He’s pressed against my stomach, so I take him in my hand and begin a gentle stroke.
“Lord, Josie. You’re going to undo me.”
“Please,” I say. “I won’t make it much longer.” I wrap my legs around his waist and line up all the important parts.
“There’s a condom in my jean pocket,” he whispers in my ear as I grind against him, kissing the space below his ear.
“Go. Hurry,” I whisper with an immediacy I’ve never experienced. This man, this moment, is all I need but I need it now.
He carries me to the lounger, still pressed against him, and lays me down then snatches up his jeans and fumbles in the pocket for the foil square. It falls out of his hands onto my chest where I whip it up, open it, and with a small gesture ask if I can slip it on. He nods and I roll it down his length, caressing as I go. His eyes briefly drift closed as he moans.
Tightening my arms around his neck, I rub against him.
“Now,” I whisper.
His hands hold my hips, bringing them forward, and in one swift movement he slides in me.
“Yes,” I cry and arch toward him. “Yes, please.”
His moan unravels me and we love each other hard and fast. I come apart in his hands and he wraps me in his arms, holding me together. When every possible surface of my body is touching his, he shift gears and strokes me with a slow ease. Just when I think I’m satiated, I become consumed with an incredible thirst for more.
With him, I’m lost and found.
I rise to meet him and push back. Where he once led, I now take over, whispering demands as our bodies move in unity, his hands doing my bidding. My sole purpose to give him what he’s given me. When he draws close, I take him over the edge, hold on tightly, and we free-fall together.
Twelve
My left leg is entwined with McRae’s right one as we lie on our backs struggling to catch our breaths.
“That wasn’t much of a swim,” he says.
“No, it wasn’t. I got distracted.” I turn to him. He’s smiling. His face is soft with satisfaction and his eyes are closed. For a guy who is singularly focused on his goals and little else, when no demands are present other than achieving pleasure, he’s quick to let his guard down. His ability to give unselfishly seems less about being an eager beaver desperate to please, and more about a hunger for closeness and the deep, soul-satisfying gratification he feels when that happens.
“Give me about ten minutes and I’ll distract you some more.” He strokes my leg, rolls toward me, and opens his eyes. My leg slides down his and I rest, half under him. He’s incredible to look at, yet, with all the definition of his body, there’s something soft in his touch and the way he presses his form to mine.
“If I could feel the bones in my body I’d go for a swim while you gather up your energy, but it appears I have the consistency of a noodle.” I pick up my hand and let it flop on my stomach.
“I aim to please.” He throws my words at me and we laugh.
He’s beyond handsome with his straight nose and square chin. He keeps his hair short but it’s grown since we met, long enough that I can tell it has a natural wave. His right incisor is turned slightly inward and I’m guessing he never had braces, not that he needs them. It lends character. I remember how crazy my mom was about our smiles, making us use whiteners. Her version of character was perfection. Next to McRae, I’d feel artificial—if I was the old Josie.
“You sounded pleased, I like it. It’s a miracle we didn’t wake your landlords,” he says.
His five o’clock shadow’s thick and it scratches my palm as I caress his cheek.
“She’s out of town. There’s no one home.”
In a flash, he’s up one elbow. “What? You coulda told me that in the beginning. I kept worrying that at any time someone was gonna come out.”
“I think there might have been a moment when you were thinking of something else.” I run my hand downward, tracing his outline from shoulder to waist. "That’s why I didn’t tell you. Adds to the excitement, don’t you think?”
McRae’s lips curl into a smirk. “I’ve enough excitement every day. I’m a pilot, remember? I get into the cockpit with teens who lack focus.”
“True, but I bet you’re so good at that you could handle an emergency with your eyes closed. This was taking a chance not knowing whether you’re in control or not. I bet you don’t do that often.”
“I bet you do that all the time.” Strands of my hair stick together in wet clumps and cling to my breast. He gathers them up and holds them in his palm.
“I used to not. That’s why I move around a lot. My days used to be predictable and uneventful.” My how they’ve changed.
“Where’re you from originally? You never did tell me that.”
“I didn’t? Imagine that.” I laugh. I generally don’t like talking about my life before I split, but I can’t get my brain to focus and opening up to McRae feels easy, natural. “Connecticut. My parents and younger brother are there.”
“And the brother here is older or younger?”
“Older. He’s in Gainesville actually. Where are you from?” Knowing I can answer the question about Will makes me smile.
“Good old Daytona Beach. I’ve lived in some part of Volusia County my entire life and have only ventured out for work. I used to think about joining the Navy or Air Force but that was never really possible.” He says this while weaving my hair through his fingers, a gesture thick with intimacy and familiarity and I find myself leaning closer to him.
“Why not?” There’s a faraway look in his eyes, as if the ghosts of his past still cling. I wonder if I look the same when I talk about home.
“That’s a story for another day. From Connecticut, but I met you in South Carolina and your hotel badge said Washington. You’re now in Florida. You get around. And with very little baggage.” He lifts a brow.
“I’ve been trying to find my brother.” I slide my hand through the opening between his head and arms and cup the back of his head, stroking it gently with my thumb.
“The one here?”
“Yeah. It’s a long story too. Maybe better for another time.” Our shoulders are touching.
“Summarize it for me.” He picks up another strand of hair, adding it the bundle he has and continues to twist.
“Only if you summarize yours for me. You go first,” I volley.
He goes still and looks down at the strands of hair in his hand. “My mom was an addict and drugs got the best of her when I was thirteen. Vann was eight. After some time in foster care, we landed at our grandmother’s house, her mother, and she did most of her parenting with a belt.”
I try not to flinch or do the typical girl coo of pity. It would be insulting to him. Instead I burrow between his side and the mat, pressing my length to his, using touch to express that he’s wanted. I now understand why letting go and trusting others is so difficult. How often has that worked out for him?
“So you stayed because of your brother.”
“Yeah, our grandmother passed when I was twenty, and I petitioned the courts for custody and won.”