I kiss her everywhere, swirling my tongue around the place where her pulse beats heavy in her throat, down the elegant curve of her clavicle, across her nipples, which are already hot and pulled tight. I make love to her ankle, the hollow behind her knee, and the whisper soft skin of her thighs. And when I finally glide back inside her, thrusting deep into my beautiful girl as we both cry out in relief to finally be as close as we need to be, it’s even better than the first time.
It’s so right that right isn’t a good enough word for it.
But I’m too far gone to think of a word that means right and home and love and safety and adventure all at the same time. All I can do is hold Libby close as she comes on my cock and then let myself get lost—and found—right along with her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Justin
One Year Later…
Somewhere out there, in the crowd of friends and family dancing, laughing, and roasting marshmallows over beach fires that flame brightly against the bluish pink of the sky darkening above the waves, is the girl I’m going to marry.
As soon as possible.
Tomorrow, if she’ll let me whisk her away to the courthouse or Vegas or wherever we can get the deal sealed the fastest.
But knowing Libby, she’ll want to wait and plan something beautiful because she loves planning things.
Like my twenty-ninth birthday party, which is by far the best party I’ve ever had. Bar none. From the location—a guest house on the ocean with enough rooms to house all my best friends and their significant others, in addition to a cavernous basement where the kids attending will roll out their sleeping bags—to the delicious, gourmet comfort food, to the kites and Frisbees and other games Libby brought to play on the beach, it has been a perfect day.
And if I have anything to say about it, it’s going to be an even more perfect night.
“You ready?” I ask Nowicki as I swipe my suddenly clammy palms on my jeans and cast a quick glance down the path leading up through the dunes. Libby is going to be here any second.
Nowicki claps a firm hand on my back. “Ready. Anyone who comes looking for you or Libby will be told that you took a long walk on the beach.”
“And no one goes up the secret staircase,” I remind him, though I know he doesn’t need to be reminded. Nowicki has come a long way in the past year. His focus on and off the ice is laser sharp. He won’t let me down, and he’s the only person I trusted not to let something slip about my top-secret plan. The rest of my friends and family are too close to the issue.
The issue, of course, being me and Libby making it official and setting a date to get started on forever.
“No one up the staircase,” Nowicki echoes. “I’m going to head out so I’m gone before she gets here. You’ve got this, Cruise.”
“Thanks, man. I appreciate the help,” I say, swiping my stupid sweaty palms on my jeans again.
I’m ninety-nine percent sure Libby’s going to say yes, but that one percent margin of error is apparently enough to give me a raging case of hyperhidrosis. That’s the name of the medical condition that makes your hands sweat too much. I know this because Libby used it to beat me at Scrabble a few weeks ago. She is not only beautiful, sexy, generous, funny, and thoughtful, but crazy smart to boot.
I am in no way worthy of her, but she seems to love me to distraction anyway.
When she rounds the corner in the path and our eyes meet across the dunes, her face lights up like she’s been given a wonderful surprise. Even though it’s just me, the man she arranged to meet here at seven o’clock, the same man she’s woken up to every day for the past nine months, since I finally convinced her to move in with me and put me out of my misery. Because being apart from her is misery made bearable only by how good it is to come back home.
“Hello, sexy,” she says, sliding her arms around my neck and pressing up on tiptoe for a kiss.
“Hello, beautiful.” I kiss her with the words as my hands slide down to palm her ass through the sexy white linen dress she’s wearing. It’s loose-fitting and ruffled at the bottom, but sheer enough to have ensured I’ve been sporting a semi all day long. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
“I am, but I still say the birthday boy should be the one getting surprises.”
“I’m the birthday man, Collins. And birthday men like to spread the gifts around.” I take her hand, leading her toward the entrance to the secret staircase, an old servants’ entrance from the 1800s that leads directly to the third floor of the home we rented for the weekend. “Besides, I’m hoping it’s something we’ll both enjoy.”