“My dad’s in the process of training someone else to become the new CEO, so I’m trying to prove that I’m invested and want to carry this legacy on after I graduate. I just want a break from it for a while—be normal and live in one state, in one country.”
“Where will you live as the CEO?” she asks, not questioning my role as anything but the CEO.
I shrug. “It won’t matter. I’ll have to travel a lot.”
Her eyes flash to mine, hesitance and sadness evident and something that looks too close to sympathy stirring in their depths. I don’t want to see any of them, much less all of them at once.
“What about you? Are you close with your parents?”
She smiles, but it’s weaker than her normal brilliant smiles. “Yeah. My parents are pretty great. My mom is a lawyer, hence, Brighton. She works at preserving wildlife, and my dad’s an actuary. Nessie is basically our mom: fun, outgoing, adventurous, and I’m our dad: high-strung, stubborn, and introverted.”
I pull my chin back, repeating her self-assessment. “That’s how you see yourself?”
“I don’t mean it in a bad way. I love my dad dearly. But sometimes I’m a little envious that Nessie got all the carefree genes.”
I stop, catching her waist so she hears me. “Listen to me because I am prepared to tell you this as many times as necessary. The fact that you’re motivated and don’t do stupid shit doesn’t make you high-strung. Your love for learning and seeing new things and being kind are some of the sexiest things about you. And your stubbornness is determination, and when I see that look flash in your eyes, I feel absolutely undone.”
Her gaze starts to slip, unable, or unwilling, to accept my words. “It’s okay. I can admit my faults. I like rules and structure and…”
“Chloe.” I duck down, so she has to look me in the eyes. “I am happy to rise to this challenge to help you see that all these things you’re listing as negative traits are what make you fucking perfection. I will play and double down every. Single. Time.”
Hope settles in her eyes as she stares at me, and I reach for her, sealing my lips over hers in a kiss that feels more significant as I realize how much her happiness means to me—how reliant I am on knowing she’s okay. She kisses me back, her lips a complete contradiction to her words of uncertainty, demanding and inviting in ways that make me wish we weren’t out here in the middle of a public park.
She kisses me once more before she leans back, a smile on her lips. “Are you done with these gardens?”
“Hotel?”
She laughs. “We leave tomorrow. We have to go see the beach first.”
“I’ll bring you back so you can see the beach.”
She shakes her head. “I have to put my feet in the sand and see if the water is as cold as it is in Washington.”
I hoist her over my shoulder, and she belts out a laugh. “I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes on our drive back to the hotel.”
“One hour!” she cries between peals of laughter. “I want one hour at the beach, and then I’m yours.”
I slap her backside. “You’re always mine.”
24
Chloe
I wake up to the sun streaming through the gauzy curtains. We must have forgotten to close the blackout shades last night after returning from the beach, our hands and thoughts preoccupied as we sought out each other’s orgasms like we were competing to be the first to claim a space expedition.
He won.
But I’m pretty sure I was the winner, considering I reached my second orgasm, chasing his first while he thrust inside of me over the back of the couch with the curtains still drawn.
We showered off the lingering sand from the beach and the fresh coat of sweat we’d gained on our race to climax and feasted on room service while watching a movie.
It felt normal. Good. Happy. Easy—shockingly easy.
I stare at his hand, still gripping me even in sleep, the hairs peppering his strong forearms, the curve of his fingers and squared nails. Tyler’s hands are flat out erotic. His fingers are long and strong, clean but not unblemished; signs of football and weightlifting and digging in the sand with me apparent. I consider all the places he’s touched me and how it’s always with confidence, yet measured gentleness, and always pleasurable.
My heart races with the memory, desire coursing through my veins. I press my butt against his groin, feeling his erection through his boxer briefs. His hand at my arm tightens as he releases a low growl against my ear. I press back a little farther to ensure he’s awake. His lips come down on the back of my neck, kissing and licking at a leisurely pace that makes my core throb with impatience.
I lift his hand, placing it against my breast that is thinly veiled with a tank top. His fingers graze over my hardened nipple, and he growls again. This time his hips move, thrusting against my backside so I can feel the entirety of his impressive length. He rolls my nipples, the cotton creating a new sensation, one that would be hot in the back of a crowded theater or a secluded corner on campus, but it has me quickly realizing my preference for his skin on mine. As though he can read my thoughts, Ty snakes his hand under my shirt, skating across my stomach with a flat palm like he’s memorizing every inch of me. He reaches my breast, kneading his fingers into my flesh as he releases another guttural growl adjoined with another thrust of his hips. I know my panties are soaked, and I wish they were gone so I could bend forward a little more and feel his hard intrusion into my entrance that makes pleasure radiate through my entire body.
“Ty,” I moan his name, sounding pitiful and needy and not caring in the slightest.
He rolls my nipple as his other hand cups my core, making me gasp as he presses his fingers against me, creating a spike of desperation that has me bucking my hips and whimpering. Last night, the scientist in me tackled the awkward elephant in the room: safe sex. We’d used condoms every time, but with oral sex, I’d been regretting not having the conversation sooner.
Awkwardness tinged the conversation initially, but he quickly normalized it with stats that my sanity needed as well as the admission that few of his “conquests” were sexual victories but rather public make-out sessions, which my ego rejoiced in far more than I thought I would. It also has me feeling more adventurous and intimate as I twist in his arms and go to my knees, scooting down and taking the blankets with me, exposing his chiseled chest and abs.
I slip my fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling them out and down to free his hardened length. Ty leans back, tucking his hands behind his head, exposing the tattoo on the inside of his bicep—the one I’d tried to see at the beginning of our trip. It’s a map of the world but artfully distorted with stitches between England and the United States. It’s painfully beautiful and likely reflective of far more than I’m aware.
I run my hands down his abs, tracing each defined line, and he hisses out a breath as I make my way to his hardened cock. I grin, tracing the same pattern over his body. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he says, peeking at me through the fringe of russet-colored lashes.
I feel sexy.
Empowered.
Beautiful.