Page 69 of Everything You Hate
He comes fast, with a shudder and a long, low groan, his hands clenching in my hair. I keep him in my mouth, hold him there until the pulses slow, then lick him clean, because why not. I feel reckless and alive, and I want every single part of this man on my tongue, in my body, marking me for later.
I pull back slowly. He’s panting, eyes still locked on me, his expression full of awe and something I don’t want to examine too closely.
“I wanted to fuck you again,” he manages. “But now you gotta give me a few minutes.”
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and grin at him. “You have to call Bodhi, remember?”
He grumbles, but tucks himself back into his pants and stands. “Don’t move.” He grabs my mug and pushes it into myhands. “And drink up. You’ll need the energy because when I get back, I plan to fuck you until you’re screaming right here on my deck.”
And… he does just that.
Dean Kinsella is nothing but a man of his word.
Later, the boat makes for home on calm water. Dean lets me steer while he checks the forecast on his phone and says NOAA missed it by a mile. Then he takes over and steers us back to the harbor.
When the marina comes into view, my stomach drops.
I don’t want to get off the boat.
I want to stay here, in this narrow world where the only thing that matters is his hands on my skin and the insatiable ache between my legs.
I can’t, and I know it.
Dean cuts the engine. We drift the last hundred yards. He glances at me, then away. “There’s a bonfire tonight. Kicks off Harborfest.”
I had seen the banners for the festival going up around town. “Are you asking me to go with you?”
“Wouldn’t have mentioned it otherwise.”
The boat nudges against the dock. Dean throws a line over the cleat without looking. I should help. I should say something. Instead, I stand there with my hands on the rail and my body still humming from everything he did to me on this deck in the morning light, and I can’t form a single coherent sentence.
He ties off the stern line and turns to face me.
His eyes find mine, and whatever he sees there makes his jaw work. “Doesn’t have to be a thing.”
“A thing?”
“A date.”
I want to ask,then what is it? What was last night and this morning?
But he’s shut down, those shutters closing over his expression.
“Okay,” I say a bit too brightly instead. “I guess… I’ll see you there then.”
“Yeah. Okay. Good. See you.” He turns away.
Annnd dismissed.
How is it that this man who so thoroughly ruined me with that dirty mouth just an hour ago now can’t string together more than a handful of single-syllable words?
I gather my bag and follow him up the ladder. He’s careful not to touch me, and doesn’t try to kiss me goodbye. I walk away with my cheeks and thighs stubble-burned, the taste of him still on my lips, and I know two things: one, that I want him again, and two, that next time he’s going to want to see me—allof me—in the light.
And when he does, I’ll have to decide whether the truth of me is something I can bear to show.
Chapter Nineteen
Scarlett
