“Where were we?” I ask.
“Spain,” Joe provides. “And on the subject of condoms, specifically.”
“It’s not too late to use one.” I lick my lips. “A condom, I mean.”
“Hmm.” He leans back, bracing on his forearms. He is kind of ripped.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I bite down on my lower lip.
His throat bobs. “Yeah. And there’s plenty of water to fill the condom with.”
Before I have a chance to laugh, he leans forward and kisses me.
At first it’s just a kiss. A sloppy exchange of saliva between two teenagers, greedy with unbridled passion. Our tongues meet and swirl together. Dancing, teasing, testing. He tastes like ocean spray, summer, and cigarettes.
Then his fingers wrap around the back of my neck, and the kiss stops being a kiss and becomes a war. Joe devours my mouth. It’s ruinously raw. With teeth and moans and gasps. We’re ivy, coiling around one another. I touch his hair, his corded arms, the rock-hard ridges of his abs under his shirt. He lowers me under the palm tree, cups the back of my thighs, and presses his erection against my center. It twitches between us. I’m breathless, and my heart is racing, and now I get it. I get it, I get it, I get it. The term boy crazy. Because Joe is a boy. And he drives me crazy.
My back hits the sand, and sweet oblivion, I want him inside me. To fill every inch of me. For us to fuse together. This is how I like to be touched. Sean pawed and squeezed my breasts like he was trying to milk me. Joe flicks my nipple through my bra with his thumb while his hot kisses lower to my neck, then my chest. He unclasps my bra. Sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth teasingly.
“Ever.”
I knot my legs over his waist. We ride each other through our clothes, enjoying the friction and the feeling of our teeth sinking into new skin. Our scents swirl together, creating a unique and heady combination. Then Joe produces a condom from his wallet and holds it between us in question.
“Don’t feel pressured.” His voice is raspy, strained. “This can stop right here, and I’m still going to end the night feeling like the luckiest bastard alive.”
I know he means it. I know he won’t be mad if I decide I don’t want to. Unlike Sean, who booked the Ritz-Carlton with the expectation—the silent agreement—that sex was a part of the package. Probably why I broke it off a week later, citing long distance.
“I’m sure.” I tear the condom wrapper open with shaky hands, hoping I haven’t damaged the actual product.
I reach between us and roll it over him clumsily. He is bracing himself on top of me, his sculpted arms two columns bracketing my shoulders. We both watch my unsure fingers with fascination. It takes me four attempts, and even though we are both frustrated, neither of us says anything about it.
“Is it rolled all the way?” I ask.
“Feels good to me. Are you ready?” He catches my gaze. His eyes, dark blue with silvery dots, are his best feature.
“Yes.” I’m already quivering. “I’m ready.”
He presses home. For the first few seconds, we just hold each other, staring at one another. I think we’re both stunned.
“Is it always like that?” I whisper.
He knows exactly what I’m asking, because he shakes his head and says, “No, Ever. It’s never like that. This . . .” He dips his head, kissing the shell of my ear. “This is heaven. This is worthy of death.”
Our bodies get in sync. We move to the same soundless song. I’m tingling everywhere. Joe’s skin is a blanket of goose bumps. We’re lost in each other in what feels like forever. A gust of wind sweeps my hair across my face, and he blows it away, kissing me again and again and again.
“I think I’m coming,” I say. That’s a first. With a guy, anyway. But the friction feels so good, and he is hitting just the right spot inside me.
“Oh, thank fuck.” He drops his head to the crook of my neck, picking up speed. “So am I.”
We collapse in each other’s arms just as the sun peeks from the flat blue line of the Atlantic Ocean. Everything is pink, orange, and quiet.
That’s when we realize that there are no more thumps of music and chatter coming from the distance.
The party is over.
And so is my time with Joe.
“Sixteen-hour flight, huh?” Joe buttons his Levi’s. “That’s rough.”
I hate this. The small talk. This is my first dose of reality since I’ve met him again. And the reality is that I just had sex with a total stranger who saved me from drowning. Someone who is about to become a stranger yet again, in five minutes, after we’ve said our goodbyes.