Page 70 of One Last Summer
He laughed. “Well, I was just waiting for the perfect time. Which is clearly today.”
A showerhead loomed above, one of those wide, round, rainy types, connected to the boathouse by exposed pipes that traveled down the siding toward the planks of wood below. We were completely hidden by walls, but above us, tree branches danced against the sky.
It was private and secluded, but also exposed enough to the outside world that a thrill rushed through me, head to toe. I’d never had sex with anyone outside before; Charles had tried once, on an empty beach in Cape Cod, but it had felt vulnerable in a way that had turned me off.
But the thought of it spun me now, twirled my insides like cotton candy, knowing I was here, with Mack, safe and protected in our own little bubble.
“You okay?” I asked as I reached for him, holding his face in my hands, studying the angles of his eyebrow to detect any hints of sadness.
“Not really.” He shook his head slowly, tilting his chin to kiss my palm. “But I really don’t want to think about Brad Bradford right now.”
I understood. Mack didn’t need to talk. He needed a distraction.
I slid my hands down to his chest and pushed him back against the wall, tugging his damp shirt over his head and flinging it toward the door as I grabbed his face, pulling him toward me. His lips were urgent and needy, and he anchored his hands on my hips, holding me closer as I slid my fingers along his cheekbones and into his hair, tightening my grip on that beautiful mess on his head.
He dragged his mouth down to just under my ear, grazing his teeth along my neck.
“You look so hot in those dirty clothes,” he said in a low voice, and I let out a laugh. I was still fully dressed in my sweaty relay outfit, which was—by any sort of sexy metric—the opposite of “hot.”
“I smell like the love child of an onion and an ashtray,” I said, pulse thumping under his touch.
“I’m not kidding,” he said, his hands moving up to cup my breasts through the damp cotton of my old Chatham 5K Road Race tank top. “I like you like this, all messy.”
“You have some strange fetishes,” I teased, eyes fluttering half closed as I pressed my entire body into his touch.
“Nah,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, the beginning of an avalanche. “I just like you. So much.”
Mack pulled away for a moment to fiddle with the faucet, and suddenly a steady stream of cool water rained down on us from above. The icy shock of it made me gasp, much to his amusement. But then the temperature quickly shifted warmer, and my focus went back to the touch of his fingers on my skin, the press of his lips against mine, and the water rushing over us.
“Millen,” he murmured in my ear, the sound of my name curling inside me like a deep kiss.
“Mmm-hmm?” I said, distracted by the feeling of his chest gently rumbling underneath my palms.
He wasn’t just a lover, despite what I’d checked off on that silly list. He wasn’t someone to be collected and tossed when I was done with him. Mack was someone I wanted to keep.
“Why did we ever think we shouldn’t do this?” He pulled away for a moment, and the look on his face, so steady and sure, told me that this wasn’t a question at all. It was a rebuttal, a declaration of our own stupidity, of letting our hardheadedness get in the way.
“Probably because we knew if we did, we wouldn’t want to stop,” I admitted. I took a step back, yanking at the buttons of my jean shorts, dragging them down, and kicking them to the ground.
Mack bent closer and ran his fingertips slowly down the length of my bare thighs, and then back up to my waist, where he pressed his thumbs gently into my hips. Then, with the weight of his hands guiding me, he shifted me around until my back was flush against his chest.
I settled in against his body, closing my eyes as I let my other senses lead. There was the electric shock of cool air any time the hot water missed my skin, the gentle melody of the drops hitting the wooden planks below us in a steady rhythm, and now the heady smell of coconut as Mack pressed his fingertips to my scalp, dragging them through my hair in slow, luxurious circles.
Then the light scent of cucumber and eucalyptus, soapy and clean, as Mack’s hands traveled down the stretch of my arms, to the dimples of my lower back, lingering on parts of my body that I almost always forgot existed, caressing me with reverence and care.
The thoughts in my head were half-formed, a swirling mix of thrill and caution, as an eager, impatient moan slipped out between my lips.
Mack’s laugh was as sensuous as his touch. “Patience, Millen. We’ve got time.”
And even though we both knew it was a lie, I let myself believe it, just for a little bit longer.
30
“MILLEN.” FINGERTIPS TICKLED my cheek like raindrops.
“Mmm?” I forced my eyes open to find Mack crouched next to me, fully dressed. I’d passed out last night in his bed after too many Bloody Marys on the boat, and sleep had come hard and fast.
“Rise and shine!” Judging from the fog outside the window, it was overcast today, but his beaming face easily took the sun’s place. Even in my half-awake state, the sight of him still melted me. I reached a hand up and stroked the rough edge of his jaw, admiring the light stubble on his chin, the crook in his nose that was only visible from certain angles, and the sunspots that freckled his skin.
