As he spoke, his voice so low I could barely hear him, the pieces fell into place one by one. Why Rhys refused to drink, why he rarely talked about his family and childhood, his C-PTSD…perhaps it was the result of his childhood as much as it had been his military service.
A small part of me empathized with his mother and the pain she must’ve gone through, but no amount of pain justified taking it out on an innocent child.
“It wasn’t the boy’s fault,” I said. A tear slid down my cheek before I could stop it. “I hope he knows that.”
“He knows,” Rhys said. He rubbed my tear away with his thumb. “Don’t cry for him, princess. He’s all right.”
For some reason, that made me cry harder. It was the first time I’d cried in front of anyone since my dad died, and I would’ve been embarrassed had I not been so heartbroken.
“Shhh.” He wiped away another tear, his brows drawn into a deep frown. “I shouldn’t have told you. It’s not the best way to end a vacation.”
“No. I’m glad you did.” I reached up and covered his hand with mine before he could pull away. “Thank you for sharing it with me. It means a lot.”
It was the most Rhys had opened up to me since we met, and I wasn’t taking it for granted.
“It’s just a story.” But his eyes were stormy with emotion.
“There’s no such thing as just a story. Every story is important. Including yours.” Especially yours.
I released his hand and swam around to his back, where I brushed my fingers over his skin again before pressing the smallest, gentlest of kisses on one of the scars. “Is this okay?” I whispered.
His muscles bunched further, so tense they trembled beneath my touch, but he responded with a tight nod.
I kissed another scar. Then another.
Everything was silent except for Rhys’s ragged breaths and the faint roar of the ocean in the distance.
I’d stopped crying, but my heart still ached for him. For us. For everything we could never be because we lived in the world we lived in.
But right now, the rest of the world didn’t exist, and tomorrow hadn’t come yet.
Last chance.
“Kiss me,” I said softly.
A shudder rolled through him. “Princess…” The nickname came out low and rough. Pained. “We can’t. You’re my client.”
“Not here.” I wrapped my arms around him and placed one hand on his chest, where his heart pumped fast and hard beneath my touch. “Here, I’m just me, and you’re just you. Bucket list number four, Mr. Larsen. Remember?”
“You don’t know what you’re asking me.”
“Yes, I do. I’m not drunk like I was the night after Borgia. I know exactly what I’m doing.” I held my breath. “The question is, do you?”
I couldn’t see his face, but I could practically see the war raging inside him.
He wanted me. I knew he did. But I didn’t know whether that was enough.
The water rippled around us. More fireworks exploded in the distance. And still, Rhys didn’t answer.
Just when I thought he would shut me down and walk away, he let out a low curse, turned, and yanked me to him, and I only had time to draw a quick breath before his hand fisted my hair and his mouth crashed down on mine.
19
Rhys
Bridget von Ascheberg would be the death of me. I’d known that the moment I’d set eyes on her, and my prediction was playing out in real time as I devoured her.
The death of my self-control, my professionalism, and any sense of self-preservation I had. None of that mattered when I tasted how sweet she was or felt how perfectly her curves fit in my palms, like she was tailor-made for me.
Two years of watching and waiting and wishing. It had all come down to this, and it was even better than I’d imagined.
Bridget’s arms wrapped around my neck, her body pliant beneath mine. She tasted like mint and sugar, and at that moment, it became my favorite taste in the world.
I pushed her against the side of the pool and tightened my grip on her hair, my mouth not leaving hers the entire time.
It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was hard, demanding, and possessive, borne out of years of pent-up frustration and tension, but Bridget matched me inch for inch. She tugged on my hair in return, her tongue tangling with mine and her little moans going straight to my cock.
“Is this what you want?” I pinched her nipple through her bikini top. That fucking bikini. My eyes nearly fell out when she’d walked past in her get-up earlier, and I was glad she’d never worn it to the beach. If she had, I’d have to kill every fucker who laid eyes on her, and there were other things I’d rather do on vacation…like take my sweet time exploring every inch of her luscious body. “Hmm?”
“Yes.” Bridget arched into my touch. “But more. Please.”
I groaned. Definitely the death of me.
I gave her another hard kiss before I hooked her legs around my waist and carried her out of the pool and up the stairs to her room. For what I had in mind, I needed more than a pool ledge to work with.
I placed her on the bed, soaking in how beautiful she looked. Wet hair, gleaming skin, face flushed with arousal.
I wanted nothing more than to bury myself inside her so deep she’d never forget me, but even in my lust-fueled haze, I knew that wasn’t possible.
If we crossed that bridge, I would never let her go, and it would ruin us both. I didn’t give a shit about me. I was already ruined.
But Bridget? She deserved more than me.
She deserved the world.
“Bucket list number four. Two rules,” I said, my words filled with gravel. “One: if we do this, it stays here. This room, this night. We don’t talk about it again. Got it?”
It was harsh, but it had to be said—for both our sakes. Otherwise, I could all too easily lose myself in the fantasy of what could be, and that was more dangerous than any predator or enemy.
Bridget nodded.
“Two: no fucking.”
Confusion crossed her face. “But you said—”
“There are other ways to make someone come, princess.” I palmed her breast and swept my thumb over her nipple before taking a small step back. “Now be a good girl and take off your bikini for me.”
A small shiver rippled through her body, but she knelt on the bed and did as I asked, untying first her bikini top then her bottoms with agonizing slowness.
Jesus Christ. I wasn’t a religious man, but if there was ever a time to believe in God, it was now.
Since I couldn’t touch her with my hands—not yet—I caressed her with my eyes. Bold and rough, my gaze dragging from her full, firm breasts to the sweet pussy already glistening with her wetness.
“Touch yourself,” I ordered. “Let me see what you’ve been doing all those nights when you’re alone in your room.”
A deep blush bloomed across her body, turning ivory into rose, and I wanted to trace its path with my tongue. Mark her with my teeth and touch. Proclaim to the world who she belonged to, who she should belong to.
Me.
My fists clenched at my sides.
Despite her blush, Bridget didn’t take her eyes off me as she caressed her breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples before one hand slid between her legs.