I want.
Him.
“I have another regret, you know,” he says, his voice casual, like there’s nothing unusual about him trying to take off my bikini bottoms.
My skin is on fire. My nipples are hard, and not from the various temperatures I’ve put my body through in the last ten minutes. No, it’s all Tucker’s fault. In fact, I can barely speak, and I have to clear my throat before I croak, “What’s your other regret?”
“That we never had sex,” he says, his gaze meeting mine. “That we weren’t each other’s first.”
My heart squeezes. I didn’t realize how much I regret that fact until he just said it. “I always thought you would be,” I admit.
“Same. I did too.” The sadness is there, tingeing his voice, but his lips curve into a slow smile. “We did a lot of other fun things though.”
Memories flood me. Fumbling hands removing clothes in the cab of his old truck. His fingers between my legs. A couple of pillows, a pile of blankets, and the two of us naked on a hot summer night, messing around, me too scared to go all the way, but perfectly willing to do everything else.
“Yeah, we did,” I agree, my voice soft, a gasp escaping me when he grabs hold of my waist and picks me up with ease, bringing me with him as he settles on one of the bench seats at the front of the boat.
I straddle his hips, my hands resting on his smooth, hard shoulders, our faces close. I can feel his warm breath, the swell of his erection between my legs, and my eyes go wide when I realize our scandalous position.
At the front of the boat.
“You weren’t lying when you said everyone could see us,” I tell him, squeezing his shoulders.
“It’s the most comfortable spot.” His hands rest on my hips, fingers playing with my bikini bottom ties once more. “I’m a big guy.”
“I can see that.” And feel it. I mean, I’ve seen him naked before, but that was a long time ago. Memories fade and all that.
He slides his hands up my back. “I’m trying to use restraint.”
“Why?” I sound incredulous, and that’s because I am incredulous.
There’s no point in holding back. We’re adults. We should just go for it.
“Something about anticipation. It’s a killer, yet it’s also so fucking good.” He brushes his lips with mine, the touch whisper soft, making me sigh. “Now that I’ve got you back in my arms, I want to make this moment last.”
“You want to torture us,” I whisper, my lips moving against his when I speak.
“Absolutely.” His fingers curl around my damp ponytail, tugging gently, and then his mouth settles on mine for three, four, ten heartbeats. Just our mouths touching, sharing the same air. Our bodies wrapped tight, as if we’re trying to crawl inside each other’s skin.
He whispers my name just before he deepens the kiss and I am lost. Lost to the sensation of his lips molded to mine. Drowning in his taste when his tongue slides inside my mouth, searching, seeking my tongue. He groans, I can feel the sound rumble in his chest, and I slide my hand down until it rests over his rapidly beating heart.
My heart is beating just as fast.
We kiss and kiss, the rhythmic rocking of the boat causing our bodies to rock together, driving me crazy. We keep our clothes on, but that’s not saying much, considering we’re wearing so little. My hands roam all over his shoulders and chest, drift across his perfect stomach, making the muscles contract. I explore as much as I can and so does he, his touch making me shiver.
Making me whimper.
Making me burn.
Our lips never part. I could kiss him forever, despite the sting of the sun on my skin. The roar of the boats as they pass us by. The loud music as a pontoon boat settles on the shore not too far from where we are.
“Get a room!” someone yells over the music and Tucker tears his mouth from mine, pushes me off his lap as gently as a push can possibly be, and rises to his feet to give the offending pontoon boat and its passengers a one-finger salute.
“Wait a minute!” another male voice yells, causing Tucker to go still. “Aren’t you that football player? Tucker McCloud?”
It’s almost comical, how his erection deflates when the guy asks him that question and Tucker sends me a pleading look. “The fans are about to descend.”
“That’s okay. Let them,” I say, glancing down at myself to ensure no pink parts are inadvertently on display.