He lays out a blanket and then a picnic banquet of little roasted cauliflower florets, avocado sushi rolls, vegetable sticks and dips, and a fresh berry salad for my sweet tooth.
We eat first, stretched out on a blanket, our naked toes playing in the sand. The easy conversation from the car continues—his worst haircut, my worst date.
“You can’t say it was the time you ended up wearing wine and being served raw chicken,” he warned. Unluckily for him, I don’t have enough of a dating history to beat our first date.
We continue comparing his most embarrassing on-field disaster, and my top three uniform fails in dance competitions.
The connection I have with this man is not normal. There’s no guile or trying hard to please him. There’s no wondering if he’s only with me because I look good on his arm. Dylan Fleskican have any woman on his arm and has proven so in the past. When he says he’s not doing the fake dating with other women, I believe him. When he says he hasn’t been with anyone since me, I believe him.
He chose me. The notes, the smile, they are all for me.
Which is why when he leans in, eyes soft and lips plump, I don’t hesitate. His kiss is slow and deep as he starts tentatively and then gradually matches my need. When he half-rolls toward me, I allow him to gently lower me to the blanket, loving the way he feels pressed against me with all the security of a weighted blanket, but with the added danger of his erection pressed between my legs.
We’re on a public beach. Sure, there’s no one here but us—but therecouldbe. At any minute, a horde of holiday makers or locals could traipse down the same path and find us.
I don’t care.
The world narrows to nothing but the feel of him—the way his hair feels tightly wrapped around my fingers, the way his mouth feels as it explores mine, to the way his hands feel as they cup my jaw, and thumbs lightly pressed around my neck.
My long dress is both a blessing and a curse. It’s too long for Dylan to subtly get his hands up my legs, so he makes do with caressing my curves over the thin fabric. It’s almost more erotic knowing there is a thin barrier between us.
“Here or the cottage?” he murmurs, giving me the option.
“What’s more forbidden than sex on the beach between two people who shouldn’t be together in the first place?” I lightly scratch his cheek before raising my hips. “Wanna get me out of this dress?”
“I think I can go one step better.”
He undoes the buttons of my bodice, exposing my pale peach lace bra, and pulls up the front of my dress. “Now, where to begin, where to begin?”
I know where I want to begin, and that’s with a naked chest and shorts pushed down over his hips. When I finally get access to the abs that BeeLeeve Me described as a natural wonder, he flinches. Smiling, I scratch each outline, gradually working my way down his happy trail.
“I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that,” he warns.
“I thought you promised me something special,” I tease back.
“I’ll even gift wrap it for you,” he says, reaching for a condom from his back pocket and tearing it open with his teeth. “But I’ve been thinking about sinking into your sweetness since you left the hotel. I’ve jerked off to you more times than I’ll ever admit. So, forgive me if you touch it and I explode.”
Dylan doesn’t stop kissing me, even when his fingers part my wetness and use my juices to coat his sheathed cock.
He doesn’t stop kissing me even when my ankles are wrapped around his hips, and one of his hands is between my legs while the other gives equal pleasure to my breasts.
His kisses only increase as our limbs get tangled in clothes, and sand, and my orgasm builds quicker than I want. I want this to last forever. I want whatever this thing is between us to last forever. I don’t want to come because then it could be over. I want to come, because I want to feel Dylan explode as I squeeze around him.
I want it all. I want all of Dylan.
And as we explode together, I know with absolute certainty, I want to give him all of me.
“I want full custody of Saxon,” Dylan murmurs, tracing wet fingers around my belly button. The man is obsessed with using his cum to draw patterns on my skin and as soon as we got clean in the shower, he insisted on dirtying me up, again.
“Why?”
“Because he lives with the asshole who ruined our lives. Because the asshole only sees him as a meal-ticket to keep me paying the bills. Because I’m the only person who puts Squid’s needs first.”
“Your mother?” Dylan has no idea what a loaded question it is. I’m almost inviting him to ask the same.
“Dead.”
I roll over to face him. The pain and anger etched across his face is raw, real, and like a mirror. “Only tell me what you want me to know,” I say, placing my palm next to his chin. I’m here for support, if he wants it. “I promise that I won’t go searching online.”
