by Cari Quinn
And of course, it was Ian who gave me some of that normalcy again. A man who didn’t even know what the word meant lately.
I went on my toes and kissed the scruff on his chin. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For giving a shit.”
He tucked my hair behind my ear. “No worries in that regard.”
“Now let’s get us down on that beach for a little relaxation.” I took my bag and one of his.
“I can definitely get behind that.”
“You know you can’t carry a guitar around and hope to go unnoticed. Just a FYI, pal.”
“And back to busting my arse.”
“One of my favorite things.” I grinned over my shoulder.
Ian had traded his boots for flip-flops with flamingos on them. So of course he bitched the entire way down the hot sand. He was tanning up when it came to shoulders and arms, but his legs still looked like he was fresh off the plane from England.
“Have you ever gone without socks, there, English?”
“Shut up.”
I laughed. Antagonizing Ian was quickly becoming one of my favorite things. I spread out my blanket then convinced him to let me slather him in sunblock. It was a good beach day, but thankfully, the bulk of people were more interested in the boardwalk. Enough that Ian relaxed with me on the blanket. He even fell asleep with his phone in his hand.
I stroked a hand down his hair and he turned his face toward me with a sigh.
It made me wonder how often he’d had a sweet touch in his life. I tried to relax with a book on my phone, but him in repose was too hard to resist. I dug around in my bag and found a small notebook and ballpoint pen at the bottom. He really was ridiculously handsome. I’d even go so far as pretty from a few angles. I would cheerfully pay for his lashes too.
He woke to me drawing him again. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been at it, but enough for him to be groggy when he started moving.
He squinted at me and pulled on a pair of sunglasses. My sunglasses. “You gotta stop.”
“Haven’t gotten a pair of Hugo Boss?” I ignored his comment. I was used to people not loving how I studied them. Most of the time, I asked permission before I sketched, but I didn’t feel the same need with him for some reason.
“What?”
I tapped my temple where I was wearing another cheapie pair. “My pink shades.”
“Oh. I like them. I’m keeping them. That’s not the point.”
“It’s not?”
“Why do you keep drawing me?”
“Not to swell your head, but I find your body fascinating.” I finished a third study of his fingers.
“I’m no model.”
“Not what I heard.”
He rested his chin on his stacked arms. “Checking up on me?”
“You wish.”
“I do. You never reply to my posts online, either.”
“What posts?” I tried not to smile as I absently drew his eyes with the glasses on.
“Mmm-hmm.” He rolled to a seated position and pulled his guitar case over. He crossed his legs and absently tuned it. His utter focus had me flipping the page to draw him in his element.
The way his fingers spanned across the body of the guitar and gently wrapped around the frets made my mouth go dry. He lightly strummed and hummed before words slowly tumbled from his lips.
It wasn’t a song I knew. And he kept his voice low and soft.
The sun was high over us, but the hairs on the backs of my arms lifted and danced.
I’m not the one you can bring home.
Not to Mum, not to Dad.
I’m far too good to be bad.
But they don’t know, can’t know, how I could make you scream.
In my dreams.
Oh, in my dreams.
Take this man.
Take this woman.
I won’t ask for your promises.
Can’t make them myself.
I’ll be gone tomorrow.
But I’ll be here tonight.
All night.
For you.
Inside you.
His gaze was intent on me. It echoed everything from our morning together. There was no future in us, but there were moments where I wished it were different. That he was someone who could be in my life, in my bed, in my heart. The air was thick between us, and I was tempted to climb onto his lap and show him just how deeply the words affected me.
But then he cleared his throat and changed from the very personal to a cover song. It was one from a few years ago. And it shouldn’t have worked out of his mouth since it was from a woman’s point of view. But as I was learning, not much could be slotted in the didn’t-work column when it came to Ian.
Watery and groovy, it was created for crooning on the beach. Lana Del Rey had blown up on the scene with it, but sweet mercy, Ian made it his own. His eyes were closed as he tipped his head back and sang for the pure joy of it. People walking by slowed, and the laughter around us fell back to a murmur.
Part of me wished he’d stayed with his own songs, but the other half of me needed the distance and the fun he was stirring up. Words were too personal when it came from the heart, even when it was hidden in sex. Because I’d been under Ian just a few hours ago, I knew that sex wasn’t just a fun way to pass an hour.
Not with this man.
He grinned through the lyrics from the woman’s point of view. Even waggled his eyebrows a few times before falling into the song again. He didn’t even try to get noticed. In fact, he had his eyes closed, for fuck’s sake.
From watery, throaty sex, he suddenly changed the tempo to a fast strum of fingers.
I laughed out loud as he morphed into a lazy smile as he jammed to Kid Rock’s big summer hit. More and more people drew closer and started singing along with him. I shook my head at his obvious surprise that he was drawing people in. Sometimes it was as if he had no idea how magnetic he was. And the less he tried to force it, the more it flowed out of him.
He seemed to know songs from every genre. From Weezer, which became a rocking sing-along that made the crowd double in size, to the pure beachy vibe of Jason Mraz, he had ten, then twenty people in the palm of his hand. Red Solo cups started getting passed around as it became a party.
Camera phones came out as people started recording.
A girl asked if she could sit in with her guitar, and then a man sat down on a box with an upside-down pail.
I’d never seen anything like it.
Ian even took a backseat to the girl with the guitar, who belted out a cover of “Hips Don’t Lie.” The crowd surged as the dancing took over. The circle got larger and the people louder as they sang along to songs and requested others. Nothing was off the table. Journey, Miley Cyrus, Foo Fighters. He seemed to know every song that was shouted out. Those he was unsure of he picked up by the second verse.
But the height of the mini concert was his cover of “Mister Brightside.” Arms up, clapping, and singing along at top volume, we finally brought out the cops.
I was honestly surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner, but things had been relatively tame for the first hour. The more beer and people we’d accumulated on our little slice of the beach, the more problematic it became. We hurriedly packed up our blanket as three cops broke up the mini party.
Escaping into the crowd seemed like the best idea.
Ian quickly signed a few things from people who’d realized who he was. There wasn’t really time for photo ops and there were more than a few hungry eyes boring holes through his bathing suit. At first, I’d been sure he was soaking it up like the little beach bunnies and their cans of wine, but he seemed almost incredulous about the attention.
We trudged up the beach, laughing and falling against each other like drunks. He had his arm wrapped around my shoulders as we kissed on the large platform of the boardwalk. The rollerskating girls were back with their rainbow bikinis, playing backup to the snake charmer.
Déjà vu
hit hard. The last time I’d been right here, my life had taken a wild turn. And now it felt like there was more filling up my chest than just the art I’d been planning my whole life around.
I gripped him around the waist and the kiss went from soft to wild in a heartbeat.
Time wasn’t my friend in any aspect of my reality. It was as if a booming second hand was living inside my brain.
My twelve months were running out.
As was time with this man who shouldn’t even be a blip on my radar.
“You’re killing me, Magic.”
“I need you. Just one more time before you go.”
“Once more is never going to be enough. You know that.”
Even with the ridiculous pink aviators shielding his eyes, there was no denying the intensity burning between us.
I had no answer. I didn’t even have words at this point.
He seemed to understand there was nothing we could say. The crowd pushed in on us. He used his guitar case to make a path as we threaded our way around children in strollers, boardwalk entertainers, and surprised people who recognized Ian. There was no stopping him. We took side streets and dashed around a parade of middle school girls in black-and-white uniforms.
Ian shot a look over his shoulder, his eyebrows beetled down in confusion. All I could do was smile. That was Venice Beach for you. There was no end to the weird and the wild. From hedonistic beach bunnies to Catholic girls looking for donations for school, all in the span of a block.
The hulking pink stucco building that encompassed J Town was just ahead and Ian picked up the pace. I was laughing as I flew behind him. Racing against our clock and some other indescribable madness that took us both over. We got to my keypad with a breathless laugh. I had to dig into my bag for my keys, but before I could find them, he’d already bypassed the keypad.
“Not cool, Ian.”
He shrugged and dragged me in after him. A sharp buzz emanated from his pocket. All the teasing pleasure drained out of his face. The light bronze he’d picked up from a day at the beach seemed to follow suit.
“Ian?”
He turned away, the phone up to his ear. “I told you I’d be in touch.” His shoulders hunched forward and his guitar fell from his fingers, thudding on the carpet of my hallway. “I can’t talk. Yes. I understand. No, I haven’t forgotten. How could I?”
His voice was almost a snarl. Hard-edged and so unlike the man I was used to.
He slapped the wall by my door. “I’m doing the best I can—” His fingers curled tight around his phone, and I was sure it was going to crunch under the force of his grip.
“Ian?”
He stuffed his phone back into his pocket and turned to me. That cold, hard glitter to his eyes made me take a step back.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He cupped my face and pressed his forehead to mine.
“Who was that?” I curled my fingers around his wrists.
“No one.”
“Sure didn’t seem like no one.” He opened his mouth then closed it, then repeated it.
“Just tell me it wasn’t a girl.”
“No. God, no.” He caged me against the wall. “There’s no one but you.” His mouth was on mine and there was no laughter this time. No sweet passion that had followed us from the boardwalk.
His mouth was hard and hot and his teeth scraped down my chin to my throat. His cock dug into my belly and his hands were fast and furious across my skin. He drew my knee up over his hip and ground against me.
I’d never been so turned on so fast in my life. I’d always been more of a slow burn. Figuring I just wasn’t that interested in sex, I’d never really questioned it. But there was no normal when it came to my reactions to Ian.
His hand snaked up my shirt and grasped my breast. Almost too rough, but at the same time, not nearly hard enough. He jerked over my bikini top to get to my nipple. The calluses of his thumb from playing his guitar rasped over my skin.
I arched against him, my hands racing up his back, desperate to touch, to map out the fluid bunch of muscles that networked up his back and shoulders. We were wild for each other.
This morning had been teasing then intense. This?
This was just raw.
He jerked open the snap of my skirt, his long fingers pushing at my bikini to thrust into me. I careened through the fastest orgasm of my life. I didn’t even see it coming. As if I’d been primed for it just by being in his airspace.
He closed his mouth over mine to swallow down my cries. I shook under his hand and he was relentless. He didn’t let me move. I was pinned against the wall outside my damn apartment, but none of that seemed to compute.
There was nothing but his fingers and my throbbing sex and the surge of blood roaring between my ears as he spun out the tearing release into something more feral.
Distantly, I was sure I heard him say something. His accent was so thick, his voice so guttural.
The slam of a door in the hallway snatched away his words as he stepped back. “Fuck.”
I tipped my chin up and dragged in a ragged breath and nearly sagged to the floor. Somewhere I’d dropped my keys. He scooped them off the floor and hauled our bags and his guitar case into the apartment then came back for me.
He scooped me up against him, wrapping my legs around his waist. We didn’t even bother trying to find the bed.
He shut the door and hauled me up against it. He flipped up my skirt, dragged his bathing suit down enough to get himself free, and shoved my bikini aside to get inside me. I cried out, too sensitive and yet too close to another orgasm at the same time.
I needed him to fill me up. Fill all the empty spaces I didn’t realize resided inside me. My nails clawed along his shoulders as I held on while he battered me into the door.
“Jesus.” His voice was ragged in my ear. “I can’t. I can’t go slower.”
“I can take it. Look at me.” His wild storm-surge eyes were beyond control. There was madness there. Need uncoiled between us as if he’d been given permission.
And I’d give it again.
Every time.
Endlessly.
He was my perfect drug. Ian unleashed was pure electricity. I took every thrust, every groan, every droplet of sweat and absorbed it, giving back my softness and my passion. I was strong enough to withstand it all.
“Zoe. Please.” He jerked up my shirt and his mouth ravaged my breasts, shoving material out of his way as he sucked my nipple into his mouth with such ferocious intent that I had no choice but to go over.
I shouted his name and he roared out a single word.
“Mine.”
I shuddered around him, my fingers buried in his hair as he slowed, jerking against me as he finally emptied himself inside me.
Our breathing finally slowed and his heart stopped thundering against my sternum.
Hurricane Ian had taken me for a spin and dropped me back to earth with a destroyed foundation. Everything I thought I knew about sex, about myself, about whatever this was between us—it was in chaos.
“Oh, God.” He dropped his forehead against my shoulder. “I—I can’t believe I didn’t. I…” He slowly lowered me to my feet. “Zoe.”
“What?”
“We didn’t…I didn’t.”
“Oh. Well, crap. I’ve never forgotten before.”
He shoved his hands through his crazy curls. “Neither have I. I promise you. I’ve never without— I…” He jerked up his bathing suit and whirled away from me.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
My eyebrows shot up. “I believe you told me you had no diseases.”
“Not that. God, I’d never forgive myself if I gave you something like that. And I might be a right bastard, but I wrap my shit up. I’m such a fucking idiot.”
I righted my clothes and crossed to him. I was fairly certain my feet would hold me, although there were a fair bit of black dots still floating in my periphery. “I’m good. I mean
, I don’t go around doing…what we just did, but I’ve got an IUD. You can rest easy, pal.”
He bent at the waist and breathed out a relieved breath.
I patted his shoulder. “All good now?”
He stood and scooped me up against him. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you’re just about to take on the world. I get it.”
“You too.” He nodded toward my shrouded painting in the corner. “You’re going to take on the world.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybes about it. We both are on the cusp of something amazing. I just wouldn’t want to…”
“Bring a baby into it?”
“Not my life right now, no. Definitely not.”
My relief should have matched his. And there was no way a child was in my immediate future—or even in a distant one. But the idea that it was so abhorrent nicked a little space inside me.
I ruthlessly cauterized it.
No way was I even thinking of him in any sort of future capacity. That was just stupid.
“Hey.”
“Hey what?” I toyed with one of his curls.
“I’m sorry I went all berserker on you. You just wind me up and I can’t handle it. It’s new territory for me, but I’ll get better. I promise.”
“No promises, right?”
He shook his head. “You really think we can just walk away from this?” He set me down and took my hands. “You feel it too, right?”
“What I feel doesn’t matter.” I twisted free and crossed to the bathroom, stripping out of my sandy clothes.
“Of course it matters.” He stopped outside the door. His eyebrows knitted as he tugged at his lower lip with his fingers.
I turned on the taps in the shower. “Do you want to take a quick shower before you go?”
“Here’s your hat, what’s your hurry?” He folded his arms.
I laughed and it sounded nearly hysterical. I was heading for overload and I couldn’t deal with him on top of it. “What are you, fifty?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I get what you’re doing.”
“Oh, really?” I stepped in and snapped the curtain shut. I turned my face up to the spray. My sun-abused skin felt like fire ants were crawling over it. Add in the devastation of two rounds of crazy sex in the space of eight hours, and exhaustion was threatening to take me under.