Page 69 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
The rubbing stopped. “Does that disappoint you?” he asked, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
“A little,” I said with a wet laugh.
Beck pulled back to point to the negative space between the flowers. “I’m planning on getting her name tattooed here. I’m waiting until I find the perfect font. Something that fits her. At the tattoo shop, the lettering options were either gangster blocks or seductive swirls. Not what I’m going for.”
We leaned back together on the mattress, but I turned so I could trace the tattoo. It was his turn to get goosebumps. I reveled in being able to return the favor.
“She’s why you teach babies to swim,” I said quietly.
“When I was in high school, my therapist finally got me in the pool. I’d have a panic attack halfway down the lane and have to grab onto the rope dividers to catch my breath and calm down.” The admission humanized him even more, and I ached to picture a Beck with so much anxiety. So much trauma. “But after months of swimming, I found it peaceful. I was in complete control. No fear. After I got comfortable enough, I realized I needed to do something. Honor her in some way. Keep other kids from dying. I don’t even know if ISR would have helped Poppy or if what I’m doing matters. But I have to try.”
“It matters,” I whispered, having to fight the tears again.
He gave the slightest smile and then leaned down to kiss the bridge of my nose. For a long while, we sprawled on the bed. At some point, he ended up as a big spoon, and I ran my fingers down the stems of his tattoo until his breathing slowed, and the arm he had around my waist grew heavy.
A deafening crack pulled me from a sleep I hadn’t even known I’d fallen into. The sound electrocuted my senses awake. I dug my claws into something weighted around my hips.
“Ow,” a deep voice murmured in my ear.
Realizing I’d used Beck’s arm as my pin cushion, I released my grip on him and pulled myself into a sitting position. We’d fallen asleep in the sunshine and awoken under an ominous gray cloud. Another boom split the sky with a flash of light.
This time, rain followed the lightning. Not a gentle, you might want to go indoors warning sprinkle but a Hurricane Harvey downpour. For a split second, we sat there, shocked. Not even the little shell of a cover could protect us from the onslaught of water. Rain soaked us to the bone in seconds.
“Come on!” Beck said, taking my hand and guiding me off the bed.
Our hands slipped apart as we ran across the pool deck, but Beck reached back to grab my fingers tighter before pulling me after him.
We reached the yurt dripping. Our chests heaved with the adrenaline of it all. Then we dissolved into laughter, and after a day of sharing such painful memories, it felt good to laugh. It was an ointment for the soul.
Beck’s eyes danced as he stared into mine, but his smile lessened as his gaze fell to my lips. The air grew heavier. He swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple dip past that lone freckle of his. Then he tugged me to him, his mouth colliding with mine. I was ready for the impact, my hands slipped into his hair, causing drops of water to break free from his curls and roll over my fingers, down my arms.
Everything else fizzled away, and I was lost in the press of his mouth, the taste of him—how his teeth scraped my bottom lip, careful but hungry.
We didn’t need the beach. We could make a tide of our own with the way we took turns pushing and giving with our lips, our bodies. He dug his fingers into my hips, and I gasped from the pressure.
I needed him. All of him. I took the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. Beck helped, yanking it off. Heavy with water, the shirt slapped against the floor.
Beck pulled me back as if my lips were oxygen, and he couldn’t go too long without coming up for air. Our chests slipped against each other, wet from the rain yet warm from each other. It was dizzying. I wanted to feel that heat everywhere.
I went to untie my bikini top, but Beck halted my fingers. “May I?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I could feel myself pooling in my already wet swimsuit.
He pulled the string with delicate fingers until my top slipped down, stopping only by the band at my ribs. I’m not large-chested or even medium-chested, and I definitely couldn’t hold a candle to what Reagan had in the cup department, but Beck looked at my breasts like they were lost treasure.
“So beautiful,” he whispered before kissing his way down my neck until his lips rested on a nipple.
I arched my body into him as he swirled his tongue ever so gently over the bud. My other nipple ached for contact, and as if he could read my mind, he reached up and lightly pinched it.
“Absolutely gorgeous,” he said, his breath tickling on such a sensitive area as he unhooked the band, completely freeing my chest.
He kissed his way back up to my lips, and my fingers trailed down that delicious bit of hair under his navel. Beck’s breath hitched as I snuck a finger under his waistband, but before I could find the patience to take his shorts off completely, I sank my hand in until my fingers wrapped around him. Hard. Huge.
“Fuck,” Beck said to the ceiling.
I moved my hand up and down the length of him, reveling in how that size would feel in me. It almost hurt how badly I wanted him.
I halted my exploration to remove his swim shorts completely. Beck’s eyes locked on my face as I took in the sight of him: the very image of manhood. In another life, I swear he was a model for a Greek god statue.
