by Grey, R. S.
She narrows her eyes, trying to find an escape route. “Did I say I wanted to be bad? No, no. I just want to be less good. There’s a difference. I want to return my library books late, play hooky at work, sneak into a double feature at the movie theater.”
I reach down for her hand as she lists off all the reasons why this is a bad idea.
“I’ll catch a cold. I’ll get stung by a jellyfish. I could swallow a whole bunch of salt water.”
I tug her toward the stairs that lead down to the sand. We’re a few yards from the water when I stop and turn to face her, starting to gather the material of her nightgown in my fist.
“I distinctly remember you saying you wanted to be bad. Skull and crossbones. Motorcycle rallies. Criminal on the run.”
“Oh wow.” She laughs prettily and pats my chest. “This is a giant misunderstanding. We better just go back to the car and crank that heater.”
I’m tugging her along by her nightie, dragging her forward. When we’re nearly at the water’s edge, I stop.
She shakes her head and grips my hand with all her might as if I’m going to let go and push her in.
“I think you should go first,” she says, eyes focused on the waves.
“Oh, I’m not going at all. This is your thing, remember? The whole ‘live life to the fullest’ mantra is something you want to do. I’m fine right where I am.”
She sidles a bit closer. I wonder if she’s meaning to tempt me or if it’s just the way things are between us. “Oh c’mon, you can’t do this to me! It’s winter. Freezing.”
“It’s Texas,” I say, deadpan. “At worst, it’s 60 degrees.”
“The water’s probably colder…”
“You’re right. No worries. We came—that counts for something. Let’s just get you home and tucked right back in that bed you’ve slept in since you were five years old. Who needs—”
“Okay! Jeez, just hold on. Let me take off my shoes.”
“And the nightgown.”
She arches her brow. “This is just a big ploy to see me naked.”
I don’t deny it.
“Do you even have a towel for me to use when I’m done?”
“I have a jacket. You can wrap it around yourself.”
She grumbles under her breath, just loudly enough for me to make out every single word. “Arrogant jerk” is said with the utmost clarity.
She leans down to yank off her shoes and then places them neatly in the sand away from the water. When it’s time to remove her nightgown, she pointedly arches a brow in my direction.
I turn slightly to the side as she starts to lift it overhead. I can still see her in my periphery. Her bare skin glows in the moonlight and she has three seconds to get in that water before I turn and push her down into the sand.
“I’m leaving my panties on,” she announces as she starts to tiptoe forward. I peek. Her arms are wrapped around her breasts, but the rest of her body is perfectly exposed. I spot her new ink on the side of her ribs. Her smooth, pale shoulders. Her toned legs and narrow waist. Her panties are cut high, revealing the bottom of her rounded butt cheeks.
She is…unimaginably beautiful.
“It’s really not so bad,” she says, glancing at me over her shoulder.
There’s a vision if I’ve ever seen one: Madison with her long brown hair hanging untamed down her back, her legs disappearing into the water. Her eyes are on me as she rests her chin on her shoulder. She’s watching me with a hint of amusement. That mouth proves it, her soft pink lips curled up in a knowing smile.
“You should have had some of that whiskey.”
“Why?” I ask, embarrassed by how strained the word sounds.
“Because I feel great and you feel…”
Out of control.
She’s right. If I had the bottle right now, I’d take the longest swig of my life. I’d probably keep going until the whole damn thing was empty.
“Sure you don’t want to come in?”
She beckons me like a siren.
I told myself I wouldn’t. It’s not a good idea. That water is a barrier. My phone and keys are in my pocket and that means I have to stay here, on land.
She turns away with a shrug and takes a few more steps. The water slides up to cover her butt. Now she looks completely nude. Her hands release her chest and she dips forward, falling into the water slowly so she can start to swim away.
I don’t consciously realize I’m removing my shoes until they’re both gone. My jeans are off before I can even blink. I think I just shredded them. My shirt and jacket are tossed aside and I’m following her into the ocean for one reason: there are so few moments like this in a lifetime. I won’t let this one pass me by.
I run and crash against the waves, swimming fast. I catch her without much effort and reach out to grab her foot. She jerks around, smiling, and I let go.
“See? It’s not bad, is it?”
No, not at all. The water insulates us from the chilly air, and it’s almost warm now that my body is used to it. We swim for a little, keeping our distance until I find a sandbank and wave her over. She stops in front of me and stands. Her shoulders just crest the top of the water, but most of my torso is exposed to the cold air. We’re a few yards from shore and the waves are just strong enough to bob us back and forth in a constant rhythm. Our arms float at the surface of the water to keep us stable.
The water is dark enough that I can’t really see anything below the surface. I know she’s nearly naked though, and every now and then, the tide pulls out to build a wave and I catch dangerous, teasing glimpses of her pale curves cast in moonlight. The ocean is on my side. It wants me to see her. Fuck. I’m trying to keep my attention elsewhere, but just like Andy said earlier, I’m a man possessed.
We’re hardly a foot away from each other now. I force a safe distance, but the waves are trying to bring us closer together, and if I’m not careful, we’ll accidentally touch.
The tide strengthens and pulls the water out to sea and her breasts crest the surface. She bends down quickly, lowering herself under the water more, then she laughs lightly and looks away, knowing what I just saw.
It’s all so innocent and sweet. I need to scrub a hand down my face. I need this water to be forty degrees colder.
This is bullshit. My hands could be on her—I know she wants my hands on her—and yet I’m standing here, resisting.
Is she nervous being out here with me alone like this?
I want to ask her, but she breaks the silence first.
“Have you ever been skinny dipping before?” she asks, giving me her profile.
I want to lie to her, but I don’t.
“We all did back in high school.”
She frowns like I knew she would.
“I never did it alone like this, though…with just one other person.”
“So in some ways, this is a first for you too,” she says, finding comfort in that.
I know it bothers her, the idea that I’ve done more, lived more than she has. I’ve had girlfriends and intimate relationships, and she’s had the company of her books.
“I’m not completely hopeless, you know,” she says suddenly, eyes narrowing out toward the dark horizon. “Guys have been interested in me. Not a ton, one or two over the years…I don’t know, maybe they would have taken me skinny dipping and sought me out more, but my dad was pretty strict and I was a rule follower.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
She laughs and it sounds shrill, pained even. “Don’t I?”
She shakes her head and makes a move to swim away, but I reach out for her, clamping my hand around her bicep. She’s not going anywhere. A tidal wave could swell against us and we’d stay right here, rooted together.
“You’re beautiful.”
She puffs out air like I’ve just said something absolutely ludicrous.
“Fucking hell, Madison. You’re drop-dead gorgeous. Every guy in this town would agree.”
Again, h
er eyes roll and she yanks her arm, trying to get away from me so she doesn’t have to face what I’m about to tell her. Compliments are hard to receive, especially if you’re not used to hearing them. I want her to hear these.
“Can you tell how much I want you?”
Her gaze jerks up to me and her eyes narrow suspiciously. “Okay, Ben, you’ve made your point. You’ve made the loser girl feel very pretty and special. You can go back to your cool friends now and tell them you did your good deed for the year.”
I want to shake her. In fact, I do. I grab each of her shoulders and haul her right up against me. It wasn’t intentional, but now we’re skin to skin, and I feel her breasts brush against my chest, soft and full and slippery from the water. It’s so intimate, I can’t breathe. I’m surviving on dredges of oxygen as she tilts her head back and looks up at me. There’s fear there.
I’ve never been forceful with her—I’ve never been forceful with any woman—but like I said, this night is a first for me too.
I can’t let her go. My hands stay right there on her shoulders even though they ache to move lower. I want to feel the weight of her breasts, to knead them and tease them and show her why I’m the man for her. Not Andy. Not some nice guy. Me.
“Would you just listen to me?” I plead. “You think I’m lying to you?” I bend to her eye level. “You have eyes so green, sometimes I can’t look right at them. Your hair is never brushed. I’m not fully convinced you even own a brush, and yet your hair is all I can think about. I want to fist it in my hands and tug on it so you’re forced to look up at me just like you are right now.”
She swallows and blinks, completely and utterly frozen. She looks like an innocent animal caught in my trap.
“You’re funny and kind. You take such good care of everyone in your life. You have a heart the size of the moon.”
There are tears collecting in her lashes and I feel bad now. Maybe she wasn’t ready for the truth. Maybe I should have eased into this nice and slow, written her a note with one letter on it and sent it to the library. Each day, I’d send another, until one day, finally, she’d have a full sentence:
M-A-D-I-S-O-N H-A-R-T, I-M F-A-L-L-I-N-G F-O-R Y-O-U.
“Sorry, I’m hurting you,” I say, and I’m not just referring to my hands on her shoulders.
She shakes her head and sniffles. “I’m only crying because I’m a little drunk,” she says, wiping her nose on her shoulder.
Right. Jeez. I’ve picked the worst possible time to be honest with her. I tell myself I need to release her and give her space, but then her palm hits my chest, flat against my heart.
“Did you mean all that or are you just being nice?”
“I’m not that nice.”
She laughs and shakes her head, letting her hand wander down my torso. Her finger dips past my navel and I squeeze her shoulders in warning.
“I really want you to kiss me right now,” she says, gaze on my mouth. “Is that crazy?”
“No.”
“Because you could kiss me and I wouldn’t turn away. It would be another life experience I could cross off my list. Kiss Ben Rosenberg in the ocean: check.”
“Madison?”
“Yeah?”
“Be quiet so I can kiss you.”
16
Madison
This kiss is going to ruin me. I will have this kiss up on a pedestal for the rest of my life, encased in glass. On my wedding day, when I stand across from an ordinary man who makes me feel ordinary things and the pastor announces “You may now kiss the bride,” I’ll think of Ben and the time when he held me in the ocean and told me I was beautiful.
I’ll think of the way he looked: cast in moonlight, tapered muscles, hard lines. I notice the smallest details: the little freckles on the bridge of his nose, his amber eyes backlit by the fire burning inside him, his wet hair sending water dripping down the hard planes of his face.
There’s a terrible feeling buried deep inside me that keeps me from completely giving in to this moment. This is a gift, I remind myself, a memory to keep forever. Not to be confused with a beginning—this is not the first of many.
One of his hands curves under my jaw and the other loops around my waist, hauling me against him even more. We’re touching like we’re lovers, like every bit of his skin is mine for the taking and vice versa. I’m a live wire, the result of too many weeks pining.
Everywhere we touch, our skin sparks. My hips meet his and I feel his hard length beneath his briefs. It’s close, but not close enough. I bring one leg up around his waist. He helps me with the other and now I’m connected to him, coiled like a snake. Waves lap against our bodies and his hands are cradling my face. His lips brush against mine, but it’s not a kiss. It’s an impatient touch, a hint of what’s to come. Another wave builds and it’s bigger than before, crashing against us hard enough that I think Ben will lose his footing, but he stays right where he is.
“Please,” I whisper against his mouth.
My breasts drag across his chest with every wave.
“Please.”
Put us out of our misery. Kiss me. Drown me. Something.
His hands bring my face against his again. His nose brushes mine and I smile. We’re two Eskimos. Then his mouth trails over to my cheek and he whispers something I can’t hear. I wish I had heard.
I’m impatient. I turn and steal a peck, but then I jerk away before he can deepen it. Why? I don’t know. I want this kiss, but I’m so scared of what it’ll do to me.
I’m shaking and I’m glad I had that whiskey. I feel just free enough to let this happen, just free enough to let Ben finally turn my face back to his and let his lips fall to mine again, for real this time. I breathe deeply as his mouth presses firmly, slanting, seducing.
His head tilts and the kiss deepens. This is what I’ve been longing for. My arms lock around his neck and my breasts graze his chest. They’re so sensitive, and I’m so anxious to be touched there that a moan escapes me as Ben breaks the kiss and gulps in air.
He brushes hair out of my face, finding my eyes. He’s searching for something. Consent?
I lean in and give it to him with my lips. I kiss him first this time. I take his bottom lip between my teeth and tug and then he returns full force, his fingers digging into my waist. Our tongues touch and we’re creating magic. We’re starting to grind together, and the water adds the most intoxicating element. We’re wet and slippery, but Ben has a rock-solid hold on me. Even still, my heart must think I’m in danger with how quickly it’s beating, how quickly it’s sending blood through my veins.
We kiss long enough that my lips start to ache and my fingers turn to prunes. Long enough for him to carry me closer to shore so we’re only halfway underwater. Long enough for his hands to find their way to my breasts, to curve gently around them. I’m braced for the impact, but he does the most tortuous thing: he doesn’t actually touch where I want him to. His fingers drag along my skin slowly. He trails along my ribs and then his thumb grazes the side of my breast and the shadow just beneath. Each time he moves, my chest caves as I exhale in preparation, and each time, I’m left wanting.
I know a first kiss shouldn’t be more than that. I know we’ve gone from zero to a hundred, but he can’t deprive me of this. He can’t give me his hands, so big and so rough, and not show me exactly how they’ll feel when he touches me there.
I’m losing my head. I’m losing… That’s just it: I’m losing, and Ben is winning. Ben is convincing me that this kiss could be a beginning and that even though he’s from a world of polished silver and trust funds and expectations, I could meet those expectations. I could be the girl he wants, the girl who gets the guy.
Please fall in love with me, I beg with my mouth as our kisses turn hungrier, more savage. My nails are digging into skin and he’s cursing under his breath. I need the moon to hang right where it is and for him to keep ahold of me.
His hand finally drags up and takes my breast and I arch into him, ache for
him. His palm covers me, rolling back and forth, skimming across the tip. My thighs clench around him and his grip turns possessive. Hot. Needy. My breast fills his hand and it feels so good to have him touch me there. My flushed skin is sensitive and he knows just how to work me up.
I’m so turned on. I didn’t know this is what I’ve been missing all these years. I’ve touched myself. I’ve felt my own hands on my own skin, but this feeling is nothing like that. Ben has an impatient grip on me. His hips are grinding with mine. His mouth is hungry and impatient. His body is so big and warm. He was waiting for me and my head was in a book. How could I have lived in that library day in and day out and not realized Ben was out here talking with these lips and using these hands for things far less important than this?
Lights flash behind my eyelids and I think I’ve gone too long without air. I break free and heave a breath. I blink, forcing another deep inhale. There, again—red and blue lights swirl in my periphery.
I might have had some whiskey, but I know those lights, and they aren’t a result of our kiss.
* * *
“I’m sorry.”
I’ve said the phrase so many times, it sounds distorted. I can’t keep saying it. Besides, I don’t think Ben’s listening anyway. His attention is on my dad’s approaching figure.
Oh yes, that’s right: D-A-D, as in my father, as in the last person I want to see at this moment.
Let me rewind.
Ben was seconds away from tossing me down onto the sand and devouring me whole and I was seconds away from demanding he do just that when a police officer who was patrolling the seawall saw Ben and me in the ocean. Hence the swirling red and blue lights.
It’s not illegal to swim at night. However, it is considered indecent exposure to swim in the buff. Even at night. Even on a deserted beach.
Everything happened so fast once he parked his cruiser and shouted at us to get out of the water and cover ourselves. Ben reverted into lawyer mode, telling me I didn’t have to answer when the officer asked if I’d been drinking. Apparently, he thought I was drunk because I was stumbling around for my clothes. I might have been a little tipsy, but I was only stumbling because I was in such a rush to cover myself. Hello! It’s one thing to work up the courage to go topless around Ben, quite another to have one of my father’s police officers see me in that state!
