Step Summer

by Gallagher, Tanya

  “You’re going to ruin the sheets,” I giggle.

  “Fuck ’em.”

  “Mmm,” I murmur, and he bundles my hair around his hand and guides me to him, pulling me into a kiss that ties my body in knots. I’m hot and achy and needy for him, a light sweat building on my skin and my mind dissolving.

  I still taste myself on his mouth, and the intimacy of it surprises me, makes me greedy for so much more. I stroke my tongue over his, and he groans against me. The noise sends a shiver of power through me.

  He wants me. He wants me. He’s here.

  Wait. There’s a thought I’m trying to reach that keeps sliding away every time he kisses me, and I stop him with a hand on his muscled chest. “You’re not going to run away again, are you? Because I can’t…”

  “No,” Blake groans into my neck. “I’m pretty sure all of this is proof that I can’t stay away from you, McKenna. Even though I should.” He kisses my neck and my heart pounds, my skin tightening as he works his way down my body, his tongue setting fire to my skin.

  “That’s okay.” I gasp as he hits my nipple and sparks fly, heat gathering in my core. “Shoulds are no good.”

  He laughs, and I reach for his shirt because I need to be the one who undresses him. I need to know this is real.

  Blake leans back far enough for me to peel the damp shirt from his skin and pull it over his head. Then I throw it across the room where it lands with a wet thud. I reach for his shorts, and his stomach jerks and his chest heaves as I peel those off him, too.

  He’s naked and gorgeous and intimidating. I wanted a man, and Blake Reynolds is everything I’ve been asking for. I’m so damn wet for him. And I’m scared of how much I care.

  “God, Kenn.” Blake buries his head between my breasts, licking and nuzzling, and I run my fingers over the solid, strong muscles of his shoulders. I trace his tattoos, this story of him, my hands eager and wanting.

  I can touch him. Lucky, lucky me.

  “Make me come again,” I whisper, and he reaches a hand between us. My skin’s so sensitive and hot, and I’m trembling for him, buzzing for him as he strokes my clit. “Not like that,” I say, and he swings a piercing gaze to mine. “On your cock.”

  He squeezes his eyes shut for half a second and groans. This is another line I’m asking him to cross, the biggest line, even though we’ve crossed so many lines already. “Kenna,” he whispers.

  “Please.” I feel so close to crying, the wanting in me so strong it’s crushing my lungs.

  Blake levers himself up and reaches for his bedside table, where he pulls out a box of condoms. A small part of me feels a sting of pride when he rips into it and I see that it’s new. Unopened. Just for me.

  He turns back to me with a burning gaze, so hot I start to shake. “I want those legs around me, baby.” His words land somewhere between a request and a command, and when he shifts over me, I comply, whimpering as the head of his cock notches against me. I can’t help but grind against him, needing this friction to set me free.

  “Easy,” he warns, the air whistling out between his teeth, and then finally—finally—he slides into me, pulling my heart into my throat.

  We both groan at the sensation, at the relief of letting go.

  “Fuck, Kenn,” he whispers.

  I smile up at him, rolling my hips to get the feeling of him, full and tight. “That’s kind of the point.”

  He shakes his head and nips my earlobe. “You’re such a nerd.” His words are so full of affection that my heart sings.

  I drag my fingernails down his back and tease, “You’re such a jock.”

  Blake kisses me, long and hard, and my pulse kicks up in response. He keeps his weight on his forearms and off of me as he moves, but the air still leaves my lungs in a crush. I don’t mind the breathless feeling, though. I want to feel covered by him, dominated by him, and he’s the one setting the rhythm with slow, even strokes that hit the end of me and spike pleasure through my veins until I’m giddy.

  If I thought we were connected before, I was wrong. Every move he makes, my body responds, and I’m helpless to do anything but ride the waves of sensation. With him, giving and taking feel like the same thing.

  I tighten my legs around Blake, and the powerful muscles in his back bunch tight, his breath coming faster.

  “God, McKenna. What are you doing to me?”

  Loving you.

  I can’t say it though, not now. Instead, I clench my body around him, pulling another groan from his lips and pulling myself that much closer to the edge.

  Blake rears back to look at me, moving his hands to cradle my head, pausing in the middle of this ballet to admire the view. “What did I do to deserve you?” he whispers, reverent. He looks at me like I’m the whole ocean in a single drop. Like I’m everything.

  I look back at him and see the man who’s driven me crazy ever since he walked through my door.

  I look at him and see the man who’s stolen part of my heart.

  “You were you,” I whisper back. “That’s all I ever needed.”

  My words unleash something primal inside him, shredding apart the last of his control. He moves again, faster now, urgent and breathless. Every thrust and my core tightens, until I’m writhing in his hands.

  “Oh my god, Blake, keep going.”

  He fucks me and loves me, and I’m coming apart in his hands. If he doesn’t keep going, I’m going to lose my mind.

  “Just like that,” I pant, and his groan tells me just how close he’s getting, too. “Just like that. Oh, god. I’m gonna come again, Blake.”

  I can feel this orgasm, how much it’s going to rip me apart, and I crave its dangerous pull.

  “I want you to come hard for me, Flower Girl. I want to feel that sweet pussy of yours milk my cock.”

  His words fill my body with heat, all the sensation focused on the spot where we’re coming together. On our slick skin, my clit rubbing against him. On his hard, thick cock, so deep inside me that there’s no room in my body for worry or doubt.

  I know that I’m holding onto Blake, but I can’t feel my hands. Just this friction, this endless pleasure.

  “Fuck, Blake, fuck—” I whimper, and then my body takes over—breathless, flying—and I come and I come and I come.

  I cry out, and it’s like permission, Blake’s strong arms shaking as he pumps into me, his face a portrait of pleasure. “Oh god, Kenn. You’re making me come. I can feel you around me. You’re making me—god.” He finishes with a shudder, burying his face in my neck and cradling my head so I’m with him, I’m with him. I’m here.

  I’m right here and he’s right here, and we don’t let go of each other for a long, long time. When we do, it’s only long enough to get a drink of water, and then we fall right back into this bed again.

  Happy birthday to me.

  22

  Blake

  July

  I wake with McKenna’s head on my chest, her sexy lower lip sticking out and her leg snaked over mine. There’s a strand of hair in front of her lips that blows in and out with each breath she takes. It reminds me of the beach grass—wild and free and bleached by the sun.

  How the hell did I get so lucky? And why the hell did I wait so long to give in?

  Waking up next to her feels like stepping onto a dew-damp lacrosse field at sunrise in the fall, all golden mist and steam rising and crackling air—the feeling of something big about to come. It feels like possibility, like my life before, when I still knew how to be hopeful about things.

  Being with her feels like running, cradling something small and precious in the net of my lacrosse stick. Running with my heart pounding—alive, alive, alive. I’ve been dead on my feet for too long. But here, with McKenna in my arms, it’s like the whole world is spun with gold.

  My girl rolls over, nestling against me so her ass brushes my crotch and my cock throbs. I wrap my arms around her, press my forehead between her shoulder blades and breathe her in. She still smells
like sex and salt and sweetness, and her contented little moan makes my cock get harder. But I lie still, determined not to wake her, to savor this moment.

  I don’t know how many of them I’ll get.

  My phone buzzes from my bedside table, and I flinch.

  I free an arm from under McKenna to silence the phone, but I can’t help reading the message flashing on the screen.

  Where are you? You can’t ignore me forever.

  Hailey’s right—I’ve run away from my problems in Rochester, but there’s another reality here with me, and that’s the one I want to keep on choosing. It doesn’t matter that it’s only a tiny slice of reality, or that it’s closer to a dream.

  How could this thing with McKenna ever work out in the long run? Even if she doesn’t want to hear it, she deserves someone who has his life together, and I’m not all the way there yet. But god, I want to try, because there’s no place I’d rather be than this bubble.

  I don’t just silence the phone, I turn it all the way off, and the movement wakes McKenna. She blinks at me through her lashes, then bites her bottom lip.

  I can’t read the look on her face, but the air’s thick and gray, and each of the bubbles in my chest slowly pops.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She shakes her head slightly, and a whisper of her hair tickles my skin. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Seriously?” I blink at her, nudging my hard length into her thigh. “Does it seem like I’m mad at you?”

  She shrugs, a furrow pressed between her eyes. “I pushed you.”

  I shake my head and press a kiss to the soft skin of her shoulder. “You challenged me to stop running away from what I’ve been feeling for weeks.”

  “For weeks?”

  When I lean back, her face is proud, her ocean eyes shining. She’s fucking radiant, that’s what she is, and the relief in my chest is helium.

  We’re okay.

  Thank god.

  I groan and bury my head in the crook of her neck, but I’m hers and I’m happy and I’m so, so gone.

  “Do you know what you do to me? You’re golden, McKenna Maycomb.”

  She scrapes her hand through my hair with a contented hum. “And hungry.”

  I rub a hand over the flat plane of her stomach and smile. “I have a solution for that. Wait here.”

  I swing myself out of bed, throw on a pair of shorts, and head to the kitchen downstairs, where I grab breakfast and two forks and a stack of napkins. When I return, McKenna’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed wearing one of my old T-shirts. It’s big on her petite frame, and it hangs off her shoulder, showcasing the delicate curve of her collarbone. She’s highlighted in a pool of golden light, and she looks like she belongs. She looks like she’s mine.

  I have to stop in the doorway to catch my breath.

  When I was a little kid, back when my parents were still together, we’d ride to lacrosse games in my mom’s old Chevy, them in the front seats, me in the back. The car was big enough to hold all my gear, plus a few friends if we needed, so despite my mom’s best efforts, it was always a little messy and dusty.

  I remember driving around, watching dust motes float through the air, caught by the sunlight so they turned into flecks of glitter and magic. McKenna’s surrounded by them now, little shiny bits of nothing, and I don’t know if she’s ever been more beautiful.

  That’s what hope does, after all. It turns dust into sparkles. It turns a slice of a morning into a picture of the rest of your life.

  I suck in a breath and look at McKenna, and she doesn’t look ruined. She looks happy and it’s because of me, and it makes me feel like I’m enough just the way I am.

  I brush the doorframe with the back of my knuckles. “Birthday girl?”

  When she sees what’s in my hands, her eyes widen, and her smile is a little kid’s on Christmas morning. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “No birthday’s complete without cake.”

  She claps her hands together. “Shut up. You got me a cake?”

  I nod. “I didn’t know what kind you’d like, so actually I got two.”

  Her eyes gleam. “Blake Reynolds, you are the gift that keeps on giving.”

  I think of her face when she came—one, two, three, four times last night.

  Yeah, I’ll take credit for those gifts. In fact, my still-hard cock is ready to give her some more. But McKenna makes grabby hands at me, so I saunter into the room to hand over a slice of chocolate and a slice of vanilla, with a candle stuck in each.

  I pull a lighter out of my back pocket and light the candles. “Make a wish.”

  The flickering glow dances across her features as she leans forward and squeezes her eyes closed. I steal a glance, memorizing her, trying to hold on to the way I feel in this stolen moment of this secret summer.

  Her long, fine, eyelashes, her flushed cheeks, her gorgeous lips.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  She takes a deep breath and blows, and the little candles puff out. The room smells like wax and sex, and I never want to leave.

  We sit in the middle of my comforter and eat dessert for breakfast.

  “So which is it?” I ask as McKenna’s fork hovers over the plates. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

  She grins at me. “Is both an acceptable answer?”

  I think about how she’s trying to live without limits, trying to be exactly her own person, whatever that means in whichever moment she’s in.

  “Both works.”

  “Good answer.” She puts down her fork and pulls me into a kiss that tastes like frosting. I can feel the shape of her smile on my lips, and I wind my hands in her hair, so damn lucky to be here.

  But then her phone buzzes from my side table, and she pulls away to silence it.

  “I’ve got to get to work,” she sighs.

  I pull my hands to her hips, stroke a thumb over the worn fabric of my T-shirt and tug gently. “You sure?”

  “So says my schedule.” She wrinkles her nose and glances at the screen of her phone again. This time her face falls, and she swears softly under her breath.

  “You okay?”

  She shakes her head. “Yeah. No.” She glances up at me, sharp and worried. “My dad wants me to go visit this afternoon. Says he’s got some mail for me that won’t wait.”

  “Off the island?”

  She nods.

  “Want me to come with?” I spread my hands wide. “I mean, I’ve got a busy schedule, but I could clear some things for you.”

  My joke falls flat.

  “I don’t know if that’ll be a good idea.”

  Right.

  Something heavy settles over my chest. “Yeah.” I nod and brush invisible cake crumbs off my lap. “Go do what you’ve gotta do.”

  I know McKenna’s right not to bring me to see her dad. Hell, I know I’m the one who told her being together could destroy our families. But being on the receiving end of that logic feels like a raw deal. I don’t want to be something to hide.

  23

  McKenna

  July

  My dad’s apartment sits an hour away from Long Beach Island in the less desirable part of New Jersey, a corner unit on a street dominated by strip malls. I parallel park my car out front of a greasy Italian joint whose flickering neon sign with a burned out P declares, izza, izza, izza. Here, away from the pristine beaches and the smell of ocean air and the wide, open skies, you start to realize why the state earned the moniker of “The armpit of America.”

  I shove my car keys into my purse and sigh. Maybe I’m just being a grouch because my shift at the Putt-Putt Hut went long and because the road over the bridge got backed up. Or maybe I’m grouchy because I’m here and I want to be wherever Blake is.

  My dad opens the door on the first ring, pulls me into a one-armed hug. “Looking tan, McKenna.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a subtle dig that I’m not working as much as he wants me to be, but I try
to play it off as a joke. “I don’t know if burned and tanned are the same thing.”

  “Sure thing, kiddo. You hungry?”

  I hang my purse on the coat rack next to his front door. “Yeah, food would be great.”

  He gestures over his shoulder at a pizza delivery box on his coffee table. “I saved you a few slices. Tried to wait, but you were late…” His voice drifts off.

  “Yeah.” I unclench my jaw and try not to be pissed. “Traffic sucked.”

  I drop onto the couch and open the pizza box. Two slices sit in a pool of grease, the cheese on top congealed a little. My stomach growls despite the fact that the pizza can’t be warm anymore, so I slide a slice onto a paper plate.

  Definitely cold.

  My dad sits in the recliner across from me. When he rubs a hand over his jaw, the stubble on his chin rasps at the friction. “How’s the beach?”

  My face heats and I drop my eyes. “It’s good.”

  So good I can’t talk about it.

  “Which room did you end up in?”

  My dad spent every summer until the divorce visiting the beach house with me and my mom, but it feels weird and personal and intrusive to talk about it now. It’s a place he’s no longer invited, and more and more it’s becoming my bubble of safety.

  “The peach room on the third floor.”

  “I always did like that one. Best damn view in the house.”

  I nod and then blurt out, “Blake’s in the front room. The blue one.”

  “Blake?”

  Am I imagining the hard set of his jaw or is it real?

  Stupid, stupid McKenna. Why the hell did I have to bring up Blake?

  I shrug. “Nice to have someone to split the grocery bill.” As if that even begins to cover why I like him.

  My dad grunts and narrows his eyes. “That’s what Brooke’s for, isn’t it? In school.”