Page 48 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“You’re not doing your part,” she says, biting her lip.

With a tug, I peel back the towel and drop it to the floor, then slip off my wet briefs. I give myself a slow, firm tug. Every nerve ending crackles to life.

Lexie’s eyes flash, then her gaze settles on me. “What do you think about?”

“Touching you,” I manage. My ability to form coherent sentences is diminishing rapidly. “Tasting you. Sliding deep inside you.”

Lexie groans. “How?”

I stroke myself harder, tightening over my crown, where I’m slick with arousal. Fuck, I’m close. “I’d bend you over this bed and eat your sweet pussy until you’re screaming my name.”

Lexie’s eyes widen. “I didn’t…know you could do that.”

Despite the tingling at the base of my spine, I laugh. “Which? Me eating you from behind? Or screaming my name?”

Her fingers swirl and stroke and her cheeks are flushed. This might be hotter than touching her.

“Both,” she gasps.

The idea of pleasuring her to the brink of her sanity, then driving deep inside her is all I can take. With another hard pump, I come in my fist. The release is like a tease. Delightful in the moment, but I already want more.

Lexie strokes faster, her smoldering gaze fixed on me. Her lips part with desire and her face tenses.

“Taste,” I say, and swipe my fingertips across the tip of her tongue. With a groan, she sucks both fingers into her mouth. Her wet, warm lips tighten around me. Renewed desire rockets through me as the sensations build. I stroke myself, the mess of my first climax making everything slick.

Fuck, it’s dirty. I get hard again while she sucks my fingers, her whimpers vibrating all the way to my core.

Lexie comes, her mouth tight and hot and her muffled cries sharp in my ears. My erection thickens in my hand, and the base of my spine trembles and tightens. I come again with a low groan, breathing hard.

After we’ve both come down, she buries her face into my shoulder and wraps her arm around me. We breathe together while the rain taps against the glass and the wind whispers through the trees.

We’re getting close to what I can’t give her.

I close my eyes and fight to hold on to this beautiful moment, because we’re heading into the unknown, and it scares me. Brielle and I promised to be discreet and casual, which has meant no mistakes, no getting attached. Until now, I’ve made it work.

But the rules are losing their grip on me. Is it just that I’m so close to breaking free of them? Or is it Lexie?

Patience, I tell myself.

Quinn returns, giving me a knowing smirk. I give it right back. Bastard.

He tickles Lexie’s toes until she shrieks, then he carries her off to the shower. Joining them is tempting, but I’ve tested my limits enough. I pad into the other bedroom and rinse off in the glass-walled shower.

Lexie says a simple goodbye, dressed in her freshly laundered thermals, her wet hair like liquid silk down her back. I watch her go, my heart in knots and my head a spinning mess.

After dinner, Quinn and I both catch up on work from our respective offices. Besides the Bealer deal and the complex web of contracts and permitting steps we’re finalizing, we have several other Hemery Tate contracts in flux. I check in with Mom to make sure all is well. Most of her central vision has deteriorated but she can still see me using her peripheral. Thankfully, the treatments have slowed the disease’s progression, but we both know it’s only a matter of time before she loses her sight.

She gives me updates on my sisters. Agatha has been chosen by a pre-professional dance school in Louisville, a huge accomplishment for her. And Kyree is halfway through her month of horse camp. We’ve promised riding lessons in the fall and maybe a horse next year if she keeps her grades up and a weekend job doing barn chores at the arena. I could buy her a horse right now, but Mom and I both agree it’s better she earns it.

It’s tempting to spoil them. They’re good kids. Kind. Hardworking. Yes, they have their faults—they’re teenagers. But it’s amazing the difference a supportive environment can make. That and not having a raging alcoholic controlling their life.

Agatha joins the zoom from the backyard, where she is lounging on her belly in the shade on a faded beach towel. After Mom and I settled everything after Dad’s death, I begged her to move the three of them to Denver. But she couldn’t tolerate any more change, and said that my sisters needed their friends and their routine. I relented, but it was tough. That house has so many bad memories.

“You’re lookin’ good, big bro,” Agatha drawls. A fantasy novel is face-down beside her in the grass.

“Congrats on the dance school.”

She beams. “How’s Alaska?”

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