She squirmed at the sudden stimulation, and he held her still and tight against his wet chest, one hand on her breast, the other sliding down between her legs again.
His voice was shredded, a rough, low taunt. “I thought you were going to be quiet.”
“I was quieter than you,” she panted.
The jets could take care of her clit. He wanted inside.
When he sank two fingers into her pussy, then three, she spread her legs wider and moaned loudly enough to wake their neighbors, and he didn’t give a fuck.
“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m not done yet.”
He rubbed in just the right place, and after that, the argument was won. At least, until they tumbled into bed together and she got her mouth on him.
Once he’d sucked her clit until she screamed, sweaty and trembling, she offered a draw.
He took it. And then took her again.
25
“THREE PEOPLE, WREN,” ALEX REMINDED HER FOR THE umpteenth time as they squatted and sifted through handfuls of sand and sea glass. “Three separate people called the front desk, concerned about a woman who sounded like she was in terrible pain. No one called about a man. Not one person.”
He’d surpassed smugness somewhere around Mendocino, where they’d stopped for lunch, and now approached outright gloating.
And goodness help her, he’d earned that unbearable self-satisfaction. Every bit of it.
Nonstop talking had apparently made his tongue agile over the years. Very, very agile. As he’d demonstrated once more before they’d checked out that morning.
“No one mentioned a man, true.” A pretty green circle peeked from the sand, next to a cloudy blue rectangle. She transferred both into his back jeans pocket for safekeeping, then patted him on the ass for good measure. “But you keep omitting the four people who reported agitated coyotes in the area overnight. Not to mention the hotel guest who insisted a lion had escaped from a nearby zoo.”
The staff member maintaining the breakfast buffet had proven very chatty that morning. So chatty Lauren’s face had nearly combusted from embarrassed heat, and she’d had to pretend great interest in the bagel selection lest the innocent employee unravel the Mystery of the Wounded Woman.
“Oh, my.” Alex had frowned, brow creased in faux solemnity. “Did anyone note which was louder, the woman or the agitated—”
When Lauren had elbowed his side, he’d yelped and quit taunting her. Until they checked out and got back into the car, at least. After that, the only thing that stopped his ceaseless chatter was her tongue in his mouth, and she therefore employed said tongue whenever they were stopped in traffic or parked beside a scenic vista.
At some point, she’d realized he was training her, as if she were a seal clapping for fish. If she wanted quiet, she had to french him.
It was utterly ridiculous and utterly Alex, and she should be indignant.
She would be, any moment now. Once the memory of his tongue sliding against hers stopped sending spears of heat between her legs.
Sea glass really shouldn’t turn her on like this.
“I have no idea what you mean. I don’t remember hearing anything about coyotes or lions,” Alex said, making no attempt to sound sincere. He straightened and stretched, both hands pressed to the graceful arch of his spine. “Shit, I’m sore today. Is this what the kids call blowing someone’s back out?”
The sky had clouded over that morning, and a blustery wind swept his hair back from his face and plastered his clothing against his hard, honed body. He smiled down at her, bearded cheeks creased with happiness, gray eyes bright, and held out his hand for more of her sea glass mementos.
Too awed by him to speak—although she would never, ever admit that—she passed over an amber, rounded square.
He was magnificent. Unbelievably beautiful.
And not long from now, he’d be hers. Above her. Inside her.
Immediately after checking out that morning, they’d hit the nearest CVS and purchased a good chunk of the prophylactics aisle. Between that pharmacy run and all their kissing-related stops, the day’s drive had taken longer than planned, but they’d finally made it most of the way to their destination, the Benbow area. His ex’s wedding amongst the redwoods was tomorrow, and the reception would be held at the same hotel where they were staying that night.
This leg of the trip was almost done, and her decision to shorten their time on the road now seemed foolish. More than foolish. Near-tragic.
The route that day had been spectacular. After going inland a bit, the PCH had returned to the gorgeous, rugged coast. Far below sharp cliffs, waves had pounded the rocky shoreline as Alex drove and drove some more. And on this very special stretch of beach—Glass Beach, near Fort Bragg—that ceaseless churn had turned years of dumped garbage into … magic. Sand scattered with a rainbow of sea glass.