Beautiful Mine (Beautiful Rivers #1) (16 page)

Breathing hard, I roll my hips, working with his movements and angling myself just right. He groans and I moan at the same time. He steadily increases his speed and I continue to rock myself with him.

“I remember you like it hard,” he says breathlessly.

I nod eagerly against his shoulder.

He kisses me firmly then, and we taste each other impatiently, but his cock is rubbing me with the same rhythm. When he pulls his mouth back though, he grabs my shoulder and thrusts hard into me. A bloom of pleasure and pain flows over me and I gasp, throwing my head back. “Yes,” I bite out.

He does it again, and again, and I am not being quiet about telling him how I feel about it. He goes faster and harder, so the pulses of pleasure are bursting over me with increasing rhythm. Those pulses get closer and closer together until they blend into one, steady, quivering mass of pleasure.

Omigod.

I’m climbing hard and fast and I feel it in his body too. His cock getting impossibly hard, stretching me tight and sweet. His body tightening all over—chest, thighs, arms—and his impending climax only feeds into mine. My orgasm bursts over me and he is half a second behind. He thrusts into me irregularly, moaning in my ear, and I gasp again and again as the waves cause me to tighten around his hard cock over and over.

The fierce grip of my climax loosens, but he’s regained control and strokes me so deep and so perfectly the long downward slide of pleasure pulls over me. It seems to go on forever. Then it’s finally over and I’m panting, a helpless mass beneath him.

Fuck.

I wish I could just stash Connor in my suitcase and take him home with me.

Connor

Well, what can I say? It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been “bad impulsive” and there’s no going back now. We’re both pretending we didn’t just blindly jump off a cliff together. I’m enjoying the fall enough to almost forget for real anyway.

Whitney makes me feel like... I don’t know... like nothing I’ve ever felt before. The longer I’m with her, the more I feel myself sinking into her. In the back of my head, I think I might be in serious trouble because I’m already in deeper than I was in Spain.

Deep enough, maybe, to change things.

After spending the night trying to appease this woman’s sexual appetite (which, by the way, earns her a
big
gold
star in my book), we go to the game together and I get to meet Nadim and his parents. The way Whitney followed the action and cheered him on, you’d think we were watching the World Series. When he hit a fly out of left field, helping his team score two points, she was jumping up and down and cheering in the cutest damn way. I was cheering right along with her.

Best Saturday morning I’ve had in a long time.

There’s a food shack across the street from the field, so we walk over after the game to get some Philly cheesesteaks. We’re sitting on the grass, under a Monterey Pine, talking about the game. Well, partly about the game. She’s mostly focusing on Nadim.

“I can see why you like him so much,” I say. “That kid’s damn funny. He’s got personality coming out of his ears.”

“Doesn’t he? I’m so glad you got to meet him.”

“Me too.”

She takes another bite of her sandwich and smiles out at the near-empty field across the way. It makes me smile just watching her. She gets a glow on her face when she thinks about “her kids.” But there’s something else I wonder about.

“So how are you doing with work these days?” I ask. It’s the third time I’ve asked this question. The first was during the tour, but she was too distracted by the resort to want to talk about much else. The second time was during dinner last night and she was holding back, licking her wounds. But I’ve been concerned about her, and I want to know how she really is. The look on her face tells me I may have been right to worry.

“I’m... about the same, I guess.”

She looks at me as if to see if I’m going to accept that as an answer. I raise my eyebrows as if to say,
Try again.

She sighs. “It was better at first. I was doing really good when I first got back, trying to be more balanced, you know. That sort of helped. But, then again, not really. Back in March, two kids attempted suicide, within a week of each other.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Marcel is doing a lot better now. He just needed some counseling I think and seems to be okay. We’re still worried about Ophelya though. She just struggles. They have her on antidepressants, but now the doctors are wondering if she has bipolar disorder.” She sighs and picks at her sandwich. “Stuff like that... it’s almost more than I can handle. I’ve come close to quitting a couple of times.”

I’m surprised, but not. This girl is really torn.

“Then I feel bad because here these kids have real problems and I’m just over here whining.”

“You’re not whining.”

“It feels like it.”

“You’re an empath with compassion fatigue.”

She blinks at me. “Huh?”

“Empaths are people who kind of absorb the emotions of people around them. Or even just people they hear about. Do you have trouble watching the news?”

She just nods, watching me, thinking.

“My mom did, too. Dad would have to keep her up-to-date on the important stuff because it was too much for her to watch all the other crap. Like, she’d keep thinking about the family who died in a house fire or would have a hard time getting to sleep because there’s a little girl who went missing.”

“Me too! I can’t watch the news either.”

I nod. “You people are like sponges. You have to be careful.”

“What’s compassion fatigue?” she asks, tucking her long hair behind her ear. “I think I can guess, but I’ve never heard of that.”

“I hadn’t either until last year. It’s just the term they use for what you have. I once had a conversation with a woman who left a career in nursing because she wore herself out. I guess it’s pretty common in fields like that and we talked about it awhile. She said most people try to manage it by making sure they’re taking care of themselves and stuff, but some end up finding different work and that’s what she decided to do.”

“What did she end up doing instead?”

“She’s an accountant.”

Whitney’s eyebrows shoot up. “No kidding? That’s a big change. Did she like it?”

“She said she did. Sounds boring as hell to me, but to each their own.”

“Hmm.” Whitney takes a bite of her sandwich and looks out at the field thoughtfully. There’s a congregation of soccer kids and their parents gathering. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can leave my kids, but it’s been really hard this year. I need to figure something out though, because I can feel it all coming to a head. I can’t go on like this forever, you know?”

Uh, yeah. I can relate.

“If you were to quit, have you thought about what you would do instead?”

She takes a drink of her soda, then puts the cup back on the grass. “Yeah, but everything else I think of would lead to the same problem eventually.”

“Why? What else have you thought of?”

“I don’t know. I did think about something like nursing. I don’t know.”

“You just want to help people,” I say, then take a bit of my sandwich.

“I really do.”

I think about the possibilities as I finish my bite. “Maybe something that’s more administrative and less hands on.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

It’s tempting to think about her making a career change that would, conveniently, bring her to Swan Pointe. There are plenty of people here she could help. But Whitney’s problem is, well, her. Her greatest strength is also her greatest weakness.

The other problem is, well, me. Even if she came here, could I stay?

Whitney

After lunch, Connor gives me a whole list of things we could do. Some of them are activities the resort provides, and which he now oversees. The resort is partially known for its adventures—zip lining, scuba diving, kayaking. Some of his other suggestions are things we could do in Swan Pointe.

What I really wanted to do though was go out on his boat, so we end up spending the afternoon lazily heading up the coast. We’re on the upper bridge and we’re being caressed by the soothing ocean breeze. The weather’s been perfect. There’s a rear bench seat for passengers up here, but I’m sitting in the co-pilot chair and Connor’s in the captain’s chair next to me, his hands casually on the wheel. He’s answered my many questions about the control panel—which is far less extensive than the one in the pilothouse downstairs—and even let me steer the boat for a while. That was fun, but I’m content to let him be in charge now.

We’ve talked about anything and everything under the sun, it seems. He’s entertaining me now by naming his many injuries and scars. I don’t have a single broken bone to my name, but he got his first fracture when he was just six years old, from jumping off the top bunk at a cousin’s house. Since then he’s broken an arm diving off a cliff, the same arm again during an extreme kayaking trip that included taking his kayak down a series of actual waterfalls, and his left shin bone from a “dumb ass move” that involved a trampoline and a roof. He’s had a torn rotator cuff and six stitches from a skateboarding accident.

“Geez,” I say, eyes wide. “It’s amazing you’re still in one piece.”

“Eh,” he says lightly, “I’ve got crazy good luck.”

“How do you figure?”

“I got bucked off a horse once, in Australia. Walked away without a scratch on me.”

I laugh. “Well, I guess that settles it, then.”

Our conversation takes a few more leisurely turns, and soon I’m telling him about the dreadful listlessness I felt in college. I changed my major twice before making myself stick with something,
anything
(Sociology won out purely by default). “I had the same problem in high school. I took graphic design, speech, drama, even metalworking. It’d be fun at first, but by the time the semester got over, I’d be bored with it. The only thing I’ve ever found I’m passionate about is helping these kids.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a wandering spirit of your own,” he says. “Too many things interest you to settle for just one.”

I laugh. “Maybe.”

But none of those things made me feel alive, and that’s something Connor does for me. It’s like some of his adventurous spirit comes inside me and makes me feel ready for anything. Maybe that’s the ‘empath’ in me, just absorbing his emotions, but it doesn’t seem like it. It feels more like Connor reminds me of who I really am, things I’ve forgotten about myself. Like the dancing last night. How long had it been since I’d gone dancing, even though I love it so much?

“I wonder if we should head back,” he says. “By the time we get to Swan Pointe, it’ll be time for dinner.”

“Or we could just eat dinner at a port somewhere.”

He looks over at me with a big grin, a little fire in his eyes. There’s that wandering boy. “Now
that’s
the spirit. I know a good place in Redwood City.”

I grin, suddenly reminded that I’ll be on a flight to San Francisco tomorrow. It’s not the first time today this unpleasant fact has rudely intruded on my otherwise pleasant thoughts. We have another goodbye coming. Already.

Only it doesn’t feel inevitable this time. This time, it feels like we have a choice. San Francisco isn’t that far. This doesn’t have to be the end, does it?

But I fear that’s not what he wants. When he kissed me in the labyrinth, he was worried about making the next goodbye too hard. Does that mean
he
sees our goodbye as inevitable? For all I know, his inability, or unwillingness, to make promises is no different than it’s always been and he just won’t even want to go there.

I deliberately shove these thoughts away. It’s what I’ve done all day, any time I remember the situation we’re in. I don’t want to obsess and ruin things. I just want to be here, with Connor and the wind, and enjoy how good it feels to be alive.

I slide off my chair and stand close to him, my arms around his shoulders. Still hanging onto the wheel, he pulls me in close. “Sounds perfect,” I say, and lean in to give him a kiss. Our lips are soft on one another, our breaths warm and steady. It’s a short kiss, but when I pull back he keeps me close. He lowers the throttle, slowing us down, then brings his hand off the wheel and to my face and kisses me again. We linger this time, and I feel the heat rising inside myself. I can’t tell if it’s my body feeling it, or something deeper.

He returns to the wheel out of necessity, giving me a smile. I stay close, arm still around him, and allow myself the luxury of enjoying the view.

Connor, I mean. Because he’s just so lovely to look at.

He catches me doing it and grins at me. “What are you thinking, missy?” he asks.

Dirty, dirty things,
I think. I lean over to whisper in his ear, my breasts gently pressing against his arm. “If you knew, it’d distract you from driving the boat.”

I peek at his profile, pleased to I got the reaction I’d hoped for, then gently take his earlobe between my teeth.

He exhales deeply, then tightens his arm around my waist. “Well now,” he says. “I’d hate for you to distract me.”

But he doesn’t sound like he’d hate it at all. In fact, I think I could get him to beg if I really wanted to be naughty. I slowly kiss his neck, rubbing my hand along his firm chest. I lower my hand to his stomach. My mouth to his shoulders. Then I bend my knees and slide down his body as my hand goes to his growing bulge.

“Uh…” he says, as I start to undo his pants.

“Eyes on the water, baby.”

When this guy gets hard, he doesn’t mess around. He’s already taut and ready for me, springing loose as I open his fly wide.

“I need a drink,” I say, as I take it into both hands.

“Jesus, Whitney,” he says thickly, but he angles himself to give me more room. When I take the warm tip into my mouth and slowly start working my way down, he exhales deeply and angles himself even more.

Can I say, his cock is just as glorious in my mouth as it is in my pussy. Which, by the way, is dripping wet as I work him into a state of tortured agitation. Soon he’s clutching the back of my head and groaning deeply, his hips moving toward my mouth hungrily. I’m hungry too, tasting him greedily while I pump the base of his shaft with my hands. When he finally releases, I’m throbbing so much myself I know it wouldn’t take much to get me off.

“Damn,” he says afterward, panting and tucking himself back in with one hand, still steering the boat with his other.

He looks weakened and glowing and is having a hard time catching his breath. I grin.

Cock ninja. That’s me.

I sink into the co-pilot seat and cross my legs alluringly. He gives me a hungry look. “I wish I could fucking drop anchor right here and return the favor.”

But I only lick my lips and smile, confident he’ll find a way sooner rather than later. I’m not wrong.

We finally get to Redwood City and he finds a space in the marina, but hauls me down to the main saloon and eats me out right there on the couch before I even get off the boat.

By the time we’ve had dinner and are heading back, the temperature has dropped considerably, so he’s driving from the interior wheelhouse instead. There’s no copilot chair here, so I’m stretched out on my side on the soft bench seat that runs along the back. I’m feeling the effects of an afternoon of sun, too little sleep, and perhaps too much wine. The Moscato at the restaurant was amazing, so I had two glasses.

“You look ready to crash,” he says, winking at me and turning the wheel ever so slightly as he keeps us on course.

“I only got four hours of sleep.”

“That’s not my fault,” he says, laughing.

I grin, getting warm at the memory of what we were doing last night instead of sleeping. “Aren’t you getting tired?” I ask him, feeling badly that he still has to get us home.

“Nope.”

“That’s good. I could fall asleep right here” I say, settling in deeper.

He smiles at me. “Go ahead.”

I close my eyes and sigh, still smiling. God, how does he make me feel so content and so alive at the same time? “Maybe when I wake up, we’ll be in China,” I say.

I open my eyes to grin at him. He’s watching me. I see I should be careful what I say to my impulsive captain over there.

“Don’t tempt me,” he says seriously, and goes back to watching ahead.

I’m surprised to realize that part of me wasn’t kidding. How exciting it would be to just take off and go somewhere. Anywhere. Part of me wants to do that with him. Part of me thinks I could do that with him forever.

But could I?

As much as I love being out on this boat with him, I think about the fact that this was his only home for four years, with no end in sight. When I really think about what it would be like if this were
my
home... only this? For life?

It’s unsettling.

I honestly don’t know how Connor did it.

It’s dark by the time we pull into the marina and are tying the boat to the slip. Connor shows me how to tie the knot so it doesn’t come undone, then lets me try. He’s crouching right beside me, guiding me when I forget the next step. When the knot’s done, I ask if we can undo it so I can practice once more.

He smiles and undoes the knot, the muscles in his arms flexing as he moves with speed and precision. “Here you go,” he says, handing me the rope.

This time I remember all the steps, and when the rope’s secure I grin at him. “Hooray!”

He laughs and puts his hand behind my neck so he can pull me in for a kiss. “Good job,” he says as we come apart, but he keeps his hand there and I stay close. I raise my eyebrow at him as if to say,
wanna have some fun?
He gives me that slow smile that heats up my insides.

We kiss again, going deeper, slowly coming to a stand so we can pull each other into an embrace. We stand right there, arms and hands roaming, tongues moving together, and the heat rising and rising until we break, panting slightly. He leads me inside.

When we get to the master stateroom, he brings me into his arms and kisses me again, but it’s not hurried. His hands move from my face, to my back, to my hair, then to my face again. He’s steadily backing me up, kissing and caressing me. It’s so slow and intimate and deep. He’s so tender with me, I’m melting right here in his arms.

My hands are slowly exploring him too: his firm chest, his broad shoulders, the hint of stubble on his jaw, his strong arms, his hard back. When I feel the wall behind me, and he presses gently against me, I slip my hand over his rear and squeeze.

We’re fully clothed, standing up, and already I feel like Connor is making love to me. Oh god, I can’t fight this. I don’t want to. I kiss him with all the feeling in my heart, longing for him even though he’s right here.

He pulls away just slightly, holding my face with both his hands, holding my eyes with his. Our breaths are hot and shallow. We’re just looking at one another, and our gaze deepens. I look at him, and slide right in.