by SE Hall
“Fuck,” I growl; she just confirmed my suspicions are valid. It doesn’t make any sense why the files wouldn’t be identical and I’ve got a bad feeling the reason is the same one as to why all of Devon’s old files were deleted, or moved…or whatever happened.
“Jocie? You still with me?”
I shake my head, pulling myself from my internal cogitations. “Yeah, I’m here…just thinking.” I look up at her and force a smile. “Don’t worry about it, Lys. Enjoy the weekend and we’ll figure it out next week. Don’t mention what you saw or Hunter’s behavior to anyone else though, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees. “You wanna hang out this weekend? We can go somewhere I know dickface won’t show up.”
My fake smile quickly renovates into a genuine one. “Nah, I’ve got some things I need to get done this weekend, but I promise, next week we’ll try happy hour again. This time I won’t bail on you, and maybe, it’ll be happy,” I snicker, trying to ease her frustration as well as cushion turning her down.
Disappointment still flashes in her eyes, but I can’t tell her the truth—not yet anyway. “Sounds good. I’ll see you Monday; call me if you change your mind.”
Yes, Monday. That’s when I’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on and alert my father once I have all of the details. But for now, I’m not going to worry about it—I’ve got kisses to collect.
Bryce knocks firmly on my door at six o’clock sharp. My bags have been packed since last night—needless to say, I was a little over-zealous when he left, excited and full of unused oomph—and I had quickly showered and changed into cutoffs and a black tank top as soon as I got home. Swinging the door open to greet him, I don’t even bother trying to taper the wide smile plastered across my face.
“Hey you, come—”
I don’t even get the words out before he’s inside, his mouth crashing down on mine. Strong palms cup my jawline as his lips hungrily caress my own; I hold onto his hips tightly as our tongues meet in the middle, rolling and twirling together, basking in the taste of the other. He pulls back a little and I whimper at the withdrawal, never wanting it to end. Resting his forehead against mine, he smiles. “I’ve thought about doing that all damn day,” he husks.
I nip at his swollen bottom lip, drawing it in and sucking lightly before releasing it. “I’ve thought about you doing that all damn day.”
He takes a step back with a disgruntled mumble, running his fingers through his short hair. “We need to get on the road before you kill me, woman.”
My bottom lip pooches out in an impish pout, but I’m just as anxious to get him to Stone Harbor. I make sure Stripe has full bowls of food and water before grabbing my two bags from the entry way. I nod and announce, “Let’s get going then. No dying on my watch.”
Thanks to lovely Friday afternoon traffic and all of the other people with the great idea to escape to the coast, the drive, which usually takes under two hours, has us pulling up to my family’s beach house a little after nine-thirty. I’m a tad bummed we missed the sunset out over the water…but there’s always tomorrow night.
Bryce’s eyes are wide and full of inquiry, taking in everything about the house and picturesque surroundings as we get out of the truck and walk up to the front door. I’ve been coming here so long, I forget about people’s reactions when they first see the place. The house is an honest-to-god log cabin, like Abraham Lincoln lived in… okay, well maybe not just like it—and the backdrop—God’s country.
“So this is the Craig Cabin.” I grab his hand and lead him inside once I’ve unlocked the door. “When my parents wanted to build a vacation home, my mom wanted a beach house and my dad wanted a log cabin in the Smoky Mountains, so they compromised and voila—they built a log cabin on the beach.”
I flick the light switch on the nearby wall, illuminating the expansive great room and kitchen which take up the majority of the lower level.
“Holy hell, this is incredible,” he murmurs as he spins around and scans the area.
I stand off to the side and wait until he brings his gaze back to mine. “I’ll help you bring the bags inside and then we can find a bite to eat in the kitchen,” I propose. “I told the lady who maintains the place I was coming today so she should’ve stocked the place for us.”
“Sounds good.”
One quick trip to the car later, we drop the bags in the living room, as I’m not quite sure how to bring up our sleeping situation, and then head quickly for the kitchen. Our stomachs have been talking to each other for the last hour of the drive, and at this point, I don’t care what we eat as long as it’s fast.
Bent over, beside the open door of the refrigerator, I’m scanning its contents when Bryce comes up behind me, snaking his arms around my waist and pressing his front snugly against my back. “Whatcha thinking, gorgeous?” he asks, his warm breath tickling my ear.
“Well, we could do something simple like frozen pizza or sandwiches tonight since it’s so late and grill up some steaks tomorrow. How does that sound?”
“Perfect,” he hums against my neck. “I’ll preheat the oven for the pizza. Why don’t you grab a couple of beers, and let’s go sit outside on the patio while it’s warming.”
I snag a couple of bottles from the fridge as he suggests and then walk over to open the large French doors leading out to the patio. The moment I inhale the salty, coastal air, my body automatically relaxes. Stepping out onto the wooden deck, I hear him join me so I reach backwards with both hands outstretched towards him. He places his hands in mine and I tug him to me, pulling him close once again.
We both stand there silently, soaking in the dark, yet still breathtaking, scenery. The black-blue ocean is relatively calm—only the faint sound of the waves breaking upon the shore every few seconds can be heard lapping, the moon a flawless crescent—providing the precise amount of shimmer to the tiny ripples down below, and the stars sprinkled randomly across the midnight ceiling look as though they’ve been painted on to complete the effect of the picture-perfect summer night.
“I haven’t been to the beach in a long time,” he finally says, the sadness in his voice apparent. “My parents used to take me and my brother every summer. From sun up to sun down, we wouldn’t stop, us boys. We were either building sandcastles, boogie boarding in the surf, or anything else we could find to get into trouble. Dad would always give us these ideas, then when Mom would catch us and get mad, he’d act all innocent, like he had no idea what we were doing.” He grows quiet again.
“How many brothers do you have?” I ask, curious to know more about his family
“One.”
“Maybe you can invite him here sometime.”
“Yeah, maybe,” he replies solemnly. Then, twirling me around in his arms to face him, he lowers his face to mine and rubs the tips of our noses together. “But this weekend is about you and me unwinding—not worrying about work or family or anything else.”
Lifting my hands to the back of his neck, I thread my fingers into his hairline and rise up onto my tip-toes. I graze my mouth against his and whisper against his soft lips, “I think that’s a perfect plan.”
His hands find my waist, grabbing hold tightly as his mouth fervently claims mine. Passionately demanding. Intensely stimulating.
Then, the buzzer on the oven goes off.
“IGNORE IT,” I URGE against her lips, tensing my hold on her in persuasion.
She giggles, only provoking my desire to keep her close. I don’t need pizza… a drink… hell, I don’t even need oxygen as long as I can stay here, like this, lost in her. Actually lost is the wrong term; ‘unable to find my way’ couldn’t be a less accurate description of where I am. If she’ll forget about that damn buzzer and keep her cute ass right here—I’ll find my way.
“Bryce, I have to… ahhh,” she loses her train of thought with a contented hum as my mouth eagerly explores down the length of her neck, across the slope of her shoulder.
“You don’t have to do a
nything; I’ll do it all,” I husk out, reveling in the taste of her skin on my tongue—sweet Jocelyn and the faintest hint of salt in the air, a mouthwatering combination. “This weekend, no rules, no should or have to. Only me, you, and want to or can we… sound good?”
I’d made a deal with myself, pretty much the minute I accepted her invitation—this weekend it’s okay to get to know her, block out every other damn thing that isn’t directly correlated to finding out if this gravity is right or just right now?
“Too good to possibly be true,” she whispers, doubt and hope overlapping, battling in her voice. “But,” she leans back and covers my mouth with one dainty finger, “hold those thoughts, because burning down my parents’ cabin might put a damper on our getaway.”
I take a swipe, barely missing on my attempt to recapture her as she scampers back into the house. Fucking oven!
I hang back, remaining outside, to have a much-needed minute to myself. Usually things people say “off the cuff,” their secrets that slip out in an impulsive confession, are the most profound and hold the most honesty, and it disheartens me; this probably is too good to be true. It couldn’t be more ill-timed—a gorgeous, intelligent woman to whom I am magnetically drawn, busting all up in the middle of my path. And even if this turns out to be the best weekend of my life, on Monday, my attention must–and will-immediately revert back to my brother.
“Hey,” her soft, concerned voice and timid hand on my now slumped shoulder jolts me back to the present. “What happened? You’re different.”
“What’s your favorite movie?” I question abruptly as I turn around, any glum meanderings left cast in the other direction
First, her brow crinkles in apparent confusion, but as my eyes implore her to ‘go with it,’ she hears me and relaxes her face, treating me to that beautiful, slow-building smile I’m starting to crave. “Hmm,” she takes my hand, pulling me to the table where our dinner’s placed. “That’s a hard one, I don’t know if I can choose. What’s yours?”
Before taking my own seat, I pull out her chair, helping her sit, and slide it close to the table. “I asked you first.” I wink, serving her a slice of the piping hot pie.
“Sommersby,” she finally murmurs, that dreamy look females get in their eyes taking over. “Yes, that’s definitely it.”
“Why?” I ask, taking a bite, suddenly remembering how hungry I am.
“Because I can relate,” she mumbles, head dipped, answering her lap instead of me. “Have you seen it?”
“Nope.” I swallow. “Tell me about it.”
“It’s about a man who gets a second chance at life, and does it right that time. He finds his true love, fulfills promises, keeps his word,” she sighs, merely wisping into the breeze now. “He becomes the man he always wanted to be, but then his past comes back to haunt him. He has to decide to either die with pride, or shame the woman and town he loves and live.” As though exhausted from the explanation, she drinks half her beer in one gulp and sets it back down on the table with a bit more force than normal. “You should watch it.”
“What’s he choose?”
“To die,” she gulps. “But, you really have to see it for yourself.”
I shrug a good-natured grin her way. “Don’t need to, you just told me all about it. Now tell me why you relate.” My hand seeks out her knee under the table, rubbing gently, infusing encouragement and acceptance from my flesh to hers.
“Sometimes you live a life not your own, the hollowness bearable in comparison to the backlash. But the spark inside of you, waiting to detonate, tempts you. If you go rogue, chance it, and the bottom falls out, it’d have been for nothing. Risk, live the glorious fleetingly, or live forever in the safe zone. What would you choose?” She stares at me, vulnerability overshadowing her caramel eyes, her faith in me of having the right answer blinding.
Lifting up on my elbows, I lean across the table, our faces not an inch apart. “Depends on the glorious,” I rumble, taking her delicate, slightly quivering lips as mine, pouring as much glory into the devouring as I possess. She shifts, rising up from her chair to fall deeper into the kiss.
“Tuck your legs,” I growl, grabbing under her arms and lifting her up and over the table, parking her directly in my lap. A shocked but exhilarated whimper escapes her and I moan into her mouth, threading my fingers roughly through her hair, greedily controlling the intensity, angle and depth of our entanglement. No finesse whatsoever, she doesn’t seem to mind, meeting me stroke, squirm, and evocative roll of body part against the others’ in a cadence as seamless as practiced.
Shocked I’m capable of coherent thought, with her sexy little shudders and hint of the perfume of her arousal pushing me dangerously close to the edge of ‘taking her right here on the table,” I retract, excruciating at best. Cupping her flushed cheeks, pant for ragged pant matched, I kiss the tip of her nose, then chin. “We both know the physical chemistry’s there, J. God, is it ever,” I grumble in agony, “but I’ll damned if I rob a treasure like you of the gallantry you deserve.” I blow out a tortured exhale and stand with her in my arms before gently setting her down on her feet.
“But-”
“Finish your pizza, Jocelyn; I’ll be right back.” Before she can talk me out of it, I go inside, and one excellent guess later, pull out a blanket from the cabinet at the end of the hallway.
Returning, I entwine our fingers and lead her down to the water, spreading out the blanket in the sand and patting the spot beside me as I sit. Apparently not well versed in unspoken instructions, she steers off track and instead opts to straddle my lap, arms lazily looped around my neck.
She’s the boss lady, so I suffer through it.
The glint in her gaze is daring me, deep vats of brownish-gold desire speaking silently to my dick—in the head of which I can feel my heartbeat throbbing. “J,” I growl warningly.
“Bryce,” she tinkers back with a flirty grin and sordid fidget over my groin. Her hair lifts behind her with the breeze, nipples brazen through her shirt, pulse sped with bravery visible in the delicate skin of her neck. “I want you,” she sighs in a hushed tone.
Anyone hearing the noise emitting from my chest would think a bear was caught in a trap and damn pissed off about it. “You know I want you too.” I thrust my hips up once, allowing my suffering-hard cock to nudge between her thighs. Why am I, the guy, the voice of reason here? I know my balls are still there; I can feel them drawing up into tight, strained sacks of owner hatred… and I swore I’d go with the flow this weekend, but could the web get any more tangled?
I can feel the irremovable, sticky, interlacing threads clinging to my skin, itching, already. Boss, owner’s daughter, jealous ex “in” with the family, dead brother, shady murderous shit… if I plunge into nirvana only to screw it all up, I’d never forgive myself.
Fuck!
But testosterone is a potent, powerful beast all its own… so when she makes to remove my shirt, my arms raise in assistance of their own volition.
“Mhmm,” she purrs in approval, her hands smothering where her mouth doesn’t, an in-depth perusal that I do nothing to stop. Her pelvis undulates against me in a scorching ruffle… and I break.
In one surreptitious roll, she’s beneath me, a squeal of victory emanating from her. Sassy lil’ minx. “You’re gonna come, Jocelyn, hard and once. You good with that?” I gaze down at her, eyes and cheeks aglow, the shimmer of indecent need brighter than our own twinkling ceiling.
“Yes, mhmm, very.” She writhes lasciviously, frantic hands roaming all over me in no pattern but hysterical.
Watching her with intent fascination, I slide her shorts and black thong down over her feet. “Spread your legs,” I direct, tone leaving no room for argument, gauging her reaction—one hundred percent feeling it. “Grab your knees; keep your hands there and those sweet thighs wide open.”
She nods wildly, licking her lips and doing exactly as I instruct. My focus moves downward candidly and my rumble starts deep, cr
eeping up and out. Her scent penetrates the balmy night air, the lips of her bared to me pussy glazed with slick hunger. “Once,” I reiterate, reminding myself as much as her. “Your choice—fingers or mouth?” My brow cocks in an arrogant taunt, masking my own dire wish that she chooses mouth. I can almost taste that tangy virtue now, and waiting for her to decision is driving me mad.
“Both,” she pleads in a breathy murmur shooting straight to my cock.
The lopsided curl of my mouth tells her I’m down for the compromise and I lower onto my stomach, in between her legs, to give her the slow, savoring mouth and finger fucking fit for a queen. With the first swipe of my tongue, my resolve to keep my dick contained in my pants is already threatening to break.
She tastes spicy but rare, a flavor all her own, that I pray lingers in the recesses of my palette for days to come. Languidly, I stroke up one lip and down the other, pressing her clit before I nip lightly, all the while two fingers fondling her g-spot. I have to splay the other hand across her lower belly to keep her from thrusting up ten feet in the air. Those long legs of hers find my shoulders, tiny toes curling and digging into my skin as she floods my mouth with her infinite, vocal, succulent release—angelic yet exquisitely devilish to watch.
“Only Hunter, ever, first time at nineteen,” she finally answers my last question, hiding her face in my side as she does. “You?”
I’d spotted the hammock hung between two trees close to the shoreline the instant we’d first stepped onto the deck. And now, here we are, cuddled under the blanket, her in my arms, head and one hand on my bare chest, a lazy sway back and forth. My shirt the only clothing shed-no way I could take laying here with her still bared from the waist down, so I’d helped her redress—the stars our only light, and a cool breeze puckering her nipples against me—it’s the perfect picture of tame sensuality.
A fire still simmering in my gut, I ignore it, convincing myself I’m quenched for now; for her. I want to sink inside her so deeply I never find my way out, suck every part of her until she sizzles with my caress… but I’m as headstrong as I am horny, and I want her to trust me, want to give her mine, infuse her soul before I abrade her body completely.