Page 114 of Fated

“Is this the last time?”

“I hope not.”

“And what do I do when you don’t feel this anymore?”

I shake my head. I don’t know. What does he do when I’m not here? When the watch stops ticking and I put it away.

“Wait for me to come back to you.”

“I’d rather let you go,” he says.

I wonder if that’s permission. If he’s telling me I can keep seeing Max, keep trying to find that spark. But then I can’t think about that anymore because Aaron takes his hand and brushes it over my cheek.

Then he feathers his thumb over my mouth and I taste the salt of the sea on him. He pulls my bottom lip down, touches the warmth of my lips and tongue, and slowly I drag my teeth over him.

He makes a noise, a quiet, low noise, at the back of his throat. Then I grip his shoulders and lean forward, and I take his mouth.

I close my eyes so I can feel all of him. The bittersweet taste of the sea, the longing of dreams, the yearning for the sun right before it rises. He’s still under my mouth, as quiet as the smooth surface of the water. But then, at the touch of my tongue to his lips, he curses, clutches my thighs, and pulls me close.

“I want you,” he says, rocking against me. His mouth drags over mine, pulling at me, spinning me down, deeper underwater. “I need you.”

“Yes,” I say, as the hardness of him hits me in exactly the right spot. He grips my thigh with one hand, his fingers clutching my hip. His other hand presses into the curve of my back, rocking me closer, driving me so that I ride over him.

His mouth moves over mine, taking my kisses, my breath, my small, desperate noises. Over the sea, the wind tugs at us and the current rocks us closer. Aaron moves me over him, holding me tight and close—so close I can feel the wanting need of his heart beating against mine. My breasts scrape against his chest, the fabric of the bikini and his shirt abrading over my sensitive skin.

He drives me closer, rocking his hips into mine, and I curse the clothing we’re wearing. I curse the grip of the sea and the distance of dreams.

“Love me,” Aaron says, taking my mouth, breathing against me. “Love me.”

I send my hand to his face, taking his words in a kiss.

“Love me like I love you right now.” He rocks against me again, the water flowing around us, between us.

Sparks dance over me, coalescing and catching fire, until heat rolls over me and through me.

“Don’t go,” he says. “Stay and I’ll love you like this for the rest of our lives.”

At that he slips a hand between us, touching the space where we meet. He brushes his hand over my bikini, the fabric scraping over me. And that friction, that promise, sends a rush, a wave of sensation, rolling through me. I cry out, arch against him, throw my head back, and ride the turbulent wave of his love.

He strums me, strokes me, so that I stay high, riding him, until my body is tingling and flying and he’s kissing my jaw, my cheeks, the edges of my lips, and then my mouth.

He catches my whispered, broken “Love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” I breathe.

And I realize as I float back into him, cradled by the ocean and his arms, that I was wrong. I didn’t need to make love with Aaron to fall desperately, irrevocably in love with him.

I’m already there.

I’m already gone.

I’m in love with a dream, with a man who isn’t real, and there isn’t any coming back from it.

39

I thankheaven and all the stars above when the next night I land back at the cove in the same moment I left. I didn’t want any more misunderstandings. I didn’t want any more hurt on Aaron’s face.

He’s smiling at me—his soft, happy smile. We’re sitting in the brindled shade of the ironwood in the cool, soft sand. I stripped out of my cover-up and now lie in my red bikini with sand sticking to my damp skin and the lacy sun dappling over me.

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