On the Rocks (A Turtle Island Novel)

by Kim Law

  “What can I say? When I know what I want, I know what I want.”

  He grinned at her once more, and clicked his key fob to unlock their doors.

  They’d not only picked out counters, cabinets, flooring, and fixtures—and double-checked all decisions against her paint choices—but they’d spent hours shopping for necessities for the house. As well as a few things for his parents’ remodel.

  She’d ordered a kitchen table before choosing a king-sized bed, a sectional, a love seat, and a large-screen television, as well as dishes, linens, bedding, small appliances, and even cleaning supplies. She’d also chosen outdoor furniture for each deck, a lounge chair to read in, and a welcome sign to hang on her front door.

  The furniture would be delivered once the house was finished. Everything else was in Carter’s car.

  The thing about the day that had surprised her, though, wasn’t that she’d made the decisions, but that they had been easy to make. Especially with Carter along for the ride. As they’d traversed the many aisles together, contemplating one option over another, he’d resorted to making faces if he’d thought she was leaning toward a bad choice. This caused her to both laugh and often be steered in another direction.

  He had good taste when it came to design, so she’d been open to listening. And she’d learned a lot. It made her want to see his house, to see what he’d done with it.

  The entire afternoon was the kind of day she’d dreamed of being her norm. And though it had yet to happen—and it might never happen—the interesting thing was that she was beginning to believe she could be okay if it turned out that marriage and kids weren’t meant to be.

  She wanted a family and forever. Yes. She wanted love.

  But those things didn’t define who she was.

  “Tell me about Andie and Roni,” Carter said as they climbed into the car and he started the engine.

  “Andie and Roni . . . they’re the best things to ever happen to me.”

  He backed out of the space.

  “They’ll both be down tomorrow, did I mention that? Roni’s on her first tour since she stepped away from performing a few years ago. I don’t know if you remember, but she’s a concert pianist.” Ginger didn’t go into the whys of Roni’s temporary departure from her career. “And she’s finishing up her tour here. She’s also pregnant and has the sweetest stepdaughter. She lives in Dallas with her husband, Lucas, but kept her beach house here. Andie owns Gin’s—”

  “The bar?”

  “Yes. It’s named after her Aunt Ginny, the woman she visited here every summer. She also has half ownership in Seaglass Celebrations, the island’s premier event-planning company, and she had her first child this summer. She lives in Boston now with her husband, Mark. He’s a lawyer in his family’s firm.”

  “You like their husbands, then?”

  “Like?” She nodded. “If those two weren’t perfect for my friends, I’d be in love with them myself.”

  He chuckled as he headed out of the parking lot. “You’re such a romantic.”

  She was. She knew that. She liked that about herself. But she wondered if Carter saw what she did when she looked at him. “You are, too, you know?”

  He glanced at her. “You think I’m a romantic?”

  “I do.”

  He snorted. “Romance is the last thing I believe in these days.”

  She could understand that, what with the way his ex had treated him. “Yet, at the core of you, it’s who you are,” she said. “What you wanted.” When he glanced her way, his gaze thoughtful, she added, “Marriage, kids . . . the house.”

  He was more like her than he probably realized.

  He went silent, but unlike days past, it didn’t seem to be in anger so much as in consideration. He might not agree with her assessment, but she could see that her words intrigued him. After a few moments, he steered the car into a drive-thru ice cream place. “I could use a milkshake,” he said. “You’ve drained me of all energy. Want one?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Once they had their treats in hand and were pulling away from the window, Carter looked over at her. He changed direction and angled into a parking spot. “Her baby was due this month.” He made the statement in a matter-of-fact way, and took a drink of his shake as she digested the words.

  Ginger immediately understood that he meant his ex-wife. “You don’t know if she’s had it?”

  “No clue.” He seemed so much more accepting of his life this morning. Which floored her. They hadn’t talked anymore about what had ended his marriage, but she’d been angry on his behalf since their conversation. How did someone do that to a person?

  His ex-wife had married another man. She’d gotten pregnant by the other man. Yet she hadn’t bothered to divorce Carter first. Ginger would have wanted the woman locked away. For life!

  “You’re better today,” she told him. And she now totally understood the rage that had plagued him for so many months. It was deserved. “You’re more like the you I once knew.”

  He nodded. “I feel more like him.”

  “Your mother will be happy,” she teased. She sipped at her shake. She’d gotten chocolate, while he’d chosen orange cream.

  “She’s going to wear me out when she gets home. All I’ll hear is how she knew what was best for me.”

  Ginger could picture his mother saying just that. She smiled slightly.

  “Well, she was right. Give credit where credit’s due . . .” They’d both leaned in toward the other as they talked, but they weren’t touching. Just close. The air in the car seemed heated and heavy, and suddenly his ex wasn’t on her mind at all. All she could think about was the night before.

  Up against the wall of her kitchen.

  In her downstairs bathroom . . . before they’d moved to the upstairs shower.

  They’d had to air-dry before putting their clothes back on, but it had been worth it. The man was a great lover. And she was ready for round two.

  “What should we do now?” she asked. She heard the suggestiveness in her voice, and didn’t bother trying to hide it. “More shopping? Catch the ferry back . . .” Or was she being presumptuous? “Or maybe you have other plans for the evening? I didn’t mean to imply.”

  He shot her a promising look. “My plans for the evening involve sticking next to you until you tell me to go away.”

  “Oh.” She licked milkshake off her lip. “Well, then . . .”

  He leaned in and kissed her. Then his milkshake was somewhere other than in his hand because he was touching her. One palm cupped her face. The other found her breast. And the taste of orange collided with chocolate. They were sitting in a public parking lot where anyone could see them, but she didn’t care.

  “I’m wearing my sexy underwear today,” she whispered against his mouth.

  His acknowledgment that he heard her was a low growl. And his hand tunneling under her shirt.

  His fingers found her breast again, this time with only the barrier of lace between his skin and hers, and she pressed herself more fully into his hand. She’d grabbed the lace underthings that morning just to show him that she could do better than plain cotton, but if he kept going the way he was, he wouldn’t even get to see them.

  She considered the possibility that he might bring her to orgasm without even venturing below her waist. Was that even possible?

  She was willing to find out.

  “You’re killing me,” he proclaimed seconds later when her free hand found its own path under his clothes. Only, her fingers had slipped behind the waist of his jeans. She grazed the tip of him.

  With both of them breathing hard, they pulled apart. But he remained close. “Any idea how I might get you horizontal this time?” he asked. “The wall and shower were fun. Great fun . . .” His gaze traveled over her, and she was pretty sure what was left of her milkshake melted from the heat. “But I have more things I want to do to you, Red. Things I need you spread out for.”

  She nodded. “I have
a solution for that.” She sounded desperate.

  She was desperate.

  “Yeah?”

  “My blow-up mattresses arrived today,” she told him. At his questioning look, she added. “I ordered them to use at the house.” Her fingers curled around the top edge of his jeans once more. “I saw the boxes being unloaded from the mail truck before we left the ferry.”

  “A blow-up mattress?” He sounded doubtful.

  “It’s double thick.”

  “You think we can keep from busting it?”

  Her lace had grown wet. She needed to be naked with him. “I think we have to try.”

  With a curt nod, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Call your mother. Tell her not to expect you home tonight.”

  A grin settled on her face. “It’s already taken care of.”

  Carter wasted no time once they got back to her place. It took him two trips, but he had everything in the house that they’d need for the foreseeable future. Mattress, pillows, food, a box of condoms, tissues, and towels—in case the shower needed more exploring—and another box of condoms.

  She’d laughed at him when he’d picked up the second box at the store, but along with his sex drive, he’d discovered his optimism attempting a return. Extra condoms seemed a good place to start.

  “You got that mattress blown up yet?” he asked as he reentered her bedroom. She sat on the floor, her shoes tossed to one side and the bed spread out before her. It remained flat while she studied the instructions. “Out of the way,” he said. He reached for the plug and dragged the bed to an outlet.

  “You seem in an awfully big hurry.”

  “Yep.”

  He was in a hurry. He wanted Ginger, and he wanted her now.

  Since he’d touched her in the car, nothing else had mattered. She was hot and soft and sexy, and he was hard and needy. Last night hadn’t been enough. Tonight wouldn’t be, either. But he intended to make the absolute best use of the time that he had.

  “I think I’ll open the doors.” She rose from the floor, and he turned his head to watch her go. She’d mentioned lace, and though he’d been honest the night before when he’d said that hadn’t mattered, he hadn’t been able to keep from imagining what she’d look like with nothing on but lace panties and her top.

  “Take off your jeans,” he told her.

  She peeked back over her shoulder. “Just my jeans?”

  The moon remained bright tonight, and with her standing in front of the glass of the doors, a blue glow seemed to be painted on the other side of her. The sight made his own jeans uncomfortable.

  “It’s the way I like you best,” he explained. “Running around with no pants on. I’ve had fantasies about that. A lot of fantasies.” He nodded, and his throat grew dry. “No pants.”

  Her fingers went to her waist, and in a second her rear began to wiggle.

  Her backside remained in view, and he thanked the Lord for the night and attempted to regain moisture in his mouth.

  As the denim slipped lower, her body framed in the French doors, he focused on two things. The tiny strip of white lace now exposed under the hem of her shirt. And his own breathing. He sounded like he’d just run a race.

  When her jeans reached her ankles, she kicked them to one side, and once again peeked back at him. “What next?”

  “Bra. But not the shirt. The bra only.”

  He panted as he watched her. Her hands slipped under the thin material that covered her above the waist, and disappeared up to her elbow. Then she was wiggling again. As she worked each arm free before slipping a strap down over it, her rear moved with the motions. Her ass wasn’t overly large, but given he couldn’t take his eyes off it, it seemed to take up all the space in the room. The curves at the bottom called to him. He wanted his hands there.

  “Open the door,” he said the second the undergarment hit the floor.

  She didn’t delay. Both doors opened wide, and wind slipped into the room. She faced him then, her back to the middle support beam, her hands behind her, and her breasts heavy under the filmy top. She gave him a serious “come hither” look, and he rose and went to her.

  His hands started at her thighs, his eyes locked on his movements. “You are seriously gorgeous.”

  Her returning comment was nothing more than a purr, so he explored the lace. With his fingers poised on the outsides of her thighs, his thumbs traced over the leg lines, taking in the soft texture of the material against the even softer touch of her skin. She was a tactile learner’s dream. He slid the pad of his thumbs up, their rougher texture outlining the high cut of the panties before dipping down and meeting at the juncture of her legs.

  Her chest thrust forward when he pressed against her, and he groaned at the wetness that met him. He wanted to taste her.

  “Take them off,” he commanded.

  He could do it himself, but he wanted to see her own hands exposing herself to him.

  They’d been too fast last night. Both taking and giving as if dying of thirst after a months-long sojourn into the desert, but he intended to make up for it this evening. He wanted to touch and taste and explore every last inch of her. And then he wanted to do it again.

  Her thumbs slipped inside the front band of the panties, and her eyes hooded above him. She was as turned on as he.

  “Push them down,” he begged. He ached to see more.

  Inch by tiny inch, the lace slid over her hips. And then she was there. He’d dropped to his knees at some point, and the most protected part of her was now within inches of his face. He breathed her in. And this time he said a silent thank-you to his ex. This was way better than the life he’d tried to have with her.

  His hands once again touched Ginger, his palms sliding from calves to thighs and back again. When he reached her ankles, he helped her to step out of the underwear. And then he simply looked up at her. Her nipples were hard. There was no hiding them without a bra. And her breaths came as short and fast as his.

  Then he finally closed the distance and put his lips to her.

  She sucked in a breath, and her hands landed in his hair.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  Her legs edged apart, and he was in heaven. He slipped a finger between her thighs and touched her, drawing the tip along her seam. She was so wet. And so silky. And then he touched her with his mouth. She bucked slightly, and her fingers gripped his hair. But she stayed silent.

  He took the silence as a personal challenge—she certainly hadn’t been silent the night before—and he resolved to make her scream.

  He brought his thumbs back to her, and this time he parted her. She was shadowed with the moon behind her, but not so much that he couldn’t take her in. He licked her once more. Then pulled on her lightly with his lips.

  She bucked again, and this time a tiny moan squeezed from her throat. So he licked some more. She tasted like heaven.

  Her legs parted wider, or maybe he’d done that himself, as he continued to lap at her with his tongue. He used fingers, thumbs, tongue, and teeth. And he didn’t let go until he was certain she knew who she belonged to tonight.

  At the last second, as she writhed in his hands, he heard a small whisper of “Carter” before her body bowed tight. Her hands clasped the post above her, and a guttural scream started.

  It felt as if her orgasm lasted for a full minute as she shook in his hands and pulsed against his mouth. And then her entire body sagged. The breath left her body, and he smiled smugly against her.

  He kissed her thighs before rising to his feet.

  “I’m wasted.” Her head dropped to the door frame behind her, and her arms hung at her sides. “You’ve ruined me.”

  “No, baby. I’ve just gotten you started.”

  He scooped her up and turned. Then stopped.

  They both burst out laughing at the size of the mattress. It was so full, and so rounded on top, that he wouldn’t have been surprised to see it explode at that very second. So he
yanked the cord from the wall with his toes, grabbed a condom, and went to find a bathroom that had a countertop.

  Once he had her lowered before him, he sheathed himself and slid inside her.

  They groaned at the same time.

  It was too good. He gripped the sides of her hips and pulled back slightly, then slid in deeper. She made a whimpering sound. He liked hearing her. “Pull your shirt off for me.”

  Immediately, she stripped her shirt over her head. She was beautiful.

  There was no light on in the room, but there was plenty of moonlight coming in through the connected bedroom window. He watched her breasts as he continued to pump in and out of her. The way they jiggled was an exquisite kind of torture, but finally he’d had enough. He leaned in on a thrust, and captured a nipple with his lips.

  “I’ve wanted to do this all day long,” he murmured around her flesh. He flicked his tongue over her.

  “Do what? Suck on my nipple or—” She drew in a sharp breath as he nipped down on her, and she planted her hands on the countertop behind her. Her breasts lifted higher, reaching for him. So he released one hand from a hip to bring her untouched breast to his mouth.

  She was all he could have imagined. And more.

  And he wanted to do this until he died.

  “You don’t even have your clothes off,” she whimpered.

  She put her hands on him, flitting them around as if not sure where to touch, what article of clothing to attempt to remove first. His jeans were open and shoved down just far enough, but that was all.

  “I feel like I should be doing something for you, too,” she panted.

  He captured her hands and held her wrists at the base of her spine. “You are doing something for me.” He kissed her hard. “You’re being my fantasy.”

  And then he could hold back no longer. He yanked her hips closer, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Then he pounded inside her so hard that he feared he might hurt her. Or himself.

  “You okay?” he gritted out. But he didn’t stop.

  She nodded. The move was jerky, and her eyes were glazed.