by Leigh, Ember
“Mm-hmm.” He rolls onto his back, guiding me on top of him. I land on his cock, which is already mostly hard. Maybe my pink toes do work wonders. It’s impossible to imagine—my toes?—but hey, the science is here. I’m not one to dispute data.
“Mmmm.” My eyes flutter shut as I ease my legs open wide, settling down on top of him in just the right spot. I prop my palms on the vinyl cushion on either side of him, rocking my hips back and forth.
The clothing barrier is low between us, which means this might get out of control fast. He’s in charcoal-gray swim trunks, and I’ve got my pink-and-white striped bathing suit. His hands scorch up the sides of my waist, and then he pushes off the bikini cups so that my breasts spill free.
“Easy, there!” I glance around. The other boaters might not appreciate our display of nudity.
“Nobody is looking,” he assures me. And he’s right. The nearest boat is probably a half mile away. The Sand Bar is blessedly unpopulated today, and the others would have to be watching us with binoculars to get a sense of what we were doing over here, half-protected by the railing of the bow. “Nobody except me,” he adds, which sends a hot shiver up my spine.
Our lips collide then, sticky and passionate and rough. We make out so hard that he’s grunting and I’m groaning, unattractive noises that only stoke the fire further. He’s got my ass cheeks in both hands again, fingertips digging into that sensitive flesh right near the start of my pussy. I’m already aching for him, drenched and ready, my nipples so hard that they might break through my bikini.
Once we pull apart, breathless and wild-eyed, Connor grabs my face between his hands. “Why are you magic?”
I smile. He’s exaggerating. It’s the pheromones speaking.
“Why are you perfect?” I ask, pushing my hands across the warm expanse of his pecs, down the ridges of his abs. I am not exaggerating. This man is perfection embodied.
He wets his bottom lip. “Kins. I wanna be in you.”
I dip down for another kiss. “Where’d you put the condoms?”
“In my backpack.”
I crawl off him and reach for the bag he stowed in the corner. I resume my perch, pussy covering cock, and start to paw through his bag. I find the condom box as promised—we got the mega stash last week—but when I go rummaging inside, I don’t see a single condom.
“Connor…”
“What?”
I double and triple check, then I show the bag to him. “We’re out.”
His mouth parts, and he gives the bag a once over, too. Then he deflates back onto the cushion. “Fuck. Have we had that much sex?”
“My hips have been sore for a full week. So…yeah.”
He laughs, smoothing his palms over the tops of my thighs. He shifts beneath me, which pushes the tip of his cock right against my clit. My head drops back, and a low moan escapes me. God, I still want him. Without the condom.
I’ve never done it that way with anyone except my ex. Connor is already a thousand times more deserving of something so intimate than my ex ever was.
“Do we have to…” I cock my head. “You know…”
He wets his bottom lip again. “You want to?”
“I’m on birth control. And I trust you.”
He grunts, his abs flexing as he pushes his hips against me again. “Where do you want me to come?”
I gulp. “Inside me.”
“Oh my God. I’m gonna lose my mind.” He blows out a long breath. Then he props up on his elbows. “Take your swimsuit off, babe.”
His voice is softer now. I’m not entirely sure what this change is that I’m seeing, but I get it. This feels like a big step. At least, it is for me. But I wouldn’t suggest this with him unless I really trusted him. Unless I…loved him? It sounds absurd to even think about, but it’s true. I’ve known Connor peripherally my whole life, and these two weeks have only cemented what my teenaged self always suspected about him.
Connor is still my dream man, and I want to share this inexplicably intimate act with him.
I step onto wobbly legs and slide my bikini bottoms down. He shimmies out of his swim trunks, his cock springing free. The familiar sight of tightly trimmed hair framing his massive centerpiece makes my core clench. He reaches for me then, urging me back on top of him.
I slide onto him with reverent slowness. He undoes the strings of my top and slides it off. We’re both buck naked in the middle of Briggs Bay, and I couldn’t care less. I’m 99 percent horny and 1 percent thankful I applied sunscreen.
The breeze whips around me as I prop my palms against his abs, sliding my slick pussy back and forth over his cock. The heat between our legs is fiercer than the mid-day sun. Our skin sticks where my thighs meet his.
But none of this bothers me. In fact, it only heightens the anticipation. The heat of the day bearing down on us has forced me into some type of dreamworld, where Connor and I are the only two who matter and this thing between us is undeniable. Inescapable. It’s hard to imagine the rest of my life without being able to tap into this invigorating, sexy connection we’ve cultivated over the past week and a half. The rest of my life won’t be nearly as interesting if Connor isn’t part of it.
The thought thuds through me, but I distract myself from it by pushing my hips up and positioning myself on the tip of Connor’s dick. Sex is an excellent distraction. The fiery heat of him pushes into me, my entrance wet and waiting for him.
And then I slide down, down, down, engulfing him, easing onto him so slowly that I don’t know whether I want to cry or scream. Without a condom, it’s different. It’s so much better than great. It’s fucking outstanding, with nothing separating the flesh of us, him buried to the hilt inside me. Tears prick my eyes—yet another thing I choose to ignore. I pinch my eyes shut, head tipping back.
“Fuuuuuuuuck.” His voice comes out gravelly, deeper than I’ve ever heard it.
I swing my head in a slow circle. I have no voice. I have no thoughts. I am only lovemaking.
He thrusts his hips beneath me, finding an extra millimeter inside me. I cry out, scraping my nails against his chest. When I open my eyes, he’s tugging my arms.
“Come here, come here.” He urges me to lie down on top of him. His big arms go tight around me, and I’m in a hot cocoon of sensuality and perfection and the most beguiling heartbeat I’ve ever heard thrumming in another human’s chest. I melt against him, sweatiness be damned. He moves his hips in a slow, rhythmic circle. My breath escapes me in labored pants.
We’re barely moving, yet somehow this is the most erotic, most sensual sex I’ve had in my life.
He nuzzles my neck, lips sliding against the sweaty skin there. Then his mouth finds mine, salty sweet and copper, and we kiss so hard and deeply that I almost come from the make-out session alone. Doing anything while he’s buried inside me—filling me like this, throbbing and tense—is grounds for coming. He could give a PowerPoint presentation while his dick was inside me, and it might push me over the edge.
“Connor,” I finally whisper, my voice sticking in my throat. “It feels too good.”
He snags my lips in another kiss, and then he rolls us over, depositing me back-down on the bench. He coaxes my knees up to his sides, and he groans when he finds even more depth inside me.
“Kinsley,” he pants, teeth grazing my ear lobe. A shiver races through me, and I arch up, needing more of him. “You’re a sunbeam, you know that?”
His comment makes me smile. He’s pushing himself in and out, faster now, his slick chest slipping against my tits. Every inch of us is sweating and erotic and sexier than sin. I think I’ve been orgasming the entire time without realizing it.
“That’s sweet,” I murmur, my hands trailing over the rippling muscles of his back as he fucks me. As he makes love to me. I’m not sure which it is anymore, because this is different from anything I’ve ever experienced before. It’s deeper. It’s more meaningful. It’s so raw that I want to cry, and I don’t even know why.
&nbs
p; He pushes himself inside me again. He huffs. “You’re Sunny-kins.”
His cock fills me one last time, and something in the combination of the water lapping nearby combined with the explosive heat of him, inside and on top of me, finally shoves me over the edge. My legs go rigid, and I toss my head back, a brutally fast orgasm tearing through me. A pinched cry escapes me as the heat and bliss and wonder all assault me in equal measure.
Connor is groaning now too, hips jerking. And then I feel it, the liquid heat of him filling me, coating my insides and dribbling out between my legs. We hold each other for a long time, sighing and panting and groaning. Trying to recover from this tidal wave of emotion and pleasure that submerged us.
When he finally slips out of me, the pond between my legs is noticeable. I prop myself up on my elbows, looking down in disbelief. He hobbles off and returns a moment later with a rag to wipe it up, starting with me.
His cheeks are red, skin still glistening from our slip-n-slide sex, as he gently cleans me up. Then he wipes down the cushion. Tosses the rag.
And then he gets on his knees beside the bench and gives me a kiss so deep and meaningful that I have no choice but to believe.
This thing between us?
It’s real as fuck.
Chapter 21
CONNOR
Two days left until our flight back to San Diego, and we’re hitting up the Daily Shop in a textbook definition of a liquor run.
Kinsley and I are straight lovebirds. We go from mid-aisle smooching to running toward the chip display like kids, to shouting from one end of the aisle to the other when she finds the exact brand of rum she was looking for.
With Kinsley, everything is more fun. Absolutely everything.
I didn’t even know that I could feel this way about someone. God knows most outings with Tamara were more chore than childlike. Honestly, the way Kinsley and I are together feels more like a movie than real life.
“Over here.” She steers me by squeezing my waist. I bury my nose in the top of her head, inhaling the sweet scent of her shampoo. We round a corner, and then she gasps.
Like, holy-shit-I-almost-stepped-in-front-of-a-car gasps.
A man and a woman stare back at us, blinking dully.
“Mom and Dad?” Kinsley squeaks.
My gaze bounces between the two of them. Yes, Kinsley does oddly resemble both of them. She takes more after her dad, though, with the long, straight nose and, well, those ears.
Those ears which are pretty adorable, actually.
“Kinsley!” Her mom’s eyebrows rocket to the top of her head, a grimace-smile covering her face.
“What are you two doing here?” Kinsley asks. Then she sighs. “I mean…I thought…I wasn’t expecting…”
Her parents’ gazes swing my way. Suddenly, there are a lot of questions clogging up the silence.
“This is Connor Daly,” Kinsley says.
“We know who he is,” her dad affirms.
“We, uh…” Kinsley looks up at me. I can read the oh shit clearly in her eyes. “We’ve been, you know. Dating.”
I offer a smile. I have no idea what to do here. This might actually be worse than my own parents. They are staring military-grade daggers my way, and I’m fairly certain one of them is going to physically remove my arm from around Kinsley’s shoulders.
Mr. and Mrs. Cabana straighten. Her dad clears his throat.
“Are you still coming over for dinner and euchre tonight?” Her mom asks in a clipped tone. Suspiciously like the one my mom uses with Kinsley.
“Yeah.” She looks up at me again. “Is that okay, Connor?”
“Of course.” I try to look friendly. Affable. Just a regular old son-of-your-nemesis.
Kinsley looks at her parents then, nibbling on her lip. “Can Connor come too?”
Mr. and Mrs. exchange unreadable looks, and then her mom shrugs. “Sure.”
Kinsley squeezes my hand that is dangling over her shoulder. “Okay. I’ll bring wine.”
“RumChata,” I tease, knocking her with my hip.
Her mom’s eyes narrow to slits, so I vow to remain silent until this is over.
“See you at six,” her dad says, and they both walk stiffly past us. Kinsley watches them go, and then she collapses into my side.
“Okay, I was wrong,” she moans into my shoulder. “They’re all bad.”
“We are definitely the adults now,” I agree. We resume a lazy pace down the bread aisle. My mind flashes to what she told them—we’re dating. Which, we are. Technically. But also not. Because we’ve erased all the lines of what makes sense. On the one hand, I’m falling for her, and hard. On the other hand, I’m not looking for a relationship and this is just fun.
But how do we even start that conversation?
It’s easier to ignore it, honestly.
We pay for our things and head back to my parents’ house, where we change into nicer clothes. She wears flowy black and gold striped pants with a black crop top. Paired with her long, blonde braid, she’s stunning. I can’t rip my gaze off her while she’s pushing hoop earrings in at the mirror.
“What?” she asks. “Thinking about that pizza place again?”
I smirk. “Yes. Because you’ve known all along pizza was code for your ass.”
“At least you don’t call me pizza ass.”
I squeeze one of her perfect butt cheeks, sucking on my bottom lip as my cock twitches to life. “Do we have to go to your parents’ house?”
“I do, at least.” She sighs, turning to face me. “You aren’t obligated, though.”
“No.” I press a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ll go. I want to.”
I drive the rental car to the farthest eastern reaches of Bayshore, where her family lives in a ritzy sub-division with stone-paved driveways and lots of big, bushy trees. There are lots of rich boaters in this part of the world, what with Lake Erie being the perfect attraction. Her mom opens the door, wearing her nautical blue ballcap over her low, platinum-blonde ponytail. She’s wearing a tank top that says Lake Mode and tan Sperry’s. All in all, she is the quintessential casual summer boater.
And Kinsley’s parents’ house is nice. It’s an expanded cottage with a loft and a fully finished basement that her parents have turned into a party space. The table is already set and waiting for us, big bay windows overlooking the sloping backyard lined with bushes and the occasional rose bush. A tub full of beer sits on ice on the kitchen island.
Now I’m on the receiving end of the avoidance. Her dad offers me one beer, and after that, her parents don’t say much to me. They are tolerating me, at best. And while I sit back and absorb their conversation—talking about Kestrel’s job in Columbus and Katie’s internship and what Kinsley plans to do with the warranty of the used car she bought—I realize that the man and woman in front of me used to be best friends with my own parents.
And now?
They’ll hardly acknowledge the offspring of the other.
How sad. But I know it’s not for nothing. I’ve never gotten a straight story out of my mom, and God knows my dad would never tell me specifics. Sometimes, it seems like the story will never come out. I just wonder: in a different world, would Kinsley and I have grown up as best friends? Maybe even lovers?
Dinner churns by, uneventful and yummy. We have rib eyes and mashed potatoes, with plenty of beer. When it comes time for euchre, the ubiquitous Midwestern card game, Kinsley and I are partners against her parents. After a few rounds, some of the tension melts away. By round four, my unexpected loner hand has the whole table shouting. Kinsley and I end up losing, but only by one point.
Once the card game wraps up and Kinsley says that it’s time for us to head back to my house, her parents tighten up all over again. All the goodwill: evaporated.
Her mom makes a point of keeping Kinsley back, speaking to her in low tones. I linger by the huge front door, trying not to look like I’m eavesdropping while doing exactly that. When Kinsley comes into the hallway, she�
��s frowning, and she leads us out of the house without another word.
Dusk has crept over the world by now, the last rays of the sunset we missed finally sinking away from the world. Crickets chirp from indeterminate spots in the heavily mulched landscaping lining her parents’ house. Once we’re inside the car, she tugs down the mirror in her visor and looks at her teeth.
“What was that about?” I start the car and slowly reverse down the driveway.
“Oh, just a reminder that I’m acting out due to being the middle child.” She scoffs, then slams the visor shut.
I smirk. “That sounds familiar.”
“They don’t understand why I had to go all the way to the West Coast when Katie and Kestrel are perfectly fine here in Ohio. And they don’t understand why…” She gestures to the space between us. “Of all the people in the world…”
Well, good thing this isn’t real, then. The words dance in the back of my throat, but they don’t make the leap past my lips.
I’m not entirely sure that it’s true. And it might not even help if it were.
“We need to figure out what happened between the four of them.” I ease the car forward and begin the long drive out of the neighborhood.
“Yeah.” She crosses her arms, staring out the window. “I plan to figure that out ASAP.”
Chapter 22
KINSLEY
Our last full day and night in Bayshore blurs by in an exciting rush. We visit the beach again, have one last ping-pong battle, and Connor takes me to Grayson’s house to see all the renovations they’ve managed to accomplish in so little time.
And then before I know it, it’s nine p.m. and we’re walking to the beach at the end of the street for the second time that day, and the last time of our trip. A bonfire snags our attention, so we head there. And what do you know—Grayson is there, with Hazel in his lap. The two of them are way cuter than I can even handle. We join the group of old Bayshore High friends. Someone brings a guitar, and music accompanies our beer drinking and laughter.
