Page 60 of Wicked Sin

When I first moved out here, I went through a long dark period. It wasn’t until a therapist gently pointed out that I had been using sex to manage my brain chemistry—and deal with the trauma of my life—that I realized that by depriving myself of that completely was a mistake.

But I couldn’t just jump onto Tinder. What would my profile look like?Check out my highlight reel, widely available in all corners of the internet, starring me and the guy who used to be number two in line to run the country?

And I didn’t even want to have sex with men. Or women, although I did consider that as a seriously good idea for a while.

No. I needed to learn how to have sex with myself, first. How to flirt with myself, tease myself, make myself happy on my own terms.

So this is like a little date with myself. A little thrill, a little gimme of happiness in the middle of terrifying darkness.

Sadly, terror isn’t new to me. I’m a pro at coping.

I roll onto my back and float like that, blinking up at the stars.

When the living room light blinks on, casting a yellow glow across part of the yard, I know Luke is home. But before I can swim to the edge and grab my bikini top, the back door opens, and he steps outside.

“Hey.” His voice sounds rough. Tired.

“Welcome back.”

“All was quiet?”

“Very.”Too quiet.

He nods. For a moment, he looks like he’s going to launch into saying something then he stops. He tips his head to the side. “Can I join you?”

I laugh. “You’ll have to pass me my bikini top first.” Lifting my arm out of the water, I point at the scrap of white fabric at his feet.

“Taylor, are you skinny dipping?”

“Not exactly. I just took my top off.”

“Ah.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all.” He reaches down and snags my top then tosses it carefully so that it lands right in front of me. “I’ll, uh—”

I rise up out of the water, droplets sliding over my body, sluicing between my breasts and over the tight curve of my waist. “It’s fine.”

As he watches, his face in the shadows, I put my top on, adjusting the triangles to cover my breasts.

Another dopamine rush. This one is decidedly less healthy.Don’t use other people for sex, Taylor. Right. Well, it’s been a long couple of days. Hard to be perfect.

I shrug off the pang of guilt and put on a flippant mask instead. “I don’t get embarrassed, Luke.” It’s a lie. He’s already gotten under my skin more than once. But it’ll take more than his eyes on my skin. That, I’m numb to.

His gaze rakes over me. Hot. Investigative.

The bikini hides little. And maybe because I’m wearing it—a familiar mask—I have no problem hiding everything else. How scared I was while he was gone, for example.

None of his business.

“Go get your suit on,” I say, sinking back into the water. “I’ll wait here. Unless you want to skinny dip. That would be fine by me.”

He laughs, low and warm. “I’ll be right back.”

It takes him less than two minutes to change, and when he steps outside again he’s wearing swim trunks.

Luke Vasquez without a shirt on is a beautiful, make-me-weak-in-the-knees sight.

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