“Do you want it to happen?”
“Of course I do.” But I’m worried. Worried about her body’s strength. Her mental strength. The journey. “I know I’m a hard man to be with, Beau.”
“You’re actually very easy to be with.” She shifts, and I loosen my hold, allowing her to turn and face me. I look down at her breasts, my hand lifting of its own volition and stroking softly over the cold, solid nipple, before I exhale and tug her into my body, helping her get her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. I put my mouth on hers as I sink us under the water to our necks, feeling her tense and squeeze me tighter.
“Itwillhappen,” I say, pushing my tongue into her mouth and swirling slowly, relishing the sound of her sighing happily. Savoring the feeling of calm settling within her. Accepting what I need to do. What I have to give her. My hand slides up her back and encases her nape, securing her to me. “Itwillhappen.” Because life surely can’t be any crueler. Her mouth becomes firmer on mine, her boobs compressed into my chest, her spine lengthening to bring her closer, forcing me to drop my head back to accommodate her.
“I want you now.” She locks her arm around my neck, rolls her hips into me, her passion becoming frenzied. Desperate.
“Beau,” I say quietly, trying to bring her down a few levels as blood flows into my dick. She doesn’t hear or doesn’t listen, her purpose getting the better of her. Not to try and get pregnant, but to relocate her serenity. “Beau, baby.” I turn my face, and her head drops into the crook of my neck, her hot breath burning my skin. “Easy,” I whisper.
I feel her nod, feel her acceptance, as I lift her and reach between us to position myself at her entrance, ignoring the ache of my hand. She slowly sinks onto me and we both suck back air as we join, the feeling fucking beautiful. “Good God,” I breathe, fighting the urge to withdraw and thrust hard. “Okay?”
She nods, biting at my shoulder, clawing at my back. “I’m okay.”
And I do that. I make her okay.
Kissing my collarbone, she drags her lips across my skin to my jaw, kissing me there too, before pecking her way across my rough cheek and plunging her tongue into my mouth on a broken moan. It’s my undoing, and I find my feet, pushing us out of the water with her curled around my body. I need an anchor. Some weight behind me.
Her hands in my hair, gripping, my hands on her waist, holding, I start to move her up and down, struggling to keep our kiss steady as I enter and leave her, plunging, withdrawing, building us up gradually. The friction, the warmth, the mind-blowing kiss, it’s all at our usual level on intensity. I feel as consumed as I always do when I am at the mercy of our joining, and yet something is being communicated here, and I’m struggling to find the headspace past the need to work out what.
But as the pace quickens, the desperation increases, and the pleasure climbs, I realize.
She needs me.
My fierce, independent, former cop girlfriend needs me. She’s strong but needs my strength. Determined but needs my encouragement. And during those moments of peacefulness, she still needs my peace. We are one. Incomplete without the other.
My lips push harder to hers, my fingers clawing into her hips, my eyes squeezing tighter.
“Look at me,” she gasps, making my eyes snap open. Our stares meet, and everything seems to still and become quiet, despite our bodies still moving and our breathing still loud. I’ve looked at this woman closely endless times. Stared so deeply into her eyes, I’ve seen a reflection of myself. And yet now, all I can see is hope.
I can’t kill that hope.
I end the never-ending kiss and push my forehead to hers, needing to maintain this vision as we both find our release. I swear, she becomes more beautiful with each second I spend watching her. I thrust on, studying her as she studies me, seeing her teeth sink into her lip, her grip of me becoming harder.
I don’t need to ask.
I pull out and thrust hard, my jaw tight, eliciting a cry from Beau, and her head becomes limp, all strength seeming to go to her internal muscles and wring me dry. “Fuck,” I cough, my legs shaking, forcing me to my knees, the water reaching my neck again. I kiss her exposed throat, bite it, suck it, shaking as my orgasm tears through me unforgivingly and Beau shudders and moans. I hold on to her for dear life, as we search for the peace past the crazy, our breathing obliterated, the water feeling like a hot bath.
“When are you going back to Miami?” she pants into my shoulder.
“In the morning.”
“Am I coming?”
“No,” I answer, maintaining our tight cuddle.
She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t challenge me.
It’s a novelty.
My sleep was restless. I know Beau’s was too, constantly flipping her body over, huffing, puffing, sighing. She finally gave up subtly expressing her grievance through sounds that didn’t involve explicit words at around five, tucking herself into my side and directing my arm around her.
Silly, defiant, magnificent woman.
But while Beau drifted off, I did not. Instead, I spent my time staring at the ceiling as I stroked circles across her thigh, which was lying on my stomach where she’d tossed her leg over me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she woke up with a friction burn.
I drop my head to the side and reach for my phone, seeing it’s seven, so I drop a kiss on her peaceful face and peel my body from hers. I shower, pack the things I came with, and leave the beach hut. It doesn’t feel good leaving her here. Nothing about this feels good. The Bear is alive, Beau’s emotionally vulnerable. My only comfort right now is that she won’t be alone. And she’s safer here.