Page 91 of Lost and Found

“These,” he growls appreciatively, gripping my hip bones and pressing his thumbs down on either side of my spine. “You’ve got dimples, too.”

When I get close to coming, he taunts me. “I can feel you sucking at me already. You need it bad, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nod emphatically with my face in the cushions now, my toes barely touching the floor on one foot. I’m so spread open I could bite into my knee.

“Good. Be needy with me. Let me spoil you so good.” This is what makes me come, and he chuckles like he’s found me out. “Oh, no, baby. Liked that? You want me to bring you gifts? I’ll buy you a hundred pairs of those lacy shorts. I’ll give you foot rubs after you’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll fill you up so good you feel empty without me.”

He slips out of me all the way, and I let out an outraged sound because he’s right, I already need him, already feel bereft. But he grinds up my seam and makes me messy and wet all over, squeezing my ass cheeks on either side of his cock. It’s crude and base and just as needy as I am.

And then he’s working himself back into me and pressing his thumb into my ass in that way that should feel wrong, like an invasion, but I love it so much. I love the way he talks to me and how I can’t hide from it or feel embarrassed. I’m too exposed and he sees it all, notices every detail. I love when he loses himself and gets quiet, too.

He slides two fingers into my mouth with his free hand and keeps fucking me steadily, filling me in every possible way, and I’m so drunk on pleasure and joy, I start to laugh. I can’t believe I once told this man I could get him out of my system.

He starts to laugh, too. A dark, amazed chuckle. “I know,” he says. “Fuck, Iknow.”

We make ourselves eat and rest a little more, but it’s the ability and freedom to reach for him, to touch and squeeze and taste without restraint that I can’t seem to pass up.

He makes love to me quietly after we shower, cleaned up just to get each other worked up again. This time, he makes frequent stops to kiss over my body. Even what he does between my legs is kissing. It takes me so long to come, I think we stop and start over countless times, but it’s as if we’ve got all the time in the world. This is the goal; there is no finish line we race toward. I roll him onto his back and return every kiss, every taste.

When I do come, it’s with his tongue in my cunt while he strokes himself lazily. I’m fizzing all over and tug him up over me so his weight can keep me from turning into foam and blowing away. He thrusts into me once before he’s coming, too. And sleep closes in around us again.

“Why don’t you wear that chain you used to wear anymore?” I ask curiously. I’m still tucked into his side, still naked, still in bed. The sun is rising on a new day and glittering through the branches of the oak.

He hugs me and lays a kiss to the crown of my head. “Can’t wear anything metal on the job,” he says, but I can tell it’s only half the answer.

“You don’t wear it off the job, either,” I say. He reaches down to give my ass a firm squeeze and his pinkie drifts close to where we’re still joined. “Don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckles and lets out a small, self-conscious sound. “Guess I got nothing to hide. You already know I can be melodramatic,” he says.

“It’s one of my favorite things, actually,” I remind him.

I hear him swallow, and lean up to search his face. He gives me a grateful, peaceful smile and plants a kiss to the tip of my nose. My entire torso warms. “You remember when I told you I wished for this?” he says. “I meant it literally, Bea. I made a wish for you.”

CHAPTER 35

One Afternoon, Eight Years Ago

Silas

“If you look at your phone one more time, I’ll have to chuck it in the ocean just to save you from yourself,” Micah says at my side.

I force myself to slide it into my back pocket, shoving my hands into my sweatshirt to keep them occupied. We take a few more steps around the park, and I try to harness my focus. Gulls and thin clouds move over our heads, waves crash in the distance, Savvy’s and O’Doyle’s sit across the street in our line of sight. All of it is so familiar I could walk it with my eyes closed, and yet my world still feels totally off center. Been that way for the last six weeks, ever since I had one lucky night with the redhead of my dreams.

“Seriously, Silas. You’ve called her three times in the three days I’ve been home and have done nothing but stare at the phone in between. I get you like the chick, but—”

“Don’t.”

He goes quiet like I knew he would. My younger brother and I have always had that kind of understanding. Free to bring out the worst in each other, to fight when we need to blow off steam—even when we’re not necessarily the cause. And we know when to drop shit and quit pushing each other, too.

It is also Micah’s last day in Spunes before he has to hit the road again, for more baseball and shitty hotels. Hurling his all at something that, so far, only seems to give him irregular blips of happiness in return. The least I can do is spare him my undivided attention for a little while.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Just want to make sure she’s all right. With . . . with Merritt and everything.” I’ve given him the abbreviated version of my night with Bea. Said we ran into each other and it turned into a ten-hour date, before she got a call from Merritt and everything got thrown into chaos.

“You know when Merritt’s supposed to have surgery?” Micah asks.

“Today,” I croak. I’ve been sucking up to Martha O’Doyle for every scrap of news, hoping something about Bea will accompany it on the fringes, feeling sick with guilt for even hoping for that when I can’t begin to imagine what Merritt and her family are going through.

But fuck. I don’t feel guilty about that night.