Page 23 of Fake Coral and Keys

“Go get railed!” Amber screeches, and I hear Forest groan in the darkness.

Thank goodness my parents didn’t join us at the bar by the pool. They would have been mortified by our behavior.Heck, I may be in the morning, but it was nice being included in the fun. For once, I wasn’t the butt of any jokes, and I actually got several compliments from both Lily and Erin. Even Justine seemed in a better mood.

It’s dark in our room and my toe hits the side table as I turn on the light. Cursing, I rub away the sting and glance around. Blake’s swim trunks and t-shirt sit neatly folded at the end of the bed, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I walk towards the small bathroom that houses the toilet and shower, but the door is open and the space is empty.

Great.

Our first fight as a fake couple and he’s MIA. I walk back to the bed and sink down, tossing my sandals across the room by the door, before laying back on the bed. The bed sways slightly under me, and I close my eyes to center myself. I shouldn’t have had that last shot Erin insisted we all take. Now I’m tipsy and when I’m tipsy, I get in my feelings or do stupid things.

Like the night I approached Blake in the cabin in the mountains.

Not that it was a stupid move, maybe more reckless than anything. I’d never allowed myself the freedom to just enjoy…

The moment.

Life.

My body.

Blake had made me feel desired in a way that I never had before. It had felt safe to just have sex and leave it at that. Then, of course, because that’s what I do, I wanted to experience that feeling of safely exploring my carefree, adventurous side. And here I am. Wanting to do it again, but now everything is all wrong. These next few days were meant to be an escape from reality, and then Justine showed up and ruined it all.

Sometime after my third drink, I decided that Blake behaving aggressively towards that weasel-faced man was what any normal boyfriend would do. He was protecting me. The insistent prying into my past was a bit intrusive considering our arrangement, but then again he did say he was trying to be my friend. Isn’t that what we should be? Friends?

The problem is that friends don’t fuck, and that’s all we’re doing.

Shaking my head clear from the rapid thoughts, I stand to slide open the glass doors to the small private veranda. With the busy day, I didn’t have the chance to explore the bungalow completely. Firelight from a tiki torch brightens the space with flickering gold light. A large bamboo wall covered in vines hides the area from the walkway up front. Stepping outside, I find Blake in the outdoor bath. He’s sprawled out, a leg up on theside, his head tilted back. When he hears the glass door close, he looks up, his black eyes meeting mine.

“Hi,” I say, stopping a few feet away. I drink in the sight of his bare chest and the line of hair that disappears into the water. Ink black lines sprawl out over his chest in what seems to be a blend of geometric lines around the edges and mandalas with tiny flowers at the center. The lines are a perfect combination of delicate and masculine.

“Hi,” he says back. He sits upright, resting his arms on the side of the tub. The water moves around his waist, drawing my eyes back to that delicious slab of muscle in his abs, then to the thickness of his thighs. My belly dips, like right before you fall over the peak of a roller coaster.

“I think we just had our first fight as a fake couple,” I say.

He makes a light rumbling sound in his throat. He doesn’t respond. Instead, he raises the hand that’s resting on the edge of the tub and motions me to come closer.

I step forward until my thigh touches the side of the deep tub, my belly the same height as his head. Blake’s eyes roam over me, from my legs, up my stomach, over my breasts, and to my neck, then back down again. He glides a finger up the side of my thigh, stopping at the string tying the bathing suit aroundmy hips. Still not speaking, he focuses on the tie of my bottoms and pulls at the string until it comes undone. When he releases it, the fabric covering me falls to the side, revealing me to him. He repeats the movement on the other side until the bottoms fall off and land at my feet.

His mouth opens slightly, and it seems as if his eyes go even darker. He drinks in the sight of me, resting his fingers on my hip, then his thumb dips between my legs, sliding ever so lightly against my folds.

It feels like I’m suddenly made of liquid. My heart hammers in my chest, my breathing growing heavier. I’m unsure what to do with my hands, so I clench them at my sides to keep myself from gripping Blake’s wrist, forcing him to touch me harder.

“Do you like me touching you?” he asks, brushing a light caress across my skin.

I swallow before answering. “Yes.”

He presses harder so that his thumb slides between my folds. I jerk, digging my nails into my palms. I glance over at the bamboo wall covered in vines, ensuring no one can see us.

“No one can see back here,” he whispers as he slides his thumb inside me.

My eyes fall closed, and I rock forward to force him to touch me harder, but he slides out. My eyes pop open, and I watch as he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks the taste of me from his finger.

“You’re so fucking sweet,” he growls. “Open your legs wider.”

Without hesitation, I do as commanded, keeping my eyes locked on his. Blake slides two fingers over my folds and then roughly into me. I release a small gasp at the sudden feeling of his fingers, then release another as he slides the wetness to my clit, then plunges them back deep inside me. He does this over and over until I’m gasping, rocking my hips to meet his hand.

Something inside me feels like it’s unwinding. Whatever tightness that has squeezed my lungs since I left him outside the coffee shop releases its grip. Blake’s eyes fall to where his hand moves into me, watching as his fingers glide in and out with slick sounds. I grab his wrist with one hand, just to feel his power as he moves his fingers in me, and slide the other up my stomach, cupping my breast through the fabric as if it were him. He watches my every move, his jaw tightening as I take my nipple between my fingers and squeeze. I tilt my hips, giving him better access, and grip his wrist tighter, forcing him to go faster, deeper.

“That’s it,” he says. “Fuck my hand.”

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