Page 81 of Riptide

When I get out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and look through the open doorway, he’s sitting on the bed where I left him, hands resting in his lap like he didn’t move the whole time. His eyes lift to mine, unwavering. I move toward him like he’s a force I’m helpless to fight against.

“I didn’t want that to happen tonight,” I breathe. “I mean, I know I said there’s a chance, but that was a lot.”

“It’s okay.”

I sit beside him, and his shoulder brushes mine.

“I’ve never had someone stay when I’ve lost it like that,” I admit, voice low. “Most people don’t know what to do. My mom called an ambulance the first time it happened when I got back. She freaked.”

His gaze stays on my face, and I see understanding and maybe a little sorrow too. “I didn’t do much.”

“You stayed. That’s not nothing.” What I don’t say is that it felt like everything. The feeling of his arms wrapped around me still lingers on my skin, in my heart. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

He nods once, then swallows. His knee touches mine, and neither of us moves, but I can tell he wants to say something. Then he exhales through his nose, eyes fixed on a spot across the room.

“I was scared out there. I haven’t let anyone in like this in a long time, and the reality of you hurting…” He sighs. “I wanted to take it all away for you, because I know the kind of hurt that settles in the space where someone used to be.”

I glance at him, waiting for him to continue, but he keeps his eyes forward, battling with something too.

“When my marriage ended, I felt like I’d drowned in it. Like I gave everything I had and still wasn’t enough. And the worst part was…I didn’t even hate him for what he did at first. I just hated myself for trusting him. For handing over the deepest parts of me and watching him walk away with them.”

He finally looks at me again. His eyes are open in a way I don’t think I’ve seen before.

“I haven’t been with anyone like that since,” he says softly. “Not because I didn’t want to. But because I didn’t think I could survive it if they didn’t stay.”

My heart lurches, not in fear this time, but in recognition. That quiet devastation that we’ve both experienced, in different ways, sure, but loss is loss, and it doesn’t discriminate.

And maybe that’s why I move, shifting toward him, reaching for his hand, threading my fingers through his, and he lets out the smallest breath.

“Maybe we don’t ever stop grieving the people we’ve lost. But this—whatever we’re building—it doesn’t have to come from what's broken. It can be something new.”

What he’s saying isn’t just about comforting me, it’s not just him seeing me and wanting me, it’s something more. Maybe we were meant to find each other, and this is all a part of the start of something real between us.

So, I lean in and kiss him. I brush my lips across his, testing his response, and when he leans in for more, I unwind our hands and pull him closer, tentatively licking into his mouth. It’s the kind of kiss that saysI heard every word and I’m still here. That saysthank you and I trust you and I want this, not because I’m trying to forget what just happened out there tonight, but because I remember all of it and want to feel something different now. Something good…and I think he does too.

When we part, I rest my forehead against his.

“I need you,” I whisper.

His eyes flutter shut for a second, but when they open again, they’re fiercely dark. It’s not just lust reflected back at me, it’s possession and trust that I see. “I need you more.”

We’re fused together in an instant. His hands smooth over my bare chest and mine try to seek something in him, but he’s stillwearing his damp shirt, and I need it gone. Standing, I let the towel drop, and his gaze snags on my length. I want nothing more than to be seen and touched and desired by him.

“Fuck, look at you,” he practically growls. “How the hell are you real?”

My cheeks flame as he stands and pulls off his shirt. Then his jeans and everything else. He doesn’t break eye contact the whole time, and there’s something in the way he holds my gaze that makes me feel invincible. There’s a slow burning feeling stirring in my chest and spreading everywhere, settling in the pit of my stomach and low in my spine as I take in the soft trail of hair leading down the curve of muscle at his hips.

As he drags his hands up my sides, my flesh erupts in a shiver before he guides me back onto the bed. Climbing over me, our hard lengths graze against one another, causing us both to groan. It’s the most delicious kind of torture when we’re both needy and wanting, but neither of us give in yet.

His mouth finds my jaw first, then my cheek, then the bridge of my nose. Everywhere but my mouth. So I do the same to him. I kiss his neck, his collarbone, and suck on his skin, marking him; it’s all I can think about. “Fuck, yes,” he whispers as I pull back and lightly blow on the marred skin there, watching his body react to my breath.

When he finally kisses my lips, it’s deep and unhurried, and it steals the last bit of tension from my shoulders. I sink into the mattress and let him take the lead. I know he loves it, and I do too. I want him to take what he needs from me, because I think I need it just as much from him.

I feel him everywhere. The scratch of his stubble as he moves down my chest. The softness of his lips along my abs. The drag of his tongue along my thigh. I gasp when he kisses the inside of it, feather-light, and my cock throbs painfully, leaking onto my stomach. The low hum rumbling from his throat makes me pantharder, especially when he runs his finger through the smear of liquid on me, then brings it to his mouth and sucks, slow and filthy. When his lips pop off, he grins up at me with so much heat in his eyes, I might just burst.

“You taste so fucking good.”

“Fuuuuuck. You wanna tell me that now? When I’m so fucking amped up, I could blow? Risky business if you want this to last.”

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