Page 9 of The Guy from that One Summer
Our cries of passion are so loud the mix of them sounds like thunder on a stormy night. The walls could shake, the mirrors could break, but impacted the most are our bodies. Shaking, shivering, and completely losing grip on reality.
We kiss, our breaths mingling while we ride it out. His cum fills me, warming my insides, and I will never be able to explain how intimate that act feels. Partly because I have never let a man come inside me without protection before him. I’m having a one-night stand with a man I trust more than any past partners.
I fall onto his chest as he lies back onto the island, and we let our breathing settle. I start to dose off, my eyes growing heavy. Finn maneuvers me so he can stand and grab the phone. He stops recording and moves back to me.
“Come here, baby. We need to get to sleep before the kids get home tomorrow.”
CHAPTERTHREE
ROLE PLAY AND A HAPPY MARRIAGE
“Maybe I don’t wantto. Maybe I want one more round, baby?” I tell my husband.
Yep, my husband. Tonight, we role played a scenario we often talk about. Nine summers ago, when I met Finn, it was here, the Hamptons, the night after I was left at the altar. Except he was a gentleman and had a drink with me, him stopping at one, while I downed enough shots it could have taken out a horse.
“No, you’re going to be sore in the morning, and we have the kids and my parents flying back in from Australia. Let’s get some rest.” He carries me wedding-style up to our room, and I sigh in defeat.
“Fine. But you owe me a morning session,” I tell him, kissing and sucking on his neck.
“I can do that, but it’s going to be slow and gentle next time. I want to make sure you really feel me.”
“You mean feel your love. I love that after all those summers ago, you can role play with me and fuck me like I’m a whore, but you turn around and tell me you want to make love to me. How did I get so lucky?”
“By being my good little wife. Now let’s go to sleep.”
He tells me this, but I want to do anything but sleep. Our children have been on a two-week vacation with Finn’s parents in Australia. They come up every summer, spend a few days here, then take our two children back with them. We have seven-year-old Oliver and five-year-old Olivia.
And every summer, when they go on vacation, Finn and I come back to my family’s summer home here in the Hamptons, and we spend days lost in one another. Touching, teasing, laughing, playing, being sun-kissed, and making love like we can never be stopped. Nine years later and it still feels like the first time.
“Do you remember the night we met? The real version, I mean?”
He gets us settled in the sheets, and I tangle myself around him while he answers. “I do. You were such a wreck. But somehow, you were still charming. In fact, the more drunk you got, the more charming you were.”
I slap his chest and laugh. “That’s not offensive at all.”
“I’m serious. I don’t mean that you werebetterwasted, baby. I just mean how much more you shared about yourself. You didn’t hold back, and I found out so many things about you that the alcohol let you reveal,” Finn admits.
“Like what?” I question him, curious to see exactly what it was he remembers.
“You were not a timid or shy woman. You told me how much you loved to stand out in a room.” Running his hands up and down my spine sends shivers through me, but it feels just right. “You confided you once told a man to shove his hand up his ass and be his own puppet for talking to you like you were a woman with no sense.”
We both laugh at that.
“You told me that you don’t allow men to hurt you, but you still hurt from what happened.” His hand tightens on my skin, biting enough to let me know he’s feeling his jealousy.
“But you have me now,” I remind him, kissing his pec.
“Yeah, and your heart may have broken that night, but mine found a home,” Finn admits, and I tear up.
“What else?” I get out, wanting to hear more of what he has to say about me and us.
“I learned you threw up at your fourth-grade spelling bee, because the word was pickles, and those make you nauseous.”
I bring my hand over my mouth. “Don’t. Don’t talk about them, or I will in fact barf on you.”
“Fair. I like weird, kinky shit with you, baby, but barf play isn’t one,” he teases, and I groan and turn away from him. He laughs and turns, pulling me with his arm around my stomach, and I giggle, his touch and his lighthearted playfulness warming me.
“I learned you made me want to own you. Have you. Fucking possess you.” He nips at my ear, and I moan. His hands palm my breasts.
