Surviving Us (12 page)

He stands up, and for a split-second, I’m afraid he’s going to leave without me or make me look like I’m chasing after him. Thankfully, he moves behind my chair and gallantly pulls it out for me. “Bristol, we should leave the
adults
here so they can talk about things not suitable for our young ears, like overstimulated political races and lackluster economies,” he jests.

I chuckle under my breath as I stand up next to him, amused at the curious expressions of everyone at the table except Charlotte. “Goodnight, guys. I’ll see you all in the morning at breakfast.” A chorus of goodbyes follows us as we cross the room, both of us eager to leave.

Once outside, Davis loops his arm around my shoulders, drawing me close to him, so I slide mine around his back, tucking my hand in his back pocket. Neither of us says anything for the first few minutes of our walk back toward our rooms; more than anything, I’m just happy to be out of the dining room and in the fresh air.

The closer we get to the end of the road, the questions and insecurities begin to swirl in my head, causing my belly to flip-flop with anxiety. Do I assume we’re going to hang out together? Will asking him to come over be too forward? Too desperate?

He slows his stride as we walk in front of his cottage, turning to face me. “Your plunge pool or mine?” he asks, one corner of his mouth curling into a cocky smirk.

I breathe a quiet sigh of relief. “Mine,” I reply. “I don’t have a neighbor on the other side of me.”

“Good point,” he quickly kisses my forehead. “I’m gonna grab my trunks; wait right here.”

He bounds up the couple of stairs and into his room, returning in board shorts and a t-shirt in less than a minute.

“Holy shit!” I exclaim. “How did you change that fast? Were you wearing that under your clothes?”

“No. I’m a guy, so I change fast,” he pulls me by the hand the short distance to my cottage, laughing and shaking his head. “Why? Do you need me to help you change into your swimsuit? Or better yet, we can just strip that dress off and let you swim in your bra and panties.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, making me burst out in laughter.

“That’d be a great plan if I was wearing any,” I taunt as I unlock and open the door, letting us both inside.

“Trouble,” he growls in warning, “go and change now before I find out if you’re telling the truth.”

Fifteen minutes later, we’re in the small, oval-shaped plunge pool on my deck, which reminds me a lot of a hot tub from back home only the water is on the cool side and about four feet deep. Each of us has a glass of champagne from a bottle he opened in my room while I put my swimsuit on, and surprisingly, it doesn’t taste nearly as bad as I thought it would.

My chest presses up against the cement edge as I stare out over the tranquil water, the twinkling canopy overhead creating the most picturesque, romantic ambiance I could ever imagine. Davis sits next to me in the water, but facing the opposite direction, his back resting against the side as he slowly sips the amber-tinted bubbly. Our bodies aren’t touching, though I long for them to be, but I wait for him to make the first move.

He tilts his head to the side to look at me, intently studying my face for a few moments before speaking. “Why sports journalism?”

“Why not?” I quip back, setting my glass down as I hold my focus out over the midnight sea.

“Don’t answer a question with a question, Bristol.” He reaches his hands out underwater and grabs my waist, dragging my body over in front of him so we are face-to-face, leaving his fingers curled around my hipbones. His golden brown eyes are intense yet compassionate, imploring my own. “Now tell me why. I want to know more about you.”

“My dad.” I swallow hard, fighting back the emotions threatening to surface. “My dad was a sports junkie. From before I can remember, I’d sit in his lap, watching whatever was on TV—football, baseball, basketball . . . it didn’t matter. My mom used to bring our dinner to us on these trays so we wouldn’t have to miss any of the game” My voice trails off as the memory I hadn’t thought about for so long plays out in my mind like it was just yesterday. Davis stays quiet, patiently waiting for me to collect my thoughts.

“I attempted to play softball and basketball when I was younger, but I just wasn’t coordinated enough. Mentally, I knew the games backwards and forwards; I couldn’t figure out how to make my hands and feet do the things my brain told them to.” I laugh softly. “So I’ve always loved to read and write—I got that from my mom—and when it was time to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up, I thought sports journalism combined the two things I loved.”

“And it was a way to honor both of your parents,” he says understandingly.

I bite the corner of my lip as I nod, trying desperately but failing miserably to push back the tears. “Yeah, I want them to be proud of me.”

With a small smile, he swipes his thumb across my cheek. “They’d be crazy not to.” Then dropping his hands from my hips down to my thighs, he gently coaxes each of my legs up around his waist until he’s holding me in the water. My hands naturally lock around his neck, my fingers lightly stroking the back of his head. Leaning into me, he traces the shell of my ear with his nose. “A girl who knows sports—like
really
knows ’em and likes ’em—is sexy as hell.”

A moan escapes from the back of my throat, his raspy words igniting a deep-rooted burn inside of me. His lips skim across my jaw until they’re hovering directly over mine. A hand glides effortlessly up my back until it’s tangled into my wet locks. I need him to kiss me, need to cover the sorrow with ecstasy. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

With his strong grip of one hand in my hair and the other on the small of my back, our eyes still glued to each other, he lowers me into the water until I’m floating on my back, spread out before him. My legs squeeze tightly around his hips, pressing my tingling sex against his rock-hard shaft as he breaks our stare and allows his eyes to roam freely over my body.

“So goddamn beautiful, Bristol,” he murmurs hoarsely.

Goose bumps blanket my skin as I shiver with need. “Please,” I whisper, arching my back. “Please, Davis, touch me.”

“Fuck,” he growls, whipping me out of the water, back up to his chest.

Our mouths crash together in a lust-driven collision, the most perfect combination of stroking tongues, nipping teeth, and shared breaths I’ve ever experienced. Large hands cup my bottom, holding my body flush against his as our kiss alternates from fervent madness to sensual passion and back again. My brain is no longer in control of my actions; my body moves of its own accord, taking what it wants, striving to feed the carnal craving between my legs.

Without our mouths breaking apart, Davis somehow stands up straight and walks us over to the stairs, lifting us both out of the water. He carries me inside and carefully lowers my back to the bed, our wet bodies dripping everywhere.

“Lie back and relax,” he instructs, his intensity pinning me to the mattress. “You can show off your
trouble
another time.”

NEVER IN MY LIFE
have I said the words ‘Let me take care of you’. Not until now.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not that guy who gets mine and leaves the girl unsatisfied . . . not even close. Hearing a female scream my name in ecstasy is part of
how
I get off; knowing I’ve rocked her world in the best way possible is the ultimate ego booster. But the part about me getting mine
is
indeed vital, the point of the entire encounter.

However, tonight, it’s not. All I want to do is make Bristol feel good, to provide her an escape from the shitty past—the one I’m still too scared to ask about—that haunts her . . . just like mine does me.

Laid out beneath me atop the white comforter with her long, wet, dark hair fanned out on the pillow, she gazes up at me with hungry brown eyes, truly the most breathtaking sight I’ve ever seen. I lower my face to hers, reuniting our kiss, our mouths moving together in synchronized unison as if they were made for each other.

Then, tearing my lips from hers, I slowly skim my mouth down the smooth skin of her neck to her chest. She bows her back off the bed, giving me access to the tied bikini strings, which I make quick work of. Not wasting any time, my hand cups one precisely-shaped mound as my lips engulf the other perfect mouthful. Kissing, sucking, and flicking one, massaging, pinching, and caressing the other, not one inch of her supple breasts is left untouched.

“Please, Davis,” she moans, lifting her hips to rub against my stomach as her hands push my head downwards.

Her begging my name is like music to my cock, a tempting song of want and need, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to rip her bottoms off and bury myself inside her with a single greedy thrust. Giving in to her request, I slide the rest of the way down her thin frame, hooking my thumbs into the sides of her swimsuit and tugging the wet bikini down her legs and onto the floor.

Her completely nude body sprawled out, prime for the taking, is nearly my undoing. I’ve seen more than my fair share of naked women up close and personal, but never have I witnessed something as erotically stimulating as the sight of Bristol right now. If I don’t pull it together, I’m going to come before I even take my shorts off.

I position myself between her bare legs, using my shoulders pressed against her inner thighs to keep them spread wide. My mouth follows my hand’s lead, teasing and taunting as I glide between her soft, shaven lips and sweep across her swollen clit. Up and down, down and up, my tongue and fingers trace back and forth from her tight bundle of nerves to her drenched slit. Purring and moaning, she squirms sensuously, causing my throbbing dick to strain against my trunks.