hear him refute the claim. But he didn't. And his silence was as damning as the words themselves.
Amelia le
ans over as the best man gives his speech. "Where did Atticus go?"
"I don't know."
Her eyebrows shoot up, and I look away. "What happened?"
"Nothing," I say immediately. This is my sister's day. My problems can take a backseat, for once in my life, to her happiness.
"Go find him," she says, and I twitch, looking at her.
"What? No. You haven't even danced yet."
"Avery, I want you to get your ass out of that chair. Go find him and work this shit out. You look miserable." Her face softens, and she squeezes my hand. "You deserve to be happy, sissy. And he makes you happy. Whatever Josh said or did—go work it out."
I hesitate for a second and then nod. I kiss her cheek and slip as unobtrusively from the room as I can.
Maybe I can't fix this. But I can at least find out the truth and why he hid it from me. We deserve that.
I check upstairs, but our room is empty. The other option has to be the beach—it's the only place quiet enough that he'd retreat to it.
Atticus likes privacy for a crisis.
"Avery." Josh's voice brings me to a screeching halt, and I twist to look at him. He's changed, is wearing a blue button down that leaves him overly pale.
I don't have time for this. And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I'm not swamped by humiliation and heartbreak when I think of Josh. All I feel is a lot of anger and annoyance. I want him to go away.
"What? Have you not done enough?" I snap, stopping to glare at him.
"He's not good for you."
I laugh out loud at that and start back down the stairs. Josh's hand closes over my arm, yanks me to him. For a heartbeat, shock makes me freeze. Then he kisses me and rage replaces shock. His tongue shoves into my mouth, and I can't believe this is happening, that I actually used to enjoy this! I shove him away from me, as far as I can while he holds me. "What the fuck?" I almost yell.
"Quit fighting this!" he snaps. "Quit fighting us!"
Josh ducks down to kiss me again, and I bring my knee up sharply. He shrieks and collapses to the ground.
"There is no us, you jackass! I don't want you back, and if you don't get that through your dense head, I will hit you with a restraining order—your daddy ought to love that shit. You wanted out—well, you are. You’re out of my life. Stay the fuck out."
I turn and almost scream when I collide with Atticus. His arms slip around me, and despite my anger, it feels right. Safe.
Home.
He looks at Josh on the ground, and I can feel the anger trembling through him. "Don't suppose you'd let me kick him once or twice, would you?"
"I think he probably got the message." I step away from Josh, and Atticus reaches up, wiping away the lipstick that has smudged on my face.
"Yeah, but the thought of him kissing you sorta makes me want to break his fucking neck."
His tone is so casual and conversational, but the words are undeniably violent, and it makes me a little hot, just hearing it.
Then I remember why I came out here to begin with.
"We need to talk, Atti."
He extends a hand and I take it.
The beach is quiet, soft sand sinking between my toes after I ditch my shoes. The sun is still setting, throwing brilliant colors into the sky and across the water. I want to enjoy it—want to enjoy my time here with Atticus. I take a deep breath. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I was selfish," he says simply. "I knew I should. And there were a few dozen times I almost did. But when we started this, we both knew it was going to end. And I guess I figured, screw it. If we're going to end, might as well enjoy this guilt free."
I start to say something, but he doesn't let me. "But then, I just couldn't. I knew you were already struggling—being with me was easy until emotions got involved. But once they did, you would have taken any excuse to run. And I was selfish. I wasn't ready to let you go. So I kept it to myself to keep you for a few weeks longer.”
"And now? Are you ready to let me go now?" I ask.
He looks at me, and I can't hide from the emotions rolling through his gaze. "Avery, I won't ever be ready to let you go."
I want to rewind. Want to go back to earlier today, or three days ago when we made love in the ocean, to any time before this declaration. It terrifies me.
"That's not an option, Atticus. Classes start in two weeks. We're going to go home, and life is going to go back to normal. You know that."
Anger fills his dark eyes. "Why? Who decided that it has to? I want you in my arms and in my bed. I want to talk about work and stupid movies and my self-destructive sister. I want to celebrate with you when you get accepted into grad school and sit with you while you work on papers, and fall asleep with you while you watch a boring documentary. Fuck the expiration date."
"That was set to protect us both," I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "You know that. You don't get to just throw it away because the sex is good."
He jerks me against him, and I can feel his hard-on and the anger making his entire body tremble. "The sex is fucking amazing, and you know it. But you know it's more than that—don't make it something small. Don't do that to us."
His words hurt. They hammer at a place inside me that clings to the idea of keeping him.
But I've worked so fucking hard. Too hard to throw it away for a guy who won't commit to me. And sure, he wants me now. He wants to keep the sex and the companionship—but for how long?
"You can't do this to me, Atticus. You know if we keep seeing each other, it will mess up everything I've worked for—and it'll hurt your professional relationships. I won't throw everything I've worked for away for some guy."
He flinches and lets me go. My arms ache from the lack of heat of his hands on me. "Is that all I am? Just some guy?"
"You'll find someone else to screw," I say, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. "Another co-ed or—fuck, I don't know. Someone. It'll be better that way."
"Better for who?" he asks softly. "I don't want another co-ed. I don't want anyone but you."
Tears sting my eyes. I thought we'd have more time, but I won't be able to do this twice. If he looks at me like this again, I'll cave.
If he weren't a professor. If I weren't a student. If he weren't still married—so many ifs, and not a single one actually matters. Because they aren't changing. I don't want to do this. "Let's just dance. Let's pretend, for a few more hours, that we have forever. That life isn't waiting for us. Can we do that?" I ask, my voice trembling.
He stares at me, and the look in his eyes is enough to break my heart. But eventually, he nods.
I don't know what I did to deserve him. Maybe nothing.
He leads me back to the reception, and Josh could be here. My father could be glaring at us from the tables, but right now—right now it's just me and Atticus, dancing on the sand, and I'm safe.
We're together. For now, that's all that matters.
Chapter 23
Atticus
It's hard, settling back into the swing of things. Classes resume in two weeks, and I'm dividing my time between class prep and finishing the thesis on Jean. Avery spends almost all her time in my apartment, organizing the syllabus and updating my online classes, transcribing my notes. She's doing more than I could ask for, but I think she's looking for any excuse to stay close.
Since we returned from Jamaica, she hasn't said anything about ending our relationship.
But every day, the tension is there.
"Do you want me to work tomorrow?" she asks, and I look up.
"I have a meeting on campus with the department. I won't be here for most of the day."
She nibbles at her lip. "I guess I can stay home, then?"
"You can always work here—or just come over. I won't stop you," I say, putting my work aside and pulling her close, settling her between my knees. "I like coming home and finding you here."
Avery smirks, kissing me. "You like coming home and finding me naked."
"Well.
Yeah. I'm a guy, babe."
Avery
I like being in Atticus' space when he's gone. I like that he trusts me here. I've been in the apartment for a few hours, working half-heartedly while I watch a DVRd episode of Top Chef.
Which reminds me that I'm hungry.
I'm in the kitchen, making a salad, when the front door opens. I look up, startled—Atticus shouldn't be back yet. He didn't think he'd be done with the meeting until two or three.
The woman is model gorgeous. Long blonde hair, a perfect rack, tiny waist, and legs that are fucking flawless. A smile that has just the right amount of innocence mixed with sultry. She looks like she just walked off a shoot for a centerfold and threw on a tiny pair of shorts before dropping in for a chat.
Fuck, maybe she did.
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind who she is.
She doesn't notice me, and I stand there, watching as she walks into the living room and peeks at Atticus' notes. She peers into the office then turns to the other door.
I don't want her in his bedroom. That's my space right now. "Can I help you?"
She jerks around, her eyes wide as she finds me standing there with a half-empty Mason jar full of lettuce. I'm suddenly aware of my sweat shorts, my ratty tank top, my hair pulled up into a messy bun.
I'm a hot mess, and as her gaze sweeps over me, I'm achingly aware of it.
"You must be the new assistant," she says, smiling.
"And you’re the ex-wife."
Her lips thin at that, and I shiver at the blatant dislike in her gaze.
Fortunately, the feeling is mutual.
"Where is he?" she asks.
"A meeting."
"When will he be back?"
I shrug. It's the truth—I have an idea, but I don't really know. Her eyes narrow. I'm tired of holding this stupid jar, so I finish scrapping the veggies out and grab some Italian dressing. "Did you need something?"
"My husband," she says, and I grit my teeth. I hate that she gets to call him that. I hate that it was ever true.
"You don't mind if I wait, do you?" she coos, sensing my discomfort. I shrug and carry my salad to the couch. My work is sprawled around me, and I grab my headphones—the very least I can do is tune her out.
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