This Man Confessed(125)
“Hi.” I’m bracing myself. I know what’s coming, or I hope I know what’s coming.
He loses his battle and blisters my skin with his smile, bending his arms and lowering me to plant a hard kiss on my lips. “Good-bye, my beautiful girl.” His powerful arms straighten fast, and I’m launched into the black air on a squeal, my legs and arms flailing everywhere in deranged delight. I hit the water, still screaming, but quickly get stifled by the water as I go under. The dull muffle of frantic activity in the water surrounding me is definitely not just my doing, so I kick my legs urgently and work my way to the surface, emerging on a gasp and quickly doing a three-sixty turn to look for him. He’s nowhere to be seen and apart from my fitful inhalations, it’s deathly silent. I freeze as best I can, limiting my legs to a calm paddling beneath me. Damn it, where is he? Silent swells of water ripple away from me, and I can’t work out if it’s me causing the stir in the water or something in the depths below—something tall, lean, and beautiful, something that can hold its breath for a bloody long time. I don’t know why, but I hold my breath, too, silently deliberating on my next move. Do I remain still and silent or do I make a dash for the shore?
Dash, remain, dash, remain.
I release the stored air from my lungs. “Shit, shit, shit.” I’m totally torn, my heart racing as I battle my indecisiveness, but then I hear a splash behind me and with no instruction at all, my legs kick into action. I swim like my life depends on it, like Jaws himself is in pursuit of me. I’m squealing like a girl, too. “Oh fuck!” I yelp, piercing the night time air with my filthy mouth, as my ankle is grasped and I’m pulled under. I’m a rolling mass of wild arms and legs, probably kicking and punching him, but I can’t control it. It serves him right, anyway. My fright has turned into a little anger now, and I’m batting at the hands that are grasping at me. My eyes keep getting attacked with salt every time I attempt to open them, and my lungs are going to explode. And now his head in between my thighs.
I break the surface and immediately release the air in my lungs on a furious shout. “Jesse!” I’m on his shoulders being carted out of the sea, his arms locked over my shins on his chest.
“What’s up, baby?” He’s not even panting.
“You!” My hands smack his head a few times before I swoop down and grab his chin, yanking his head up. “Let me see you,” I spit out aggressively.
He laughs. “Hello.”
“You’re a menace.”
He seems to find his feet with no effort, rising from the water like some kind of otherworldly creature. “You love me.”
I lean down, but I can’t reach him. “I want to kiss you,” I whine.
“I know you do.” In a stealthy set of coordinated moves, I’m whipped from his shoulders and laying across his arms in a nanosecond. “And now you can.”
This grin feels like a permanent fixture on my face, and his sparkling eyes are deeply set and showing no sign of fading. We’re so happy. Laid-back Jesse is full-on and drowning me in lust and roguishness. Central Jesse Cloud Nine doesn’t get any better than this.
Chapter Twenty-five
I could get so very used to this. I could lay every morning and stretch happily, feel the breeze all over my nakedness and wander out onto the veranda to admire my god from a distance, running the curve of the bay. I could prepare him breakfast, despite the fact that I absolutely hate cooking, and I could sit naked at the table while he demolishes it with constant hums of approval around his fork before plunging his finger into a jar of peanut butter, which I’m sure he packed because it’s Sun-Pat. I could open my mouth when instructed so he can feed me, and I could reach over and stroke his bare, sun-kissed chest, just because I feel like it. I could puddle on the chair when he winks and yanks me onto his lap to ravish me, and then continue with his breakfast with one hand while he holds me with the other, offering forkfuls of salmon to me. I could slip into my bikini within the privacy of Paradise, receiving no look of horror or demand to put something more substantial on, and go for a swim in the giant freshness of the villa’s pool. I could be pulled out by my hand and dried off, then wrapped up and taken to the shower, where I’m soaped down and served in every shower-time way possible. Every shower-time way possible…and a little more. I could get very, very used to this.
It’s our last day in Paradise, and I’m feeling a little forlorn. It’s our last day of indulging solely in each other, with none of the distractions or issues that are all currently awaiting us in London. I’m sitting on the bed with tissue wedged between my toes and a bottle of pink nail polish in my hand. It’s gone noon. We’ve spent all morning doing all of our normal, and I’m now prepping and preening for an afternoon down at the port and a twilight dinner. I don’t want to go home. I want to stay in Paradise forever, just me and Jesse.