My breasts are already heavy and begging for him. There’s an ache building between my legs that only he can satisfy. I spot a tray of fruit on the deck beside his lounger. Pineapple, limes, mangos—our meal every morning.
“I’m ready for breakfast.” I snatch one of the lime halves, poising it over his chest and squeezing the juice over his nipples. My lips and tongue slurp at the juices running over the muscles in his chest and abs, his grunts and groans more music to my ears than the tune that woke me up. Fingers steady, I pull back the Velcro strip on his board shorts, sliding them over his hips and down his legs. I grab another lime half and squeeze it over the powerful thighs, licking and nibbling my way to the most sensitive part of him. Grabbing one more lime, I squeeze the juice over him, my mouth watering in anticipation.
“Hmmmm.” I catch and hold his eyes, licking my lips. “Breakfast of champions.”
I pull him into my mouth, the tart juice and the tanginess of his body mixing on my tongue like liquor, inebriating, slowing my motions as I bob my head over him languidly, taking my time.
“Dammit, Pep,” he growls above me, fingers tangling in my hair, urging me to take him so deep he fills my throat. “Baby, just like that.”
I keep going until I’m frantic, squeezing his butt, pushing him as deep as I can, determined to have him spilling down my throat, but he pulls out, bringing me up.
“No.” I try to push my way back down. “I want to, Rhyson.”
“But I want you,” he whispers against my neck. “Let me have you.”
I sit up over him, watching as he squeezes lime juice over my breasts, rivulets running over the muscles in my stomach, disappearing between my legs. He chases the juices with his tongue, taking his time gathering every drop, sucking my nipples into his mouth so tightly they prick with a hint of pain in the pleasure. He licks tenderly at the faint marks he left on me last night.
“Was I too rough with you?” He looks up from his task, lips never leaving my skin, knowing he wasn’t.
“No, it was perfect.” I gasp when he finds the juices between my legs.
He lays me back on the lounger, spreading me until my feet are on either side flat on the deck and I’m wide open for him. He squeezes another lime over the pulsing spot between my legs, watching as the juices trickle inside of me.
My eyes stretch and then clench shut when he spreads me, licking me clean of the citrus juice, his tongue dipping inside, his teeth nibbling at me like I’m a delicacy. Seeing his dark head working between my legs, the velvety tongue licking into my crevices, the sound of him drinking my juices with the lime like a delicious cocktail—it’s too much. A moan rips through me, and I’m shuddering with an orgasm so strong it’s like a wire pulling my back into an arch. And all the while he never leaves me, keeps licking and nipping and sucking at me.
I’m still trembling, my body still quaking when he lies back on the lounger and pulls me on top. I sink onto every inch of him, fitting our bodies like lock and key, my feet on the floor, both of us gasping into each other’s mouths at the perfect union. I ride him with the sun beating down on my shoulders and back, my fingers gliding into the sun-kissed hair at his neck. He controls the pace, keeping it slow and deep, one hand gripping my hip and the other clamping my neck.
“I love you, Pep,” he pants at my breasts, dusting kisses over my nipples and then taking one fully into his mouth, sucking hard and long until sensations ricochet through my body, the sweet, rough pull of his mouth toppling me over the edge again. This time he follows, the force of this storm throwing his head back as our hips collide, our bodies slamming into one another with a passion so violent there’s nothing to do but scream, our hoarse voices soaring into the air with no one to hear but us. Our bodies making a symphony for just us two. Making an opus of our love.
I push my fingers into his hair as our motions slow to nothing, as the storm subsides, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. I bite my lip, dropping my head to his shoulder.
“I didn’t know there was love like this,” I say, barely able to catch my breath. “I don’t ever want to lose you. It would kill me to lose you, Rhys.”
Even with the tape settled and destroyed, even knowing it won’t ruin us, all the ways you can lose a person sometimes still haunt me. The way my mother lost my father. The way Pops lost Grams. The how wouldn’t matter. Losing Rhyson would leave a huge, unsealable hole in my heart forever.
“You won’t.” He pushes me up a little to suck my nipples, sliding his palm down my back, slipping a finger between the cheeks of my butt, indulging in the intimacies, the liberties of lovers. “You can’t ever lose me.”
“Promise.”
“Hey, there’s no losing, not really.” He pulls back to search my face. “Remember the words to the song at Grady’s wedding?”
He traces the prayer wrapping around my ribs, swallowing hard against the emotion that makes its way to his face.
“No matter what happens, my heart and my soul, I give them to you. They’re yours to keep.”