"Maybe someone got a flat and stole it?" he asks.
Right. Okay. That's probably it. My tire's definitely stolen—but everything else? It could've all been me misplacing shit.
So I shake it off. And I smile at Sawyer because a moment ago, my mouth was on his. And because of that, today is a day for smiling. "It's weird. I was just thinking about the first day we met and how I tried to offer you my spare then."
For a moment, he still looks concerned. Then he shrugs, maybe pushing the worries aside the same way I am. Because he knows today's a day for smiling too. "It was your dad's spare back then. You weren't even old enough to drive."
"Whatever. I'd driven like…at least ten times behind my parents' backs by then." I roll my eyes, all exaggeratedly. "Anyway, come on."
"What about your tire?"
"I'll get a new one." I shrug, walking toward the house. I refuse to be creeped out about a missing spare tire. Not right now.
Sawyer doesn't follow me at first. "You can't just go inside."
"I'm not, jeez." I cut across the yard and wait at the fence to the backyard. "I grew up here. I want to visit memory lane for a minute." Not that I have a ton of amazing memories, or anything. Rich or poor, my parents have never been the type to make big family memories. My dad's always been a bit in the background. My mom's always been…striving for the next best thing.
"Are you aiming to make it two trips to the police station this month?"
"Sounds like a challenge to me." But thinking of Officer Vincent McDickwad does put a damper on my mood. Screw him, though. "You coming or what?"
I reach over the gate and let myself in. The fence is an improvement. We had a chest-high chain link when I lived here—same thing when I stopped by half a decade ago. Now it's wooden and almost as tall as I am.
The grass is trampled and sparse. No change there. But a double swing set sits in the middle of the small yard, and for a second I swallow around a lump in my throat. Good for the people who put it in. That and the fence. Small improvements make a huge difference. Maybe this is why the window's boarded. Maybe they put their savings here, instead.
Or maybe the window broke last week and the family's out buying new panes for it right now.
My imagination would flood the world if I didn't rein it in sometimes.
Sawyer stands beside me. "Memories coming running?"
"Nah." I move forward and drop into a swing. It squeaks under my weight, and I wrap my fingers around the chains.
"It's weird to picture you here. Or your mom." He glances around the yard, taking it all in, before resting his gaze back on my face.
"And what? My dad fits the part?" I try to laugh. Fail. It's hard to keep the conversation light—or flowing at all—when he stares at me the way he does, like he's hungry, starving even, and maybe not for food.
"Want me to push you?" He slides past me, behind me, grabbing the swing chains above my hands.
Maybe it's my imagination again because he's not even standing that close to me, but I swear I can feel the heat from his chest sinking into my back.
I push my feet against the ground until my back really does connect with his stomach.
I slide my hands up until they collide with his and stroke one of his wrists with my thumb.
I hold my breath.
He does, too. But his heart's beating faster and faster, throwing itself between my shoulders.
I close my eyes. "Sawyer…"
He pulls the swing back and shoves it forward so hard I almost go flying.
My stomach drops on the downswing and I don't open my eyes because the tingles in my belly flood straight down between my legs. He steps out of the way when I swing back, giving enough room so I don't kick him in the face—but he can still reach my back. His fingers sear my skin through my shirt when he pushes me. I swing higher, and higher, and higher. His hands touch me lower, and lower, and lower each time… Behind my shoulders. The base of my ribs. At the small of my back… Until they wrap around my waist, just for a fraction of a second, before releasing me again into the air.
I grin because if he reaches lower this time, the next stop will be my ass, and my back is arching in anticipation.
But the next stop is a literal stop. He grabs the swing instead of me and holds it even with the ground, breaking the seesaw of thrills running through me. "I can't do this."
Yes, he can. But maybe he's the one who needs a push this time.
"When you left, did you go because of me?" I dig my feet into the ground, stilling the swing completely and twisting to look at him. "Can you just tell me that? Did I do something?"
"Jesus, of course not." He doesn't mean to say it, I can tell by the set of his jaw after the words slip out. But it's all I need to hear to know I'm right, that he still cares for me, and once he's said this much, maybe he figures he can share a little more because he continues. "You think my entire family would uproot because of something a seventeen-year-old girl did? You were a part of us, Quinn."
"If I was a part of you, then why didn't any of you ever call me? Write me. Fuck, anything to let me know you were okay, so I could be okay." Not that I would've been okay. Not without him.
He sighs. "I couldn't tell you anything then. I still can't."
"Okay."
"Okay?" Half a smirk slides across his face. "What do you mean?"
I slide as much sincerity into my voice as I can. "I'll be okay with it. If I wasn't the reason you left, and if you didn't stop caring for me, I don't need to know anything else. Not if it means I'll lose you again now, too."
"You can't forgive me so easily."
"I don't forgive you," I say. "But I'm not walking away from you, either." I could be setting myself up for disaster. I could be being an idiot girl who refuses to see the obvious. But I don't think I am.
And the thought of walking away now, just because he's keeping something from me—no matter how huge it is—makes me feel physically ill. Literally. My stomach is rising like a roller coaster just considering it.
"We can't be together." He doesn't even bother unclenching his jaw to speak, so the words come out rough. Strained.
He's about to break. Needs only one more push, I think. "Why?"
He shakes his head.
"Fine. You can't tell me. But you're with me, Sawyer, right now. You're with me."
"You need to take me back to the shop."
"What if it's a secret?" I ask, clinging to the gossamer strand of suspicion as it flits by. My mom would kill me for reuniting with him. Gianna, too. Not that I'd ever be ashamed to be with Sawyer, but maybe…maybe he has reasons for needing this to be a secret. Maybe I'll take him any way I can have him—because I see his heart. I know he still wants me the way I want him. "What if nobody else knows about us. What if we just…try?" I've never begged anyone to be with me before. Not once in all the years he's been gone. But nobody else has ever been worth it. "If it doesn't work out, nobody can give us shit for it because nobody will know."
"I can't tell you the things you want to know. You can't forgive me for it. We can't tell anyone we're together. This sounds really healthy." His sarcasm is biting. Sour. But he's also not saying no.
"Can you walk away?" I ask. "Again, I mean. Right now, can you walk away from me?"
I push myself out of the swing and spin toward him until we're no more than an inch apart. "Tell me, Sawyer. Tell me you can walk away again and I'll take you back to the shop and—"
"Stop." He shakes his head, his mouth pressed. "You have to stop, Quinn."
And he walks away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SAWYER
KEEP WALKING. JUST keep walking.
I make it to the fence line before she catches up, grabbing my arm and asking, "What the hell?"
Something inside me snaps and I spin to face her. Instead of stopping though, I grab her shoulders and circle us until her back hits the fence. She grins. I clench my jaw and slam a hand beside her head against the wood.
I want to shove her legs apart. Take her here against the fucking fence. "Don't tell me to walk away and then touch me. Jesus."
Her eyes go wide, but not with fear, and her grin turns smug. "I wasn't telling you to walk away. I was asking if you could." She glances slyly to my hand beside her face and back to me. "Guess we've got our answer now, huh?"
"What is wrong with you, Quinn?" I'm this close to breaking—and she's begging me to. "This can't be what you want, can't be what you'll take. Some back room fuck with zero promise of anything else."
"You didn't fuck me in that back room, in case you've forgotten. Unless you count your tongue…" She trails off, considering, remembering. Making me remember, too. "And yeah, I'd definitely count that, actually. But look at you. Feel you." She reaches between us, rubbing me with her hand, taking me from semi-stiff to full-on fucking metal rod. "You want me. I want you. Why can't that be enough?"
She pisses me off. "Why the hell would you ever accept it as enough?"
"Because it's better than the alternative," she speaks simply, and my anger peels away, leaving room for all the shame in the world. I broke her four years ago. She was strong enough to suture herself back together, and if I stay I'll pull out all those stitches. Her undoing will be mine as well, again, but I'm not strong enough to take another step.
I rest my forehead against hers. "Nobody can know about this, Quinn, and I won't tell you why. I won't make you any promises." Even if I want to give her the entire damn world.
She closes her eyes and her breathing picks up. "Okay."
"Okay." I close my eyes, too, enjoying the feel of her skin against mine. One word, one small okay, and years of tension drain from my shoulders. I've lived with heavy chains of regret trapped around my ribs and they're loosening now. I haven't breathed this easily in four years. But when I open my eyes again, she's crying.
She gives a gentle shake of her head when I pull back to ask what's wrong and wraps her hands around my back to keep me in place.
"I'm crying because I'm happy." She lets her tears fall, trailing down her cheeks. "I've missed you. For four years, I felt like my soul was made of wet sand. And I know there are no promises from you—and I'm not making any either, okay? Because maybe this won't be enough for me. But for now? God, tell me you feel it too, Sawy."
A tear drips from the side of her jaw and I capture it with my mouth, letting its saltiness linger on my tongue. I catch the next one, too. I trail kisses up her cheek to the line of her lashes and I kiss her nose and kiss down the trail of tears on her other side.
She trembles and smiles when she opens her eyes. "Hello."
"Hello."
"Do you still want to leave?"
I study the house for a moment. It's dark inside, empty. "No."
"What do you want to do?"
"Freeze time."
She blinks, not expecting my answer, and her eyes fill again. "Me, too."
"But we're going to have to do something about all this crying."
Now she grins. "I can think of a few things."
I flash my teeth, lowering my head until our noses are practically touching. "So can I, honey. Believe me. I think I'll start right here, actually."
Her lips part. She thinks I'm going to kiss her, but I think maybe it's actually time to take it slow. As long as I can last, anyway.
I run my fingers along her arms until they find her fingers where they're locked around my back. I tug one of her hands away and pull it up to my mouth.
"I've always loved your hands," I say into her palm, punctuating my words with a small flick of my tongue. She draws in a sharp breath and I sink my teeth lightly into the heel of her palm. "So delicate. Such long fingers." I trail my lips across the tops of each one, ending with her thumb and pulling it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over it. "I thought about your hands a lot the past four years."
She's breathing faster and her pupils dilate, the black centers contrasting even more with the deep blue irises around them. I fucking love that I can turn her on just by giving her hand some attention. I can't wait to work my way along the rest of her. But I will wait. This time, I will take it slow.
She traces lines up and down my back with her free hand and slides it under my shirt, running it along my lower back, sending spikes of adrenaline up my spine.
I press my tongue against the pulse point of her wrist, dragging my teeth against her skin, and her head falls back against the fence. "Sawyer…"
"Such graceful arms," I say, kissing my way up to the inside of her elbow, concentrating here, too, at her pulse, and speaking into her skin. "Like a fucking ballerina. I can't wait to make you spin."
She says my name again, more like a moan this time, and I think maybe her world's already starting to twirl. I work my way up to her shoulder, smiling. "Your skin tastes like candy apples. I never forgot that, and I can't tell you how happy I am it hasn't changed."
She turns her face to look at me. "Really? Weird."
"Tasty," I correct her and lick my way to the side of her neck, nipping. "You have no idea how delicious you are."
She sighs and quivers against the fence, letting her head drop to the side, giving me more access to her smooth, silky skin. I really take my time here, tasting every inch of her long neck, pulling her earlobe into my mouth, teasing it with my teeth until she moans for real.
"I'm about to melt into this fence."
"Go ahead, honey. I'll catch you." I kiss my way from her ear down to the base of her chin, slowly, slowly, memorizing the edge of her jaw with my tongue.
I used to know every single curve of Quinn's body. I knew exactly where to place my mouth if I wanted to tickle her, to make her laugh. Exactly where to place my mouth to make her squeeze her legs tighter together, to make her wet. For however long we have in this…whatever it is we've agreed to…I plan to spend every moment I can refamiliarizing myself with any spot significant to her—and to add meaning to the ones that aren't yet.
"Will you please. Just. Kiss. Me?" she begs, nudging my face with her chin until I meet her eyes. When I do, there's no turning back. I'll have to work on her other arm later because her mouth is parted into a tiny "o" and her tongue is darting out to wet her lips, and fuck self-control. Fuck. It.
I brush my nose against hers and she smiles, loving that I'm giving her what she asks for. I run my tongue across her lips, tasting every inch, corner to corner, before licking the inside of her mouth. She tastes like candy here, too. I scrape my tongue along the ridges of her teeth and she slides her tongue through my lips, tasting me, too.
But I'm not ready to give up control and I grab her wrists, holding them above her head with one hand, trailing my other down the side of her throat, tracing waves across her collarbone, dipping lower to caress the tops of her breasts until she moans into my mouth and pushes herself more firmly into my hand.
I drop her wrists, wanting all ten of my fingers to trace her body, and she wraps her fingers through my hair. Her knees begin to bend and she slides down the fence, pulling me with her, until she's sitting on the ground and I'm kneeling between her legs.
Not once do our mouths part.
Not once do I want them to. Not ever again, if I could help it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
QUINN
HIS TONGUE FILLS my mouth and explores everything. My teeth. The roof of my mouth. The underside of my tongue.
Every time I try to take control of the kiss, he pushes back, puts me in my place. I smile against his mouth because here, and only here, am I okay with this, with him taking control.
Not for long though. No, this won't last that long at all. Not with the way I need him right now. All of him. Everywhere.
I push forward until he sits back on his heels. I keep my mouth on his and I climb onto his lap, crossing my legs behind his back. He's rock solid under his board shorts, and the only thing separating us on my side are my panties. My thin, very forgiving panties.
I rock my hips and he groans into m
y mouth and I want to eat his damn tongue if that's what it'll take to pull him farther through my lips.
My elbows are hooked around his neck, like holding his face captive against mine will give me the thing I'm craving most. The closeness I've been dying for for four years. Longer than that, really.
A sound like a growl works its way up his throat and it's so fucking sexy, the fluttering between my legs becomes something a little faster. A little stronger.
The sound deepens and he releases it into my mouth and like I weigh nothing, he rocks back onto his heels and stands. Oh, holy hell. My legs are still wrapped around him, but gravity sits me heavier against him, where he's so hard, and I'm about to fucking lose it. I twist my hips and writhe and moan back against his lips and he walks me backward until we hit the fence again, so hard it nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
Still, "Condom. Now," makes it out of my mouth.
He bites my lower lip, shaking his head. "Board shorts. Surfing. Don't have one."
"What the hell," I groan. I could kick myself for not putting one back in my bag after my first visit to Sawyer's shop. "Are you trying to freaking kill me?"
But he shushes me and buries his face in my neck and grabs the top of the fence for leverage. And then I'm hitting the fence, hitting the fence, hitting the fence so hard every time he slams his hips against me I'm going to have bruises between my shoulders—and along my inner thighs. Yum.
He's straining against me, thrusting, ramming, torturing me and all I want to do is reach between us and free him from his shorts. Push my panties to the side. Screw a rubber. I need him. But I can't because I'm holding on for dear life and he's giving no quarter here. My back is slamming into the fence so hard I'm nervous we'll break it. I'm nervous about splinters, too, somewhere at the far end of my mind, but who the fuck cares about a little bit of pain when the boy you've loved your entire life is pressing himself as far as humanly possible inside of you through thin layers of clothing? I swear to God his tip is right there and somehow we're about to have sex for the first time without even taking anything off and I don't give a single fuck because I need him there, to fill me, so bad I'm almost in pain with the way I'm throbbing.
Surf & Surrender Page 13
