Until she's there, groaning against my lips as she comes.
Then I'm there, digging my fingers into her skin, pulling her closer, pumping deeper.
I groan her name as I come.
My cock pulses. Pleasure floods my body. But it's more than satisfaction.
It's everything.
She's everything.
And this is everything.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Walker
I wake up with Iris in my arms.
The world is brighter. The air is sweeter. The coffee tastes better.
She doesn't even blink when I remind her we have a surfing date.
This is perfect. It's what I need.
She's what I need.
"How am I already melting?" Iris bends her elbow to reach her wetsuit's zipper. "Ah." She grabs it, pulls it down two inches, rolls the Lycra off her shoulders.
"'Cause it works." I move behind her. Roll it back up her shoulders.
"You're evil."
"I know." I slide my hand over her ass. Fuck, this was an amazing idea. She looks good enough to eat. My head already feels clear. Last night—well, the first half—already feels like a bad dream. "I'll make it up to you."
"Oh." She arches her back, pressing her ass against my crotch. "Carry on."
"What are we doing again?"
"What does anyone do at eight a.m.?"
I laugh. We're way past eight a.m. Iris didn't want to get out of bed and… well, I didn't either. "Drink coffee."
"Hmm. This is sounding reasonable."
"No more coffee until you catch three waves."
"Three? Three?"
I nod. Three.
She shakes her head. "I'll never have coffee again."
I nod to the board. "On your stomach."
"Yes, sir." She winks as she drops to her hands and knees on the surfboard. Slowly, she lowers herself onto her stomach.
It's a rental, one of those obnoxious ones covered in foam—my board is way too long for her.
I drop to the sand next to her. It's already warm. Comforting. Like a hug from an old friend.
She turns her head to her side to look me in the eyes. "I could get used to this."
"You'll be begging for more soon."
"Hmm." She lets out a wistful yes, once we get home sigh.
I laugh. "You do push-ups?"
"Why would I do push-ups?"
"To improve your surfing game."
"I've done a push-up."
"When?"
"No comment."
My smile spreads over my cheeks. "This is easy—"
"I bet it's not."
"Simple. It's like a push-up, but you jump to your feet at the same time." I put my hands in position and demonstrate a pop-up. I push myself up as I jump to my side. "Land with your knees bent." I lean into the position, modeling catching my balance.
"That's easy?"
I nod.
"You need to work on your definition."
"Trust me. You can do it."
She shoots me some serious side-eye, but, still, she places her hands outside her shoulders.
"On three."
She nods.
"One, two, three."
She pushes herself up and jumps to one side. She lands for a hot second then stumbles off the board, onto the sand.
I catch her. "Great first attempt."
"How do you do this?"
"Practice."
"It's horrible."
"Suits me."
She laughs. "I guess that's true." She wipes sweat from her brow. "It's so hot like this."
"We'll be in the ocean soon."
"You have water?"
"Yeah." I dig it out from my bag and hand it to her.
She pops the lid and takes a greedy sip. She hands it over. Pulls her arm over her chest.
It's funny. That's the same gesture as Bree.
But that's about where their similarities stop and end. Iris is nothing like Bree. She's honest. Smart. Together.
Iris would never pull the kind of shit my sister does.
Her gaze turns toward the sky. "It's beautiful here, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Makes you think. You know, all that stuff about the ocean going on forever? How it never changes?"
"The ocean always wins."
"Yeah." She gnaws on her bottom lip.
It's like last night.
She's thinking something.
Hurting over something.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Maybe."
"Is that your go-to response?"
"No." Slowly, she meets my gaze. Her expression gets soft. Vulnerable. "I should tell you something."
"I know you're freaked about sharks."
"No. Well, I am. But that's not it." She takes a deep breath. "It's about… about the past, I guess."
"Is it important?"
"Yeah."
Fuck, she looks terrified.
I want to be someone Iris can lean on. I want her to be comfortable telling me anything.
But is now really the time?
She went from joyous to miserable like that.
Last night was heavy. We need something light. Fun. Easy.
"Will telling me make you feel better?" I ask.
Her brow furrows as she turns over the question. "No, it won't. But this is… you deserve to know."
"That doesn't matter."
"Walker, you—"
"No. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter."
"This will matter to you."
"It won't."
"It will."
My voice gets sure. "No. It won't. The past is the past." I slide my arms around her waist. Pull her closer. "Tell me if you want. That's your call. But if it's something that happened before we met, I don't need to know."
She looks up at me. "But you have no idea what it is."
"I don't care what it is. It doesn't matter. It's not gonna change how I feel about you. I want you exactly as you are."
She blinks, dumbfounded. "Really?"
"Yeah." There's nothing Iris could tell me that would change how I see her.
"Okay. I…" She presses her lips together. "I guess we should get to it then."
"We should."
She motions to the board. "Do I have to do the push-up thing, again?"
"It's easier on land. We need to practice. Get the muscle memory."
"You just like watching me jump in a wet suit." There's still something heavy in her voice.
"It doesn't hurt." I motion to the board.
She rolls onto her stomach, does another pop-up. Sticks the landing.
We go through another dozen. Then a dozen more. She gets flushed and breathless. Fuck, she looks like she's melting.
I know I am. Wetsuits are fucking warm on the sand.
I pick up the board and point to the beach. It's quiet here. Only a few other surfers and a couple having a picnic. We're well into Malibu. Farther than we were last night. But…