Sweet Cheeks(65)

He stops and turns to face me. I can’t deny the thud of my heart when he flashes me a huge grin. I love the warmth in his expression, and as much as I’m curious over where we’re headed, I also can’t deny the desire to pull him into me and kiss him senseless.

And the thought seems so odd to me. Mitch abhorred public displays of affection other than the polite peck on the lips or an arm around the shoulder. I’d grown used to it. Was compliant. But standing here with Hayes, I suddenly realize how much I missed it. How very important affection is between two people. How important it is to me.

So while we aren’t in a relationship and regardless of how hard I’ve shoved any and all ideas of what happens to us tomorrow when this weekend ends out of my head, I decide to act on the spontaneous thought. Without preamble, I walk up to him, slide my arms around his neck, and meet his lips.

The kiss is packed with the emotion I feel but am not sure how to process. It’s sweet and soft but so damn seductive. I think he’s surprised at first but within seconds his hands are sliding up the bare skin of my back, pulling me in tighter against him, and giving in to the demand of my lips.

When I end the kiss, I love seeing the shy smile sliding across his lips. “What was that for?”

“Just figured I need to make sure we keep doing things that are satisfying in order to not feel guilty for missing dinner last night.”

His laugh is quick and loud. “After last night . . . and this morning, Ships, I think there’s no need to feel guilty, considering I’m a whole helluva lot of satisfied.”

He pulls me against him and presses a chaste kiss onto the crown of my head before releasing me, grabbing my hand, and starting on our trek through the sand again. And I follow willingly, my mind still lost to the turn of events. The mind-blowing sex on the counter. Followed by the slow and sweet sex on the chaise where he let me have the control and used that dirty mouth of his to wind me up so tight that by the time we climaxed every part of me—mind and body—was worked into a frenzy. To the playful double-dog dare he knew I wouldn’t refuse to skinny dip in the ocean. How when he joined me it was so nice to lounge in the warmth of the water beneath the light of the moon and just be with him. No pressures. No words needed. And then of course, waking up this morning to his adept fingers kneading my shoulders, then my lower back, and on down until his fingers found their way between my thighs. How we made love lazily with no hurry. No rush. Just him and me and ten years’ worth of moments like that to make up for.

I shake the thought from my head. Tell myself to focus on the heated sand beneath my bare feet, the breeze on my face, and the sun on my skin. To forget ideas of making up time or the notion that we’re catching up so we can move forward.

Because neither of us have addressed that. We haven’t had time to because we’ve been too busy enjoying each other instead. And that makes me smile thinking of his comment before: Ships, I’m a whole helluva lot of satisfied. Is it wrong to feel just a little smug at that?

“Are you going to tell me . . .?” My voice fades as I see a local man on the beach about twenty feet in front of us wave to Hayes. There’s a blanket beside him where snorkeling gear is all laid out. A catamaran moored out in the water beyond.

Hayes turns to look at me, grin huge. “You said you wanted to swim with turtles, and so . . .” he shrugs, “we’re swimming with turtles.”

“Are you kidding me?” Excitement pulses through my veins. Surprise and appreciation do too, but those are directed squarely to Hayes.

“Nope.”

“How did you . . . how is it even possible?” I ask, trying to think if there was any time whatsoever this morning where we were apart and he could set this up.

“What can I say?” He mock bows. “I am The Captain.”

“Lord help us.” I laugh but love it all the same. My arms wrap around his neck and when my lips meet his again, I murmur, “Thank you, Captain.”




The lull of the boat rocking is more than enough to put me to sleep. Add to it the sun on my skin, the two hours of snorkeling in the beautiful waters of Smith’s reef, and two glasses of wine, and I should be snoring. But I’m not. There’s no way I could close my eyes.

I don’t want to waste a moment of the time we have left here together.

And so I prop my head up on my elbow and watch Hayes from behind the mirrored lenses of my sunglasses. He’s lying on the net, or trampoline as he referred to it, beside me. His eyes are closed, face shaded by the mainsail above us, and his hands are behind his head. I take the opportunity to look at him and memorize the line of his profile even though I already know it by heart.