Mouth to Mouth: Cover Coming Soon (Beach Kingdom)
Page 5
Olive’s head tipped back on its own, her back arching away from the wall. “Oh my God. O-okay. Okay. Oh my God.”
Rory formed a V with his fingers, holding her flesh open—and spent a full minute flicking his tongue against her clit without pause or mercy. All the while, Olive babbled begging words, a scream building in her chest, until she finally let it loose.
“Rory,” she whimpered, growing desperate, the sound of her physical distress still echoing off the walls. “I’m going t-to…”
He took his tongue away but used the pad of his thumb to tease her swollen bundle of nerves, never stopping, never letting up. She watched beneath heavy lids as his licked a path straight up the center of her belly, closing his teeth around the string that connected the triangles of her bikini, nudging them aside. They went easily, since her breasts had essentially heaved themselves halfway to freedom. And the shower pelted his head, coasting down her body as Rory closed his mouth around her nipples, groaning as he sucked them, his fingers masterful between her thighs. “These tits,” he growled, licking across to her other breast. “Made me hard clear across the beach.”
Olive’s stomach shuddered, her vision beginning to blur, tension creeping, coiling in her mid-section. “I hate them,” she managed, her legs trembling. “Or I used to? They seem good to go right now—oh.”
Rory grazed her nipples with his teeth, and a string pulled taut deep inside of her. She begged him in gibberish to do it again, but his mouth was already journeying back downward, replacing his fingers to suckle her clit gently—and Olive saw stars. That gathering pressure beneath her navel gave way like a collapsing cliff and she tasted blood in her mouth, courtesy of attempting to trap her scream of his name. It got loose anyway, bouncing off the walls and sounding nothing like her. She pressed her hips closer to Rory’s mouth and writhed on his giving tongue, the orgasm gripping her like an iron fist, squeezing, squeezing, her inner walls bearing down, searching for more.
“Inside me,” she sobbed, meaning it that moment with every fiber or her being. “Rory, I-I think I need you inside me.”
He made a choked noise and stood, pressing their mouths together and they panted for heavy moments, the steam curling around them. “Shhh.” His right hand cupped the juncture of her thighs, massaging it gently with his roughened palm. “Easy, sunbeam. Easy. We can’t go there.” Her thighs tightened around his hand and they groaned into a kiss, the waves of pleasure continuing to coast over her, wracking her with tremors. “Goddammit, I’m not going to survive you,” he muttered thickly against her mouth. “I just have to make sure you survive me, okay? Help me do that.”
Finally, the shaking lessened and Olive slumped into Rory’s welcoming arms. She could feel his long erection between them, trapped by the wet material of his shorts, but every time she tried to reach for it, he caught her wrists and distracted her with kisses…until she was incapable of focusing on anything but the give and take of his tongue, the gruff sounds he made in his throat, the hands that smoothed down her hips, tracing the curve of her waist—
A door crashed open somewhere out in the locker room. Rory tensed and pulled away, visibly struggling to become alert, his breathing labored, pupils dilated. His hands shook as he covered her breasts with the bathing suit top and dragged the bottoms back up her legs. Fighting through her lethargy, Olive reached back and turned off the shower in an attempt to be useful, a veil of silence dropping around them, save their heavy breathing.
“He’s too unpredictable,” came a weary male voice from the other room. “I can’t afford him anymore.” A curse. “He’s not even answering his phone.”
A lightly accented female voice responded. “There has to be an explanation. He’s never just left the beach before, has he?”
“No, but it was only a matter of time. We’re talking about the guy who started a bar fight last summer because a customer snapped to get his attention.” the male voice answered. “Or the time he just didn’t show up at all and called me from a holding cell? I can’t make allowances anymore. If someone were to get hurt or worse while his chair is sitting vacant, I could lose the lifeguarding contract with the town.”
Olive didn’t register that the man was talking about Rory until she noticed the distance in his gaze, the hard line of his jaw. “Stay here,” he murmured, backing away from her.
Olive could only watch in silence as Rory sauntered into the locker room, still dripping from their shower. “You can stop calling me, Andrew. I’m right here.”
A beat passed. “Where the hell did you go?”
“Had to take care of something.” He propped a hand on the archway. “You don’t want to make allowances for me anymore, just say the word.”
“And you’d be fine with that.” Andrew’s voice was flat. “Just abandoning ship and leaving me and Jamie to hold everything down?”
“Just trying to give you what you want,” Rory shot back, the muscle patterns shifting on his broad back. “Look, I don’t get choices, I get marching orders. Would that work for you?”
“You think I do this by choice?” There was something written in between the lines of Andrew’s incredulity. “We both know I don’t.”
Olive couldn’t resist a step forward to peek at the newcomers. She’d barely managed to see around Rory’s elbow when she locked eyes with the woman. A gorgeous young woman with an apron tied around her waist, her long, dark hair in a braid. Her eyes widened when she saw Olive, but instead of drawing attention to her presence in the shower, the woman snagged a towel from a stack near the lockers and oh-so-casually sidestepped in Olive’s direction, holding it out. Olive took the offering with a whispered thank you, deciding they were going to be friends.
They didn’t get away with their covert mission, however.
“Is someone in there with you?” Andrew asked.
Rory blocked her more completely. “That’s my business.”
“For fuck’s sake, Rory.”
It had taken Olive a minute to regain her wits and process the conversation. Now that she’d come back down to earth, the reality of the situation was hitting home. Rory was in trouble for leaving the beach with her. Was he getting fired? She couldn’t let him lose his job because she’d kept him from it. The guilt would kill her. Not to mention, he was incredible at being a lifeguard. Hadn’t he just proven that? Who did this guy Andrew think he was?
Olive wrapped the towel around her shoulders and marched out of the shower. “Excuse me.” She lost a little steam at the sight of Andrew, who was easily the second-hottest man she’d ever witnessed up close, right behind Rory—Rory, who tried to block her from view. Olive dodged him. “This man just saved my life. He was heroic,” she sputtered. “I would have drowned if he hadn’t reached me in time. It’s my fault he left the beach. I was freezing to death and…pretty scared, okay? If you’re going to blame someone, blame me.”
Andrew crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with curiosity. “You are aware that rescuing someone doesn’t involve a complimentary shower, right?”
“Don’t,” Rory said quietly, his hands flexing in a dangerous way that Olive now recognized. “Do not question her, Andrew. I’m warning you.”
Oddly, Rory’s threat seemed to drain some of Andrew’s irritation. He split a look between Rory and Olive, a groove forming between his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you men talk about this at home?” The woman gave Andrew a pointed look. “When we’ve all calmed down a little.” When no one said anything, she rolled her eyes and approached Olive with a hand extended. “I’m Jiya. I had the misfortune of moving in next door to these stubborn Irish mules.”
Olive couldn’t help her smile as they shook. “Oh…” She glanced up at Rory to find his expression shuttered. “Are you brothers?”
He gave a tight nod. “This is Andrew.”
“And you are…” his brother prompted.
“Olive.” She rolled her lips together in the following silence. “I should head home so R
ory can get back to work.”
Andrew nodded curtly. “I’ve only got his chair covered for the next half hour.”
“Perfect. That’s enough time to get her home alive.” Rory bent to one side and picked up her beach bag, which she had no recollection of retrieving from the beach. When she saw her glasses and the Freud towel stuffed inside, she almost kissed Rory full on the mouth. Until he said, “She has a habit of tempting death.”
Her sniff of protest hung in the air as Rory threaded their fingers together and pulled her toward his locker. He set down the beach bag on the bench and replaced the glasses on her nose with a look of concentration. With a few twists of his wrists, he sprung the metal teeth of his locker, reached inside and took out a gray T-shirt, dropping it over her head. But not before a piece of white paper fluttered to the ground between them. It was the straw wrapper with her number on it.
Forgetting all about their audience, Olive beamed up at Rory as he pulled her hands through the arm holes of the massive shirt. With her heart in her throat, she watched him stoop down to pick up the straw wrapper and place it carefully back on the shelf, like it was a priceless artifact. Then, seeming to realize how telling the action was, he slapped the locker shut and guided her toward the exit. “I, uh…forget that was in there.”
“Rory?”
“What, sunbeam?”
“I don’t believe you.”
CHAPTER SIX
Rory was going to drop Olive off and get the hell away.
That’s what he should have done after pulling her out of the water. Wrapped her in a towel and radioed one of the female lifeguards to bring her somewhere warm. Or called one of her friends to come pick her up. He never should have brought her into the Hut—into their own private world where none of the consequences of touching her existed. Where the weight of his past and the shine of her future were blurred by the steam.
Even now, knowing he shouldn’t, Rory couldn’t keep himself from holding her hand. It made him feel like a fucking giant walking down the street, having this girl beside him. And yet it was impossible to miss the way passersby looked at them. Since he’d given Olive his only spare shirt, he was bare chested, his tattoos busier than the intersection they were crossing. Some of the people they passed knew Rory from the neighborhood and averted their eyes, giving him wide berth on the sidewalk. Did Olive notice?
He hoped she did. Hoped she realized the local hothead had no business with a pretty blonde angel in thick-rimmed glasses and college courses lined up. He needed to scare her away once and for all, because this crazy connection between them was like an overloaded circuit breaker, capable of setting his world on fire. He’d been worried that spending time with Olive would amount to him feeling…possessive. Or worse, optimistic that something lasting could come out of it. He’d done a lot more than spend time with her, though. And something had happened in the dark of the shower that felt irreversible. They’d communicated things with their bodies he didn’t know how to say out loud.
Mine.
No. She wasn’t his. Tell that to the organ in his chest that wouldn’t stop racing, though. Tell that to his primed body. His mind, which refused to stop reminding Rory that she screamed when he teased her clit long enough. That she kissed him like she didn’t give a shit about oxygen. Christ, she was incredible.
“Is Andrew your only brother?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “No, there are three of us. Andrew is the oldest, which is why he acts like the king prick sometimes. Not sure if you noticed.” They shared a wry smile. “Jamie is in the middle. Then me.”
“Are you all lifeguards?”
“Yeah. Every summer since we were sixteen.” Discomfort crept up the back of his neck. “Although I missed a couple of summers a while back.” When Olive looked at him, obviously waiting for an explanation, he changed the direction of the conversation, needing to live in this world a little longer. A world where she didn’t know the extent of his depravity. “Jamie teaches during the school year. Economics. He’s smart like you.”
Olive opened her mouth and closed it again. “Um, thank you.” She paused. “Don’t tell him, but I hate economics. It’s too cut and dried. Not enough room for theories or gray areas.”
“I’m telling him.”
“Don’t.” She poked Rory in the side with her free hand and the move was so cute, he almost stopped walking to kiss her. Just wanted to yank her up on her toes and work her innocent body into another frenzy, like he’d done in the shower. But he kept walking, jaw clenched. As if sensing Rory trying to create distance between them, she launched into a ramble. “I mean, I guess there is something to be said for gray areas. Right? That’s where light and dark come together. If they always stayed separate, life would be pretty boring.”
Was she talking about them? Trying to convince him he had a right to walk beside her on the street? To be with her? He wouldn’t allow himself to be convinced. Rory looked ahead and realized they were entering the more expensive area where the rents ticked up by a couple grand. “How much farther?” he asked without making eye contact.
“A couple of blocks.”
Her subdued tone filled him with concern. “You feeling okay? Cold again?”
“I’m fine.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “I was just thinking about what you said, back in the locker room. When you were talking to your brother.”
Rory exhaled hard, trying and failing not to think of Andrew’s disappointed expression. Shouldn’t he be used to it by now? “Which part?”
Olive seemed hesitant, watching him through her lashes. “That you don’t get choices. You get marching orders. What did you mean?”
“That I don’t get trusted with a lot of responsibility. Andrew tells us where to go. When to be there.” He tried to sound less frustrated but couldn’t pull it off. “Jamie has other shit going on, though. Teaching, his books. I just get a schedule and a lot of skepticism that I can stick to it.”
“Do you earn that skepticism?”
“Yeah. I do.” He raked a hand through his hair. “What’s the point of being efficient if I’ll never go any higher than where I’m at, you know? This is it. I’m a name on a schedule.”
She seemed genuinely confused. “Is that all you want to be?”
“No.” Rory heard the word come out of his mouth before his brain registered it. Did he want more than lifeguarding and pouring drinks? Was an ex-con wanting more out of the daily grind just wishful thinking? When he started to consider the answer might be no…or at the very least a gray area, hope trickled in—and it alarmed him. He’d been so devoid of hope or light at the end of the tunnel, he didn’t know how to handle it. What if he tried and found out for certain that there had never been a point? For damn sure, nothing he did would be good enough to deserve the girl walking beside him with such trust.
Olive blinked up at Rory and he realized he was staring. “Andrew also said…he said you called him from a holding cell once?”
His stomach took a dive toward the sidewalk. Had part of him wished she’d missed that part of Andrew and Jiya’s conversation? Why? It would be counterproductive when his goal was to bring this girl to her expensive apartment building and split. To leave her alone for good.
That’s why he had her hand locked in a death grip, right?
Rory pulled Olive to a stop on the sidewalk and forced himself to untangle their fingers, pushing them through his hair instead. “I should have been more upfront with you, Olive, okay?” He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “When I thought we’d never make it past those milkshakes, I thought I’d get away with not telling you. So you wouldn’t look back and think of me as…that ex-con you almost accidentally dated. I didn’t want that. But here we are. And I still have your phone number even though I damn well shouldn’t. So you need to know, sunbeam, that I’m not lying when I say I’m not a good guy. I’m not good for you.”
The breeze blew the blonde hair around her face. “So you were…”
He heard her swallow over the rush of traffic on the avenue. “What happened?”
“It doesn’t matter. Nothing excuses it, Olive,” he said adamantly. “Or the fact that I’m still not great at controlling my temper. You feel it. You know. I’ve gone looking for fights since I was a kid—it’s a nice, little trait I inherited from my father. Men fight. Men swing their fists and ask questions later. That’s what I do.”
Her expression told Rory the times he’d almost lost his cool with the waiter and Andrew hadn’t gone unnoticed. “How long were you away?”
“How long was I in prison? That’s where I went.” He ground his molars together, hating this after period they’d entered. After she found out. He’d lay odds on her searching for a break in the conversation so she could sprint for safety. “A little under two years, starting when I was eighteen. On an assault change.”
A degree of color left her face. “The man is okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine now. Jamie checked. But we don’t exactly exchange Christmas cards.”
Even with the passing traffic and the ocean roar in the distance, the silence that dropped over them was deafening. “Okay, I get it, Rory. You’re not ideal boyfriend material.” He didn’t breathe as seconds ticked past. “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “You have to go. You have to get away.”
Olive flinched but kept her chin up. “So, fine. I’m going to walk away now. And you’re going to let me go, right? You’re going to throw away my number and I’ll eventually forget who gave me this T-shirt. Fine with me.”