Gradation: an enemies to lovers, steamy romance

by KC Decker

  He pulls back a fraction as he drags his moistened fingers across my bottom lip. Then his mouth is back on mine before he even removes his fingers. In this way, we share my taste, which only seems to magnify his desire for more.

  When he moves his hand behind me to cradle my head, I can’t help but feel like the gesture is protective—possessive even. For him to behave in this way toward me is everything I could have hoped for and more.

  As the night wears on, our mouths harmonize perfectly together, but neither of us takes the next step. No groping hands, no clumsy removal of clothes, no advances toward sex at all. We just fit together perfectly, and we kiss.

  When he backs his head up to look into my face, his eyes are drunk, and his smile is genuine. His emotional distance has evaporated, and an aspect of sincerity has taken over.

  “Well, I suppose that answers one of my questions anyway,” he says through a rumbly laugh. My own eyes are dizzy and swimming with lust, and my dopy smile mirrors his. Instead of discussing the fact that I moan instead of scream, I raise my head off the pillow to join our lips again. I’m not done kissing him yet. I don’t think I’ll ever be done kissing him.

  By the time dawn begins to shine through the crack in the curtains, my face is raw from his stubble. Hours of making out like teenagers still has not progressed to more, and the significance of that is not lost on me. It means a lot that he too did not want last night to be about the carnality of sex.

  I’m not too sure either of us could have stopped the forward momentum had advances been made, but somehow, we both sensed the unspoken boundary. Fucking someone is easy. Caring about them is something else entirely, and combining the two requires finesse beyond the unchecked greed of desire.

  When he tucks me against his side and whispers, “We need to sleep,” against my temple, my eyes have already grown powdery with exhaustion. I nod in agreement, but my hold on him doesn’t loosen as I nestle against his warm, welcoming body. My smile is still in place as we nod off to sleep, and I have never been so grateful for second chances.

  Chapter 20

  I wake up as Gavin tries to slip his arm out from under me. It feels like late morning, but with the curtains closed, it’s hard to tell. I’m still groggy but memories of last night suffuse my body and settle in the happy curl of my lips.

  “I’m sorry, I was trying not to wake you,” Gavin says as he kisses my forehead and then slides his body out from under my arm. “Go back to sleep, it’s only been a few hours.” I nod and close my eyes, grateful to get more rest after a long and wonderful night.

  When I hear him start the shower, I dump the exhaustion from my eyes and sit up to look at the clock. It’s not even eight-thirty yet. We have only been asleep for a few hours. I lie back down and decide to deal with whatever is happening when I wake up.

  Gavin eases back into bed with me, freshly showered and with droplets of water still clinging to him if the way my clothes fuse to his body is any indication. He spoons me from behind, hugging me pleasantly against his body, and brushing his lips against my ear as he whispers to me.

  “That’s much better.”

  It takes me a few seconds to realize what he means, then I turn around and burrow into his chest, chuckling softly while I inhale the masculinity of his damp skin.

  “You are such a gentleman,” I manage to get out before I bury another round of giggles into his armpit.

  “You have no idea,” he deadpans. “But now I can sleep next to you without the pressure of the Mariana Trench in my nut sack,” he chuckles into the darkened room as he snugs up his grip on me.

  The last couple of hours must have been rough on him because he’s asleep before I’m even done thinking about him masturbating in the shower. I wonder if he uses quick, shallow strokes, focusing on the head of his dick, or long deep pulls that tug on his whole shaft? I wonder what he thinks about when he jerks off? When he comes, do the tendons in his neck strain, or does that one forehead vein bulge?

  The next time I wake up, I feel rested. Right away I notice that Gavin is awake too because he is twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. He must feel my eyelashes brush against his chest because he abandons the lock of hair and grabs a handful of it instead. He tugs my head back so he can drop a kiss on my lips.

  I am not a morning kisser—never have been, but something about him not caring about our breath makes me smile. We slept pretty threaded together, which is unusual for me. Typically, I like my own space when I sleep, but with Gavin, I feel like I could be inside of him, and it still wouldn’t be close enough.

  “Morning,” he says in a husky morning voice that makes my insides feel warm and unguarded.

  “Good morning,” I say as I unwind myself from him and sit up. I have intentions of getting up to go brush my teeth, but he has different ideas as he hauls me on top of him, cowgirl style—but with a blanket between us, so it’s less wicked.

  “Fuuuck, just let me look at you for a minute,” he says with his hands on my waist, making the flimsy fabric cling a little tighter to my body. Last night I felt like a seductress in this outfit, but this morning I feel overexposed and a bit self-conscious.

  Trying to divert his attention, I ask, “What do you want to do today?” His eyes drag upward until he looks me in the eyes. When you add his hungry gaze to his rumpled hair and bare chest, it’s impossible not to think about sex. The three of those things combined form a trifecta of lust, and my spread-legged position only amplifies that feeling.

  “We have a late flight, so we have all day—” his hands slide around to grip my mostly bare ass, “I was thinking we should go back up to the pool.”

  “I don’t have a swimsuit,” I say. I’ll be honest, I’m a little disappointed his train of thought went to the pool because mine went straight to having sex all day, especially after his hands grabbed my butt.

  “Me neither, but we are in a budding metropolis. We’ll go buy some,” he laughs before continuing, “We can pick up some food and drinks, grab one of the cabanas…”

  I smile and nod in response. I love that there is no hint of the snarky, standoffish guy who kept dousing me with varying levels of dislike. It’s like the dam broke. We kissed all night, and now there are no walls left to defend.

  “Well, let’s go then,” I say as I drag him forward into a sitting position. “We’re burning daylight.”

  Chapter 21

  It took Gavin three and a half minutes to pick out a pair of swim trunks, but I am more discerning in the matter and take no less than eight options into the fitting room with me. It’s a pretty small surf shop, and Gavin soon tires of perusing the merchandise and trying on sunglasses, so he takes up a conversation with the owner right outside the dressing room.

  “Come on now, let’s see it,” he encourages. Honestly, this suit is not even in the running, and I wouldn’t have a problem showing Gavin, but the shop owner is out there too.

  I try to adjust the top as much as I can to maximize the coverage it’s attempting to provide, but the suit is built for a fifteen-year-old, so the effort is futile. I slide the curtain open, but I don’t dare step out, and I most certainly don’t dare to turn around.

  Both guys are facing me. The owner has his battered flip flops planted in a wide stance, and his artificially white teeth over accentuate his approving smile. Gavin looks scandalized, and like he wants to throw a giant tarp over me.

  The owner whistles and gestures for me to turn around, while Gavin swallows hard and shakes his head in a slow rejection that reads like a booming, absolutely-fucking-not. I pull the curtain closed and reach toward a more realistic option. It’s hard to stifle the laugh that wants to acknowledge Gavin’s reaction, but I manage.

  This one is sexy, but not skimpy like the last one—and actually provides butt coverage. It’s navy blue and pretty standard as far as bikinis go. I like it, so I don’t bother to model it for the guys. When I step out fully dressed, they are both standing in the same spot.

 
“Tell me you decided on the black one,” the owner says as he slaps Gavin on the back of the shoulder. Gavin doesn’t respond beyond looking at the guy like he might punch him, depending on what comes out of his mouth next. Then he reaches out for me to take his hand. The gesture is surprisingly sweet and catches me off guard because I’m still not used to this side of him.

  At the counter, Gavin asks, “Which ones do you like better?” then puts on each of the sunglasses he had put aside while I was trying stuff on. They are so similar, it hardly matters—plus, they both look sexy as hell.

  “The first ones,” I decide as I hand the owner my choice in swimsuit. If he is disappointed in my decision, he keeps it to himself. Gavin hands him the sunglasses and then inserts his card before I can pull my own out of my wallet. When I look at him kind of stunned, he just smiles. I don’t know about the sunglasses or swim trunks, but my suit was a hundred and seventy dollars.

  ***

  When we sit down at an outdoor café a few blocks from the surf shop, I lean toward him over the table and say, “Thank you for the swimsuit.”

  “My pleasure, Alabama. And thank you for not choosing the black one,” he says as he relaxes back into his seat.

  “You didn’t like it?” I tease.

  “No, I liked it a lot. What I didn’t like was the chub you gave Smiley.” He says this as he gestures over his shoulder in the direction of the store, and also in full hearing range of the waiter who has just approached our table.

  We order our lunch, and as soon as we are alone again, I feel the need to clear the air. After our kiss-fest last night, I don’t want anything left unsaid to linger.

  “Gavin, you are one of the sexiest men I have ever seen. I’m sorry I made you feel anything different than that.” He pauses for a second, reflecting on what I’ve just said and then sits forward.

  “Ok.”

  “That’s it? Just ok?”

  “Yeah, for now.”

  “Does that mean you are not done punishing me for it?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  The server disrupts our conversation by setting our drinks down in front of us and saying our lunch will be right out. It’s nice because it saves me from having to respond to Gavin’s cryptic answer. Perhaps we are not past the punishment phase, after all.

  “Gavin, tell the truth. Does a part of you still hate me?” I ask. I need to know if the kissing was partly for revenge. It would be vicious retribution for me to fall for him now, only to be discarded. It would be cruel, but I have to at least entertain the thought. Last night didn’t feel insincere—like, at all. However, it would crush me to find out he sacrificed that battle in order to win the war.

  He widens his eyes slightly, perhaps caught off guard by my question. Then, he gives me a wolfish grin and shakes his head meticulously slow. Good, he doesn’t hate me anymore. His demeanor does have a feral edge to it, however. It looks like he wants to drag me home by my hair and penetrate me in a multitude of different ways.

  After a few seconds of feeling the weight of his gaze, he surprises me with his own question.

  “Truth. Do my tattoos still bother you? You seem to be particularly agreeable in the dark.” His stare is still heavy, maybe even accusatory. My jaw pops open like it’s on a hinge. How can he even wonder about that at this point? I just told him he is one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen. Which wires got crossed exactly? That wound must be deep if he is still holding so tightly to such a conviction.

  I clear my throat, move my iced tea to the side, and lean in. He needs to hear this loud and clear. “Yes, they do.” Now he leans in on his forearms. He’s interpreted those words as an act of war.

  There is a cyclone brewing in his eyes. A violent, dangerous one. His eyes always convey so much of what he is feeling. Right now, they are telling me how much he hates that he allowed himself to be vulnerable last night. How he should have known better. And now he’s gearing up for a brawl.

  “Do you want to know what bothers me about them? Here goes. I hate that I don’t know if they make your skin more or less sensitive beneath my fingernails. It bothers me that I don’t know what they feel like against my tongue, or if they taste as rugged and sexy as they look. It also bugs me that I don’t know the meaning behind the cow skull, the Viking, the smoking revolvers—or any of the rest of them. And I hate that I don’t know what they feel like between my teeth.”

  He is frozen, like there’s a delay between what I’ve just said, and what he absorbs. His eyes are still a little hostile, but peace is approaching along the frayed horizon.

  “And I really hate that you still think I’m that person,” I exclaim. This is the part that bothers me the most. It’s deep-seated, the idea of perception vs. reality. I wear people’s impressions of me like shackles. The adoration or disdain for my father naturally coated me as well. There was no way to defend myself against the negative perceptions, no way to address the masses, so perfection was expected of me. No missteps along the way were tolerated, but the thing is, no one can live up to the expectation of perfection.

  I loathe the fact that Gavin has put such little stock in the countless good things I’ve done and said, yet still clings to the one shitty thing. He is ignoring reality in favor of the perception held so tightly in his grip.

  “I don’t.”

  “You don’t what?” Now I’m confused, I was pretty deep in my mental indignation, so now I have to realign myself with the current conversation.

  “I don’t still think you’re that person.”

  “When did you decide that?” I ask, now that my anger is starting to diffuse, I’d like to know.

  “When I watched you teach that brave old veteran the Cotton-Eyed Joe, probably. Or maybe when you danced with everyone who asked, so you wouldn’t hurt their feelings. I don’t know—somewhere in there.”

  “Then why did you ask if I have a problem with your tattoos?”

  “Because you can still be a good person, and not like tattoos,” his answer skewers me because it’s obvious he no longer thinks I’m a horrible, bitchy snob, but it’s just as obvious that he’s still worried he’s not my type.

  “Gavin. I want to rub my naked body all over your tattoos. I want to feel how soft they are against my nipples. I want to trace each one of them with my tongue. And I want to do naughty things to you while you use your tattoo machine on someone. Ok?”

  He smiles, “As long as we are being honest, I’ve wanted to suck on that bottom lip since you first started talking,” then he leans forward to do just that.

  ***

  In stark contrast to last night, the pool deck is fairly crowded, and the hot tub is bubbling away, and full of people. I head straight for the one empty cabana while Gavin peels off toward the bar. His muscled back and tattooed arms garner a fair amount of attention, but what has me panting, is the way his swim trunks hang. He looks delicious in clothes—but out of them, holy fuck!

  It’s no damn wonder why he had such a hard time with my rejection. I bet he’s never been anything but praised, and certainly never been accused of not being someone’s type. Nope, not this one. His demeanor in the crowd is similar to his attitude about tattooing—he likes being the best, he just doesn’t like to announce it. But trust me, his hot body announces it just fine.

  The rest of our lunch conversation had been light, if not dismissive of my direct mention of our turbulent past. I figure he is avoiding such talk either because he is a dude and doesn’t like to talk about feelings, or because he hasn’t processed his emotions about me yet.

  Granted, last night hit as if by storm, so attempting to slow the momentum long enough to stop and think about what was going on was never going to happen. Everything was much simpler in the dark. Past grievances faded into the shadows, feelings weren’t trampled on in order to gain the upper hand, sharp words had dulled into something else. Now, in the daylight, it’s time to clear up anything that still might be blurry for him.

  I’m just fini
shing applying my sunscreen when Gavin enters with two drinks. He looks around for somewhere to put the plastic cups, but besides a double style cabana bed, there is nothing else in here. He shrugs and gives me a let’s go gesture with his head.

  Once in the water, it’s mere seconds before Gavin backs me into the corner and deposits our drinks on the edge of the pool by each of my shoulders. When he doesn’t back up, I move my gaze from the beads of water glistening on his chest, up to his new sunglasses.

  “Do you want to know why I had a problem with the black bikini?” he asks, and because he is taller and also looking down at me, I feel like I’m being admonished like a naughty child. I nod.

  “It’s because I could see exactly what you look like naked,” he leans down to my ear and repeats, “exactly.”

  “Why was that a problem for you?” I ask.

  “Because every other guy would see you like that too. We could vividly see the shape and hardness of your nipples. And we could tell that your pussy is bare,” he says as he steps a little closer and runs the knuckles of his index finger back and forth across said area.

  “You couldn’t see that, you just know it is,” I challenge. Even thinking about his fingers on that part of my body last night makes my whole face feel warm, and it has nothing to do with the sun.

  He slowly shakes his head and lowers his voice, “Smiley at the surf shop knows exactly what your naked body looks like. He is going to think about it tonight when he jerks off.” He is teasing me, not as blatantly as he normally would, but teasing just the same.

  I lean forward, so my lips lightly graze against the hollow of his throat when I ask, “What do you think about when you jerk off?” I ask, wanting to know if he’ll get uncomfortable when the tables are turned.

  “All kinds of stuff.”

  “Like what? What did you think about last night in the shower?”