He puts his hands on my thighs and slowly skims his palms up, the hem of my yellow, crochet sundress lifting with them. They leave trails of sweat and heat then pause at my hips. He lets out a heavy exhale against my neck.
“Still no knickers,” he murmurs. “What did I do to deserve a woman like you again?”
I swallow, my heart pinching. “You just had to be yourself.”
“Was that it?”
I shut my eyes. It’s hot as hell in here, humid and stuffy. “Less talking,” I tell him, my hand slipping to his jeans and undoing his fly. “More screwing.”
He pulls back and stares at me, one hand dipping down between my legs, the other cupping my cheek. His lips are wet, parted, so entirely suckable, his eyes fraught with adrenaline from the show, from what’s about to happen. Even though we’ve been having constant sex, especially after he moved into my studio (Don’t worry, Scooby has a girlfriend now and is thrilled by this situation), it still feels so damn new and exciting every single time.
“I’m not sure I like you making the rules,” he says thickly.
“Deal with it, Lazarus Scott,” I tell him, moaning softly as his fingers slide along my wetness. My hand finds the stiff, hot length of his cock, and I pull it out of his jeans. “By the way, you’re not wearing underwear either.”
He closes his eyes and hisses softly as I wrap my fingers around him. “You’re rubbing off on me, sweet girl,” he says, voice rich and raspy.
“More like you’re rubbing off on me,” I manage to say as he dips a finger inside me. My body seems to exhale from his touch, as if I need him in order to breathe. Everything aches for him, and I clench around his finger greedily, wanting more, needing more. “And what did I say about no more talking.”
He lets out a raspy laugh. I slide my hand over his cock, dragging the silk of his precum down his rigid, heated length.
I love to unravel him.
I love to bring him to his knees.
I love more than anything to undo this man and leave him the way he’s always leaving me, like a string pulled and a top spinning, over and over again, tighter and tighter until it becomes the sun. Until I shine.
His head goes back, mouth open. He lets out an elicit moan, the cords of his neck and the thick lines of his shoulders straining. Good god, watching him succumb to pleasure makes me happier and crazier than he would ever know.
Or maybe he does know by now.
I want to give him more. My hand works him expertly, knowing now just where to grip, where to twist, and judging by his quick breaths, I’m sure he’s close to coming. But he finally raises his head, his eyes unfocused as they roam over my face, fighting through a haze.
“Turn around, sweet girl,” he says, his voice so hoarse that it’s barely audible.
I do as he asks. He pushes up my dress so it’s bunched up at my waist and my ass is exposed and I bend over, pushing my palms against the door for support.
His hands skirt my sides, over my hips, and down my thighs. I feel him crouch behind me, his fingers gripping my ass, and I try and sneak a look over my shoulder. He’s down on his knees and I can just see the top of his dark head beneath me.
I’m about to ask him what he has planned, but then I feel his face sink into me from behind, his hot mouth closing over me, his bottom lip sliding up over my clit, his tongue ring hitting all the right places.
Holy shit. Going down on me from behind?
This is a new one.
And I am not complaining.
He groans into me and I can feel the vibrations in my bones. I swell between his lips and he sucks me in his mouth like I’m candy. I let out a loud gasp, my nails digging into the door. It nearly knocks me off my feet.
“You should play shows like this more often,” I manage to say, my voice hoarse as I push back into his mouth.
“Fuck,” he whispers huskily, pulling away slightly. My skin prickles knowing how he must be looking at me. His tongue trails up the curve of my ass, my body exploding with a shower of sparks. “So bloody sweet.”
My mouth opens to say something, probably “like honey?” but he dives his face back into me and I let out a low, guttural noise, like it’s being torn from my throat. I push my hips back into his mouth, a wild, uncontrollable need burning through me.
“Deeper,” I plead, so desperate for my release, my cheek pressed against the door.
His tongue snakes inside me, then a finger, then two, and I’m thrusting back into him like a fucking animal.
I’m so close to coming.
I’m on that ridge, the fall inevitable.
Then he pulls back and I actually whimper in disappointment.
“You want more?” he asks gruffly, holding onto my ass. “Tell me what you want. Where do you want me? How do you want me to make you come?”
“So many questions,” I whine, breathless and insatiable. “How about all of them?”
“Done.” He spreads my legs wider and pushes his face back in, his tongue, fingers, and mouth absolutely everywhere.
I come instantly, my body a hair trigger. I’m a writhing, moaning, bucking mess of scattered nerves, my limbs dissolving like honey. I’m barely conscious and I don’t know how I’m still upright.
He gets to his feet, runs his slick hands down my spine and then grips my hips as he positions himself, and with one long, slow push he eases inside me. I’m so wet and ready that he glides right in. But oh, when he pulls back out, that slow drag and piercings hitting just the right spot, somehow, I’m groaning for him all over again.
“Don’t stop,” I hiss as he plunges back inside, deeper this time, coaxing another unrestrained noise out of my throat. “Never stop with me.”
“Fuck,” he swears, gravelly and low. “I’d do this until my dying day if you’d let me, Marina.” Then he moves faster, small stabs of his hips pushing deeper and deeper while his skin slaps my skin louder and louder. The smell of sex, sweat, and musk fills the room.
I’m completely overwhelmed. It’s too perfect.
It’s everything, everything.
He’s everything, everything.
I close my eyes and imagine what we look like to someone else if they were to peek into one of the windows. They’d see the ropey muscles of his forearms as he digs his fingers into my hips, the raw, uninhibited fucking in this empty room, the sight of his thick cock sliding into me from behind over and over again, merciless.
I’m pretty sure the whole trailer is starting to shake.
He leans forward, his fingers sliding down and finding the smooth, swollen face of my clit. He always wants me to come with him, so I know he’s about to unload at any moment. But for some reason, I hold back, as hard as I can, wanting to pay attention to his beautiful release without losing myself at the same time.
Drops of his sweat fall on my back. He continues pounding me, his hips changing the angle until it makes me gasp for air, my back arching. His breathing is shaky and his muscles are trembling from the strain, but he keeps going and going.
I think this trailer might just tip over now.
There’s a moment, a sharp intake of air, then the room fills with the sounds of his harsh grunts, the sound of him coming, a sound I love so much that it pushes me over the edge. It’s the signal of his undoing, and his fingers press so hard into my skin that I’m afraid I might break in two. I am breaking in two. I am stretched thin, a pane of fragile glass, and I am breaking into bliss.
I can barely hang on, supporting myself on the door, my palms are slipping and sliding. I’m sliding inside, my heart, my soul, moving closer to the edge. Wave after wave of emotion slams through me, filling the blank spaces, the cracks, the parts of me that have shattered off into space. I can barely breathe. My whole body is aching for him.
“Sweet girl,” Laz whispers hoarsely, leaning forward against my sweaty back. “My sunshine.” He rests his cheek on my shoulder blades and his ragged breaths rise and fall against me. “That was even better than the show.”
I smile, my cheek pressed against the door. He straightens up, lifts himself off of me, and with a hand on my hip, pulls himself out. I take a moment to run my fingers under my eyes before turning around to face him, knowing my mascara is probably smudged.
Laz stands there, pants at his ankles, damp shirt bunched up, showing off his ink and glorious six-pack. Somehow, he’s even sweatier than he was before. Peace resides in his eyes. He pulls up his pants, comes over to me, and pulls me into a wet, passionate kiss, his lips pressing hard against mine, his tongue tasting like me, like salt, like sweat.
Like love.
He holds my face with one hand, running his thumb over my lips, gazing at me deeply. “I’m sorry if that was a bit rough.”
I break into a wide grin, still weightless and full of light. “I like it when you’re rough.” I pause and gently nip his thumb between my teeth for a moment. “I like it when you’re wild. I like it when you’re slow and gentle and whispering my name. I like, no I love, everything you give me Laz.”
He smiles softly and kisses me again. “I love you. Even more now than I did five minutes ago. I’ll love you even more five minutes from now. I will love you and love you and love you more and more and more. Until the end of the world.”
My heart swells, swells, pops.
Confetti in my soul.
I blink back tears.
“Promise?” I ask him.
“Promise,” he says. “Now let’s go get Noah. Poor kid is probably traumatized talking to Frank.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “He wants to be a rock star now.”
“Well who bloody doesn’t?” Laz asks with a roll of his eyes. “At least he has the hair for it.”
“Yeah, I told him to take up the drums.”
“I’m sure my mum is going to love that.” He laughs. “First Jane, now Noah.”
He opens the door.
We step out into the light.
Epilogue
Laz
One Year Later
“To Have and to Hold”
“Did you know that the worker bees can make a queen bee by taking any larvae and feeding it exclusively royal jelly,” Marina says.
“Actually, I did know that,” Scooby says smugly. “Did you know that honey is the only food that contains all the substances necessary to sustain life, including water?”
“Yes,” Marina says. “Everyone knows that.”
Naomi puts up her hand and then raises the hand of Steve, the guy she’s currently dating and super into crazy PDA with. “Actually, we didn’t know that. In fact, I never know what the fuck you guys are always going on about.”
“Hey, watch your language in front of the child,” I tell them, covering Noah’s ears.
Noah pulls away from me. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing me.”
“Stop it, you’re embarrassing me,” I mimic him.
“Guys,” Jane says. “Behave.”
“Bee-have you mean,” I say and wag my brows at Marina.
But despite the ever-persistent bee joke that I’m always dropping in her presence, I’m actually nervous as fuck.
Today is a celebration. Noah, me, Jane (who is visiting for a few weeks at my request), her boyfriend Ryan, Naomi, Steve, Scooby and Marina are all gathered on Venice Beach, blankets and towels and coolers spread out in the sand.
We’re here to celebrate Marina’s new book.
That’s right. I’m no longer the only writer in the house. After I mentioned Marina and her beekeeping business to my editor, Abigail, she started Instagram stalking her. Once Marina’s online bee courses started taking off, then she ended up grabbing the attention of another publisher who wanted to capitalize on it.
Naturally, with one book out with me (and another on the way), Abigail wanted to keep the power couple in the family. She outbid the other publisher and Marina’s book: Palm Trees & Honey Bees: A Girl’s Guide to Beekeeping is coming out next week.
It hasn’t been without some challenges. For one, Marina hates the title and insists that the book is meant for everyone and that “girls” don’t beekeep any differently than men. But it’s gimmicky and catching people’s attention and since Marina’s long-term goals are for bees to take over the world, then whatever gets people interested in keeping them and saving them is good enough for her.
Later, we’ll head over to Irvine and have a smaller party over at Marina’s Aunt Margaret’s. Her father has been more or less sober for a year now and has his own apartment right down the street. He even has Pickles with him again.
I say, “more or less,” sober because even after three months at the treatment center and four months living in a group home with other recovering addicts, Mr. Owens still had a slip up and fell off the wagon. We all know it happens. Luckily it wasn’t anything big, just a few beers when he shouldn’t have, and ever since then he’s been doing brilliant.
Which makes Marina happy, and honestly, that’s all that matters.
But I’m about to see if things could somehow get even better.
Because things can always get better.
You see, the whole book celebration on the beach was my idea. It was my idea to fly Jane out here. It was my idea to bring Noah. I would have brought my mother too but ever since she left Daryl and is applying to adopt Noah, she’s been working around the clock at her new job.
There’s a reason we’re all gathered here together and it’s not just to celebrate the book.
It’s to, hopefully (fuck, hopefully) celebrate something else.
I clear my throat and poke Marina in the shoulder.
“Hey, you know what people don’t know about?” I ask her. “Your waggle dance.”
She laughs. “It’s not my waggle dance. It’s how the bees communicate time and distance to each other.”
“This oughta be good,” Naomi says under her breath. “Always heard about this infamous dance.”
“Why don’t you do it,” I tell her. “Give us a show.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m curious. You’ve never shown it to me.”
This is not true but I don’t think she cares.
She sighs but she’s smiling. “Okay.” She gets up to her feet and tugs down at the hems of her jean shorts before she claps her hands together and addresses her friends. “So, the waggle dance is a dance that all bees do to communicate where nectar and water sources are. It’s basically a figure eight pattern, except when they cross over the middle of the two circles or curves, they waggle back and forth. The longer the waggle in the middle, the greater the distance it is to the food source. It also takes in the angle of the sun. In this way, the bees are able to tell each other where—”
“Just get on with it,” Jane says. “I thought we’d escape this party without any more bee shit.”
“Fine!”
So, she starts doing the waggle dance. It’s epically cute, especially the waggle part where she’s waving her butt in circles, her smile big and joyous, not caring what she looks like, her blonde hair flying around.
When she comes to a stop, she’s breathless. Gorgeous. In her element, which is right where I want her. She takes a bow and everyone claps.
And I crawl over to her on my knees and reach up with my hand to grab hers.
“Marina,” I say to her, smiling though my tone is serious.
She stares down at me, grinning, looking a bit confused. “What? You asked me to.”
“I know,” I tell her, “but I just wanted to see your smile, that’s all.”
“Awwww,” Noah says.
“I also wanted you to get to your feet. So, I could be on my knees.”
Someone gasps. Jane, I think.
I prop one leg up so I’m down on just one knee now, holding onto her hand.
My heart is beating a mile a minute in my chest.
I reach into the pocket of my cargo shorts and my hands close around something cold and small.
The contents of the Altoids tin
that Barbara gave me a year ago.
I ended up opening it the next morning after I woke up in Marina’s bed. She was in a deep sleep and her floor was covered with my poetry about her. I knew then what I’d always known.
It was her.
It was always her.
My kind of weirdo.
And I wanted to be with her for the rest of my life.
I had opened the tin and saw an engagement ring inside, gold with emeralds and diamonds in the shape of a sun.
Of course, I had to visit Barbara after that because I didn’t want to take her engagement ring.
She insisted I keep it and propose to Marina when I was ready. She also told me it wasn’t Cooper’s ring but from one of her other husband’s that didn’t work out, so I shouldn’t feel bad about taking it. She said it would do much better the second time around. I fucking hope so.
And now I’m ready. I’ve been ready for a while but with Marina’s book coming out and the fact that we just put money down on a fixer upper beach house outside of Laguna, I was waiting for everything to calm down.
I was waiting for now.
“Marina,” I say, holding her hand tighter as I stare up at her. “A long time ago you told me that all you wanted was love. That you wanted someone to fall asleep with at night. That you wanted marriage and babies and everything that came with it. You told me you wanted to find your flower.”
“Oh my god,” she says softly, her big, blue eyes brimming with tears already.
“Marina, my bumble bee, my sweet girl…I’m that flower. And you’re mine. I’m your weirdo. And you’re mine. I’m messed up and complicated and you’re messed up and complicated and together we’re better than we ever are alone.” I take in a deep breath. “I know it’s been a long, strange journey for us but I wouldn’t have it any other way because it’s led to this moment right here. It’s led to a whole new chapter in a whole new story. At least, it will…if you say yes.”