XV THE SUN AT NIGHT （ELLE）

XV

THE SUN AT NIGHT

(ELLE)

I wonder if my tits are going to be all over the tabloid rack in the Walmart checkout lane in the morning.

I can't believe we just had sex on the beach, barely a few hundred feet away from hills where anyone could have looked out and seen us down here rolling around in the spray.

I don't know if I want to hide my face in mortification and stretch as languidly as a sated cat—or run away from August before he sticks the knife in me again.

We're still sprawled next to the waves washing against the shore.

I've probably got hypothermia at this point, but I can't feel it when he's got his arm draped around me and he's soft and lazy and quiet, his chin resting on the top of my head. My soaked dress weighs a thousand pounds, and even if August hadn't just fucked my legs to jelly, I think I'd have trouble getting up and walking to either go inside his place or run away and never come back.

Except I don't want to run.

I don't want it to hurt this time when it felt so good to have August inside me, to taste him on my lips, all while the stars spun overhead like they were binding us together.

But I don't know what to do in the silence either.

After a hesitant moment, I peek up at him. He's relaxed and calm, with his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. His hair is a mess, slick with sand everywhere except for that one untamable strand.

It still falls over his brow like it's as stubborn as August himself.

I bite my lip and make myself break the silence, tensing to push away if I have to.

"So is this . . . okay?"

I'm expecting him to shove me back. Go stiff and cold.

But the only tension is the tightening of his arm around me, pulling me against the warmth that beats back the freeze of the ocean mist rolling over my calves.

"It is." A lazy rumble, sex in his voice. Sex and a warmth that my needy heart wants to believe is affection.

August's eyes open. They're no longer glacial blue, but a clear, welcoming summer sky.

His lips are softer, thawed from their forbidding line.

My heart skips as he gives me a searching look.

"Frankly, I don't know what the hell I'm doing with you, Elle. Something just started moving like a freight train out of control the moment I saw you tonight. I had no prayer of stopping it, even if I wanted to—and I didn't."

My teeth sink into my lower lip.

My heart trembles, unsure if it wants to rise high in a joyous trill or plunge low in despair.

"But you wanted to," I say.

I know he's going to say it. That he doesn't want this, or me. That it's a mistake he never should have made.

Instead, all he says is, "Only because I don't want to hurt you again."

"Then don't." My hand rests against his chest, tangling my fingers in his wet dress shirt. It's transparent against his sleek lines of sculpted muscle. "The only way you could hurt me right now is by pushing me away."

"Come the hell here," August coaxes, his hand spreading against the small of my back.

My heart makes its choice and leaps high as his mouth descends on mine for a kiss.

A slow, tender, gritty kiss.

I can't even taste him.

He's all sand and brine, and I suddenly remember a horrible little bit of trivia—that a lot of white sand on many beaches worldwide is actually parrotfish poop.

I try to spit without spitting in his face, scrunching my nose and mouth.

"Ptheh. Pfft. Sand!"

August lets out a half-exasperated laugh. "I have sand in other places and would prefer not to."

"Race you to the shower?" I pull my hand back and scrub it against my mouth, grinning up at him.

August only looks at me skeptically.

His eyes skip down to my legs, still mummified in the waterlogged dress.

He doesn't need to say a word when his eyes return to my face.

I'm still gonna kick him just as soon as I'm untangled.

"Fine." I pout. "Carry me to the shower. I only wore this stupid dress for you, anyway."

"Did you, now?" he whispers with that subtle humor I'm starting to catch on to more and more.

"Well, I wanted you to think I was pretty." I huff. Hopefully the cold keeps me from blushing. "Now carry me inside. I want naked skin and hot water. I won't be nearly as pretty if I lose my feet to frostbite."

"Yes, we can't endanger such pretty feet." August pulls away—but only to rise and dust himself off, sending sand showering everywhere. He steps away and fetches his jacket and our shoes, then comes back and slips his arms under me. I squeak as he lifts me up, but it turns into a growl as he strains. "Did you gain weight?"

"I'll kill you," I bite off. "In your sleep. Kill you dead."

He knows it's my waterlogged dress.

Jerkwad.

And said jerkwad nearly kills me with a quick boyish grin, there and gone again, fast as lightning and striking harder.

I didn't think he knew how to smile like that.

He's surprising me every day.

And I'm falling harder every minute.

After last time, I wanted to get over this so bad. Just because a guy's dick wants you doesn't mean he does. But every "fake" kiss, every idle touch that came so easy has left some tiny part of me holding on.

That tiny part is never going to be able to let go now.

Not when my thighs still ache and I'm sore and full inside. Every part of me is still tender from his touch.

I'm content to lean against him and let my eyes close as he carries me across the sand to the wooden walkway leading across the water to his house. Now that I'm not burning up inside with desire, the cool breeze and icy water are really sinking in, and I huddle closer to August's warmth, shivering as my skin pricks with goose bumps.

"Almost there," he whispers gently. "We'll get you warm."

It's already working.

The promise in his voice ignites new heat in my core.

I press my lips to his neck and hold on tight as he carries me inside to the bathroom.

This time, it's slow as we strip each other out of our soggy cloths. I suddenly want to cover myself, when I've never been truly, visibly naked with him before. Never seen his body completely when he's tall and hard and subtly scarred with old marks that make me want to know every story, every old hurt, every place I can kiss to learn the hard, tapered power of his body.

His skin feels as cold as mine as our arms slip around each other and lips find lips.

Every kiss leads us back to warmth.

With lips, with touch, with the heat of the shower spray. With the way we slide together, the way we fit so perfectly.

The soft whispers, the lazy sighs, the groans.

The deep, languid thrusts that could stretch on until morning.

All the unspoken things build higher, hotter and hotter, until I feel like as long as August holds me, takes me, finds his way so deep inside me, I'll be home.

With him, I'll never be cold or lonely again.