Page 43 of South of The Skyway

My answering moan egged him on, his hand flattening against my back, sliding down to grab a handful of my ass. Rhyett moved like he’d memorized my body that first night. Like he was rehearsing a performance he’d thought through a thousand times as he kissed and nipped, feet kicking, friction building between us as desire unspooled inside my low belly. When his firm erection pressed against the slip of fabric between us, my breath hitched.

“Easy, stallion,” I breathed, earning a chuckle before he claimed my mouth again. When his tongue danced the length of my lips, I opened, feeling the sun against my face, the cool water down my skin, soaking my hair, delighting in his hands as they roamed where he pleased. Mine had made it as far as his hard pec and shoulder, locking in place as if I’d anchored myself to him.

When Rhyett peeled us apart, it was with enough restraint his breath hardened. “I get you on a bed next time.”

My laughter seemed to drift away on the gentle breeze, palm trees hissing as they shifted. Chest heaving, blood pounding, arousal demanding, I leaned away, finally peeking at his ink. The man was a masterpiece of sculpted, lean muscle and sun-kissed skin painted in a dark mural across one pec and down his arm, cutting off at his elbow. Shaking, I traced my fingers over the globe on his chest, the white sails of a ship, prominent anchor, and the arc of a compass. He’d inked his years on the sea across his skin.

“This is beautiful work, Rhyett.”

“I can say the same.” He ran a gentle thumb up my sternum, fingering the Unalome, then the floral wreath around a stack of books on the inside of my bicep. Craving the taste of him, it was me to close the gap this time, licking over his lip and then pinching it between my teeth. He ground his erection against me, the movement providing just enough friction to leave me wanting more intensity as my clit throbbed with need. His fresh, summery scent saturated my senses, next only to the salty water coating our skin, our lips.

The frantic whines and splashes of Royal approaching split us apart in a fit of laughter as the soggy dog placed herself between us, looking for the security I’d been enjoying in Rhyett’s arms. She climbed up onto his shoulder and he grinned, shaking his head as she trembled against him, fur coating him in a fresh layer of silt.

That smile made me want to kiss it off his face, but he shook his head as Royal’s claws dug into his shoulder, like she knew he could keep her safe. Ironically, I had to agree with her.

“Okay, okay. I’ll get you home, princess.”

EIGHTEEN

RHYETT

Paxton

How’s the Sunshine State?

Rhyett

Beautiful. Chicago?

It was beautiful, but it had very little to do with sun and sand and everything to do with the enamoring blonde I’d left in the city. Comical satisfaction wrapped through my ribs as I crested the peak of the bridge Brexley was so petrified of, the unspoken divide between cities. You’d think it was the River Styx, not the Tampa Bay flying beneath asphalt and rubber. The sprawling wings of a pelican caught my attention, and I watched as the feathered beast dove and scooped up his breakfast before flying away.

My phone buzzed, and I tapped the screen so it would read it to me.

Paxton

Cold as tits. I’m jealous.

Rhyett

Two more years, bud.

Paxton

Not like Mistyvale is any better.

Rhyett

Fair. New location?

Paxton

Haven’t decided. Tell me what you think.

Rhyett

Rodger. I’ll let you know.

I seta reminder to call him in another couple of days in hopes I’d have a better feeling for the local flavor. Eventually, the stretching bridge gave way to the city streets of Bradenton and Sarasota. Still, the buildings and endless traffic flew by as my mind stayed firmly planted on the slick feel of Brexley’s legs wrapped around my waist, her silky skin beneath my hands, the perfect handful of her breast and peaked nipple, hard with cold and what I prayed was desire as aggravating as mine.

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