Page 71 of So Close

He did, one hand under her butt, the other splayed across her back, so she wrapped her hand around him—eliciting a groan—and guided him into her as he lifted her up. The downstroke was long and blissful. It felt like forever before he was fully seated, and then he felt deeper than he had yet. Like he was touching some part of her no one had.

She put her hands on his shoulders, closed her eyes, and let him rock her up and down. The sensation quickly concentrated itself where the weight of her body met the base of his cock. On top of the perfect friction on her clit, he felt bigger in this position, like he was stretching her to the absolute limit, and her whole body responded by trying to clench back around him.

She was going to come in record time, and he knew it. She wasn’t sure if he saw it in her eyes or felt the telltale flutters and contractions, but the hand on her behind tightened and lifted her, and he held his hips back from her. “Not yet.”

“Trey.”

“I know, baby. I know it feels good. But not yet. You feel too good to me. I don’t want it to be over.”

He took a slow pace, now, giving her most but not all of him, gliding her on her own wetness and turning the whole thing into summery, languid sweetness. Sweat prickled all over her body, in part from the warmth rising off the sand and the heat of his body, but mostly from the loveliness of the sensation. Like sun sparkling on the surface of blue ocean, especially when he angled himself to catch her g-spot with the fat head of his cock. She cried out on every rich, glittery touch. Her body relaxed around him a tiny bit, giving up more moisture, slicking his thrusts, and he groaned with satisfaction. “You’re so tight and so wet and smooth at the same time. It’s crazy good.”

“Your arms must be tired,” she whispered hopefully, but he just chuckled and slowed the pace even more. The muscles bunched and flared in his shoulders and chest and arms, setting up new tingles in the few spots where bare skin met bare skin.

“Can I do this?” she asked, and leaned back a little.

“Oh, shit, yeah, you can do that. Oh. That angle. Auburn.”

“Me, too,” she whispered.

She became aware that the sensation was building again, in a different way from before. From deeper, and without any tension in her muscles.

And he fucking knew, too, the bastard. He stopped. And held her still.

The silvery, glittery sensation didn’t stop, though. It kept rippling through her. And it kept building. It didn’t need motion. It was feeding on the heat of Trey’s skin and the strength of his arms around her and how much she liked him.

“Trey.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I’m going to—oh, fuck! Ohhhhh. Trey! God. More.”

He gave it to her, tugging her down, surging into her, filling her, stretching her, so the sparkling bliss of the orgasm blended with the sensation of fullness into a perfect storm.

She could feel his thrusts growing ragged and uneven. Then he swelled in her, cried out, and went rigid, his head thrown back, the cords of his neck standing out. Every muscle was hard against her. It was so goddamn sweet, this big, alpha all-businessman, always so tightly in control of himself and everything else he could get his hands on, breakingbecause of her. It almost made her come again, but there was a little part of her standing apart, watching warily just in case he lost control completely and dropped her.

He didn’t, of course. He held her and held her and held her, and she let him, even though she was so, so afraid it couldn’t last forever.

Afterwards,they stuffed themselves on picnic food—melon chunks, a pasta salad with basil and tomatoes and lots of freshly grated parmesan cheese, sliced veggies in hummus, and a small charcuterie of cured meats and cheeses. Eating together after what they’d done—it was a certain kind of lovely pleasure—the salt and the sweet and the bonelessness of being relaxed together.

Then they packed up—carefully removing all traces of their presence—and hiked back to the car.

They’d brought Trey’s rental—Auburn still hadn’t saved up enough to buy a car of her own—and they slid into their seats and both reached simultaneously for their cell phones, which made them laugh. By agreement, they’d left their phones in the car—Luz was at the front desk of Beachcrest, and Carl was resting but on hand to answer questions if there was anything that Luz couldn’t handle—generally speaking, though, there wasn’t.

He made a small noise of dismay.

“What?”

“Voicemail from my Chief of Ops.”

“Is that bad?”

“No. Not bad. Just—I told him I’d call him when I had news for him.” He tapped and listened, his face tightening as she watched. Then he tapped to end the call and just sat, staring straight ahead.

“What did he say?”

He looked away from her, out the window.

“Trey?”

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