Beautiful Mine (Beautiful Rivers #1) (9 page)

He takes me on a tour and I’m in love. It’s a magnificent vessel. There’s a spacious living area (called a saloon on a boat), full-sized appliances in the kitchen (galley), and even an en suite with a full-sized shower in the master stateroom (bedroom). There are two places to steer the boat: an interior wheelhouse with a seating area and table for guests behind the captain’s chair, and a “flying bridge” up top that’s open to the outside. There’s even a guest stateroom and a little nook to be used as an office space. Everything is gleaming and inviting.

My mind starts running away with me for a moment. What would it be like to live on this boat with him? It’d be comfortable enough, no question. But, tempting as it is, my mind doesn’t linger in that fantasy for two reasons.

One, I’ve given some thought to his lifestyle and I don’t think I could do it. I still feel as I did before: it’d be hard not to have a real home to return to. Not to mention the unpleasant prospect of leaving a job that I love.

Two, he hasn’t invited me, so it’s not like it’s even an option to turn down anyway.

When we return to the main saloon and he raises his hands and says, “So this is it,” I want to ask,
How are you affording all this?
But that feels like crossing a line, so I stick with what I know.

I step into his arms, go up on tiptoe, and kiss him.

His arms come around me and I rub my hands along his back. Our kiss deepens, and I wonder if this is the last time we’ll be together.

I push that thought away. Not yet. There will be more. We’re not done yet.

Our tongues explore one another, hands caressing. The heat in my body is rising. Without breaking our kiss, he picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me into the master stateroom and sets me on the bed, smoothly coming down on top of me. I put my hand on his jaw, caressing the soft whiskers. He holds my face in his hand too, and kisses me so tenderly I almost can’t breathe.

He pulls away, holding my eyes, and reaches for his pack, which he had propped next to the bed earlier. Heart thumping thickly in my chest, I don’t take my eyes off of him. He brings out the condoms, pulls one out, and puts both that and the package on the nightstand within easy reach.

While he does this I slip off my shorts and underwear, and sit up enough to remove my shirt and bra. He quietly undresses too, rolls on the condom, then comes back to me slowly, watching me. Still holding my eyes, he puts his forehead on mine, his hand on my jaw. Lips parted, our breaths mingle together as our bodies slowly rearrange so he can come inside me. I’m wet, and ready, and dying a little because of the way he’s looking at me.

As he slips inside me, so slow and sweet, our mouths meet. And I can’t do this. It feels too much like making love. This is hard enough. I don’t want him to make love to me. I want him to fuck me. Only that.

Swallowing hard, I switch gears. I start kissing and stroking him in a way that’s intense and physical. It takes a minute. I have to persist. But soon he’s following my lead. And then it’s a little frantic. And then we’re fucking, only fucking, and it is a relief. I make myself forget the rest and just get carried away with it. Thank god his cock in me feels so good because I need to stay in this place.

I tell him to fuck me hard, but first he kisses me hard. And gropes my breasts. And clutches my shoulder and then he’s pounding me so hard that lights explode behind my closed lids. I’m moaning and panting and he’s groaning in my ear. His muscles are flexing under my hands. His cock is hardening in my tight channel and I tell him, “More. Harder.”

We’re unleashed in a new way, then. It’s a wildness I’ve never experienced. It’s almost vulgar, but it’s so hot and my climax is building so strongly I know when I come, I’m going to come hard. He’s propped up above me, thrusting me with his entire body and making my whole body rock. I’m almost there.

This is it,
I think.
The last time.

My pleasure is consuming me enough to drown that thought out, thank god. “Fuck,” I spit out, my toes and body curling as the ecstasy blooms throughout my entire body. My chest is hot. My skin everywhere, hot. Connor’s unsurpassed cock is pounding me with perfection. Then I let go, and my climax shakes me with such violence I am transcended out of time and place. I gasp and convulse, helpless. Connor releases inside me and I throw my head back, crying out, tremors pulsing through me. I ride it out in desperation.

By the time it’s over, we’re both on our backs, panting.

We’re not touching at all. The afterglow of my orgasm is dissipating quickly. I tighten my hands into loose fists at my side. A shiver runs through me.

Connor moves then. He rolls over toward me, presses his warm chest against mine, and cups my jaw in his hand. He kisses me deeply. Something inside me sighs as I feel my heart reconnect with his. He comes away, pecks me softly on my lips, and pulls me into his arms as he rolls onto his back.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but I’m grateful for it, because I couldn’t end whatever it is we just did with whatever that ending was. That kiss, however short, reminded me that it’s still Connor and still me and we’re still in this together.

Whatever this is.

Connor

I wanted our last time together to be different, but thinking back on how we started, compared to the insane way we finished, I can see anything else would’ve torn my heart out.

It’s six in the morning. Whitney’s already scheduled a cab pick-up and is in the bathroom, getting ready to take her shower. I’ve gotten dressed—I’ll shower after she goes—and am sitting on the edge of the bed. Whitney’s impending departure is pulsing through my veins.

I hear the shower water turn on, and something inside me starts to sink and grow still. I listen to it for a few minutes, not moving. When I do move, it’s to pull out my phone and dial my sister. I just need to hear her voice. She answers after the second ring.

“Hey!” Lizzy says, always so happy to hear from me.

“Hey sis.” I try to make my voice sound normal.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” I say, trying harder. “I saw a stork yesterday and it made me think of you. You’ll have to tell Rayce.” It’s an old joke. It’s not really funny at the moment.

She laughs. “I will.”

I’ve successfully diverted her, but it does me no good. “I met someone,” I say.

I didn’t mean to say those words, even though they’re true. The full and weighty implications of them are all true.

There’s silence on the line. Maybe because I said it like it’s something I’m already regretting. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Nothing. Just that I met someone.”

“You’re seeing her?”

I grip the side of the bed. “Not exactly.”

There’s more silence. Only the sound of the shower water. My heart’s pounding painfully. “Okay Mr. Elusive,” Lizzy says. “What exactly is it then? You’re the one who brought it up, you know.”

“I know. Her name’s Whitney. I met her outside of Arca.”

“There in Spain?”

“That’s right.”

“Is she Spanish?”

“No. She lives in San Francisco.” I don’t know why I’m telling Lizzy any of this. I really don’t.

“So, you like her?”

I nod but I don’t say anything. I’m just listening to the shower. I wish Lizzy were here. Or I was there. These are the times when I feel too far away and too alone.

“God, Connor. Why’d you even say anything if you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“Sorry. I don’t know. I just... thought you’d like to know.”

“I don’t even know
what
I know,” she says lightly, accepting my ways for what they are, like she always has. “But I’m happy if you’re happy. Does she make you happy?”

Irrelevant. All irrelevant. “She leaves for San Francisco today. She lives there.”

“Yeah,” she says slowly, responding to my tone, which hasn’t changed one wit since I said I met someone. “You mentioned that.”

She’s right here,
I want to say.
She’s on my boat, in my shower, in my head, in my veins.

“What’s this about, Connor?” Lizzy says quietly. “Do you want to follow her to San Francisco? You could, you know.”

“I know, but...” I take a deep breath and lean my elbow on my knee, closing my eyes and pinching the bridge of my nose between two fingers.

“But what?”

“How long would that last?” I say, not moving. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

Lizzy sighs. “Well. That’s something to think about,” she says gently.

I let my arm drop and fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Lizzy sighs again. “I don’t know if you want advice or if you just need me to listen or what.” One of the great things about Lizzy is she’s careful not to give unsolicited advice. “I wouldn’t know what to tell you anyway because I don’t know enough.”

“I know,” I say. “I wasn’t looking for advice, I guess. Just telling you. Like telling you I saw a stork yesterday. It’s not a big deal.”

“Uh huh.” She doesn’t believe me. Nor should she. “You’re full of shit, you know.”

“That’s what I hear.” I sigh. We sit on the line in silence for a moment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

The shower water shuts off and I sit up. “Yeah. Look, I’d better go. Give everyone my love.”

“I will. But you know you’re in my dog house now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because now I’m going to be wondering about this Whitney person until we talk again and I get to find out if she’s still in your life or not.”

The pang of that truth pinches my heart. I understand what she’s saying. People don’t stay in my life. Because people are kind of like plants and tend to want to pick a spot of ground to grow in, while I don’t stay in one place long enough to grow any roots that matter. I can’t seem to do it. Not even for the people I love.

Evie’s words come back to haunt me: “It’s not fair to be with someone when all you want to do is leave.” And she was right. It’s
not
fair. I imagine Whitney one day looking at me the way Evie did that day, brows pulled down, arms crossed, anger and resentment all over her face.

I don’t want Whitney to ever have to hate me like that.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo,” I say automatically, like she knew I would.

She laughs and we hang up.

By the time Whitney comes out of the bathroom, fresh-faced and clean, I’m resolved we’ll say goodbye as we should, with a smile on her face and a smile on mine.

No matter how much it hurts.

Whitney

Connor isn’t wearing his navy shirt, or his green shirt. He’s pulled something else entirely out of his closet: tan sailing pants and a white, collared polo. I, on the other hand, am still in my Camino outfit. It only adds to my feeling that we’ve already separated and this is already over. The morning has been busy with preparations since the moment the alarm went off on my phone. And now we’re standing on the deck of his boat—which is shining and beautiful in the morning sun—watching the cab pull up in the parking lot.

Connor waves, getting the driver’s attention, and the cab comes to a stop.

“I’ll walk you there,” he says, bending down to pick up my pack.

“No,” I say stopping him.

He gives me a questioning look, and I smile. I’m determined to smile. It’s not entirely fake, even if it is bittersweet. “Before I get in that cab, I want to look back and see you on your boat. That’s the last image I want of you.”

He just looks at me, searching my eyes, as if to decide if he’s supposed to argue with me or not. I smile again and wrap my arms around his waist, still looking up at him.

He sighs and smiles too. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.” The tears are building, thick in my throat and pooling in my eyes. I don’t try to stop them, because my smile is as genuine as my tears. “Thank you, Connor.”

“No,” he says, brushing my cheek with the back of his fingers. “Thank you, Whitney.”

He presses his lips to mine and lingers softly. We break our kiss and sink into an embrace. I go up on my tiptoes, and hook one arm over his shoulder, nestling my nose in his neck. He tucks into me too. We stay like this, holding each other firmly, not speaking, not moving. Only breathing each other in.

Then it’s time.

I release and slowly come out of his arms. We give each other one last smile, tender and fond, then he holds his hand up and helps me step off the boat and onto the dock. He hands me my pack and I heft it onto my shoulders. We look at one another and take deep breaths.

“See you around, Whitney,” he says, like a wish.

But I know better.

“Goodbye, Connor.”

With that I turn and head down the dock, feeling every step. I get to the end and turn left, so I can make my way toward the parking lot and the waiting cab. I glance at him, and he’s watching me, his hands in his pockets. I look back to the worn boards in front of me and too soon, I’m at the cab.

The driver takes my pack and puts it in the trunk. I open the back door, and only then do I turn for one last look. He’s still there, watching me. He takes one hand out of his pocket, and raises it in farewell.

I think about going back. Of course, I do. But go back for what? I can’t change reality, and the reality is that trying to claim Connor as my own would be like trying to put sunshine in a box. It can’t be done, because as soon as you close up the box, the sunshine is eaten by the dark.

So I raise my hand in farewell too. I want the smile on my face to be the last thing he sees.

I’ll let my tears flow later.