The tide?
I narrowed my eyes, willing any memory to come as we moved into wilderness.
“Tell me,” he whispered. “Don’t say you’ve forgotten. Don’t break my heart that way.” His lips tilted into a lopsided grin.
Even though he meant it as a joke, it still hurt to think how hard all of this would be for him. If I was in his shoes I would be a mess thinking of all the special times we’d had together being lost. For them to mean so little they’d been forgotten.
“I would never intentionally hurt you, Art.” I squeezed his fingers. “You know that, right?”
He looked away, but not before I caught the same guilt and misery that he’d worn before believing me.
“I know there’s more you’re not telling me. You don’t have to be afraid.”
He swallowed hard. “Don’t push me, Cleo. Time, remember? I still need time to get used to all of this.” Yanking me to a stop, he cupped my cheek. “To get used to having you back—despite everything that happened to ruin us. Let’s just enjoy this.” He kissed me feather-soft. “Please?”
I sighed against his mouth. “Okay.” Trying my best to lighten the mood, I whispered, “So what exactly did you do to me here?”
I shuddered as he wrapped an arm around my hips, pressing me firmly against his erection. “I finally gave in to you. I broke a few laws bringing you here.” He laughed at a memory still lost to me. “Goddammit, you were so young. Too young. But we both knew what we wanted. You—fuck… you never took no for an answer.”
His voice dropped to a teasing murmur. “You want to know what you did to me in return that night?”
“Yes.” My heart bucked as moisture built between my legs. “What did I do?”
His eyes glazed over with reminiscent lust. “You made me come. For the first time, but definitely not the last.”
My heart squeezed.
Letting me go, Arthur stole my hand again, drifting forward to where ever he wanted to take me. I would follow him anywhere. My mind was consumed with images of making out with my green-eyed lover, thrilling with accomplishment at making him come undone in my hands.
Arthur whispered, “You were so wet. So fucking sweet and responsive.”
My mouth went dry as my core turned deliciously damp.
“I didn’t mean to go so far. I didn’t mean to lose control. But you made it so damn hard to say no.”
The undergrowth suddenly gave way to the most perfect white private beach. The water glittered like gemstones—sapphires, turquoise, and lapis beneath the moonlight. The tree fronds acted as sentries keeping us safe from prying eyes, while the sand was white and virgin as freshly dusted snow.
The present fell away, giving way to the past.
“You can touch me, Art. I want you to touch me.”
I didn’t know what’d gotten into me but the mere thought of having his fingers on me, in me—it drove me a little mad. My mother had had the sex talk with me when I started my period two years ago. She’d told me the mechanics of lovemaking—of how babies were made and how sexually transmitted infections could tear my life apart.
But she hadn’t mentioned the coiling, twisting anticipation or the sparkling awareness I suffered whenever Art was close.
Everything she’d said had fascinated and terrified me, and I made a vow to never get involved with the opposite sex until I understood every complication.
But now?
Here.
With only the boy I adored and no one to tell us to stop—I couldn’t give a damn about the consequences.
My lips burned for his; I wanted nothing more than to spread my legs and let him see.
See me.
See what he did to me.
See just how much I wanted him to touch me, stroke me, claim me.
Just the thought of having his eyes on that part of my body drove tingles and throbs through my belly.
Arthur shifted closer, his dark hair mingling with my red curls on the sand. The icing-sugar granules were cool on my back and soft—so soft.
I’d deliberately worn a skirt, and with my heart rehomed permanently in my lungs, I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand over my thigh and beneath the daisy-print material.
His face tightened, eyes burning feverously.
A moan fell from my lips as every emotion and hyperaware sensation of that night exploded inside me.
I launched myself at Arthur.
With a grunt, he caught me, his mouth opened in shock as my hands sank into his hair, tilting his head to the perfect angle. I stole his protests—not that he was protesting—and kissed him hard.
I wasn’t aware of us moving or falling to the sand below. All I focused on was his delicious taste, intoxicating smell, and the slipperiness of his tongue as he kissed me furiously back.
“Cleo… wait.”
My teeth ground in frustration; my knees trembled as he tried to tug his wrist away.
“I can’t. You’re too—”
“If you say I’m too young one more time, Arthur Killian, I’ll punch you.”
He laughed, his arm relaxing enough for me to drag his fingers closer to where I wanted him.
“You were so hesitant about touching me. So afraid,” I panted between kisses.
“You were so damn forward,” he groaned as my fingers gripped around his cock. His loud groan echoed over the beach. I stroked him through his jeans, needing skin, needing nothing between us.
Our lips never unfused as we kissed and fumbled and rolled around in the sand.
One moment I was on top, tugging at his buckle and zipper.
The next he was on top, undoing my jeans and wrenching them down my legs.
Then we were side by side, kissing breathlessly, legs twining together, hips pulsing—bodies possessed with consuming one another.
Underwear was our nemesis. We couldn’t strip fast enough.
Sand got everywhere, but we were both past caring.
“Touch me, Art. Just once. Then I’ll stop hounding you.” I nipped at his bottom lip as his head flopped forward in defeat.
“Just once?”
I’d won. Happiness and a small douse of nervousness fluttered in my heart. “Just once.”
I froze as his hand moved upward on its own accord. I breathed hard and harsh then cried out as he finally, finally touched me where I’d been burning for months.
“Shit, Cleo. Where the fuck are your panties?”
I snickered, eyes rolling into the back of my head as his fingers traced my wetness. “I don’t need them around you. They just get drenched anyway.”
“Fuck.” His lips found mine and his precious self-control snapped.
I screamed into his mouth as his long, strong finger went where nothing had before. Pressing up inside me, stretching strangely, erotically, and so scrumptiously I would never be the same.
“Art. God, more!”
My back bowed as two fingers entered me, hooking up and stroking my G-spot. He wasn’t shy like he’d been that day. He was the one in control and I unraveled under his expert touch.
The past and present flickered fast, merging into one.
My hands felt empty as Art kissed me and continued to ease his finger in and out. It felt incredible but slowly my body became unsatisfied. It wanted more. It wanted to stretch and reach for a goal I had no words for.
I wanted to feel him.
He stiffened as my fingers found the treasure of my quest. His erection burned through his jeans, leaping against the material at the faintest touch.
“Shit, Cleo. Stop.” His finger froze inside me.
I moaned in frustration. “I’m not going to stop and neither are you. Stop overthinking this, Art. Age doesn’t matter. Family doesn’t matter. Rules don’t matter. Only you and I matter. And this… It feels right. Better than right. Meant to be.”
He lost the ability to retaliate as my hands cupped him harder.
The present dragged me back as Arthur spread my legs, settling his l
ean hips between them. My fingernails dug into his back as he slid inside me. His mouth held mine captive as he sank deeper and deeper. The softness of the sand below cushioned every inch, while the hardness of Arthur above pebbled my nipples and scrambled my mind.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to sink inside you since that day. I was such an idiot to say no. To put us through that frustration.” His lips fought with mine, stealing my reply.
He let his weight smother me. His mouth hot and wet, his hands disappearing into my hair. Fisting the strands, he kept my head back and throat exposed as he thrust.
His head lowered, lips sucking hard on my neck. He grunted with every deep plunge of his cock.
I cried out as my common sense rapidly slipped into lust-haze bliss.
His touch in my hair bruised, his teeth hurt my tender throat, and his hips drove hard and arrogantly possessive into me, but I wouldn’t change a thing.
Not a single thing.
The pleasure was rapturous. A gift only given with full trust, implicit connection, and sexual electricity.
Oh God.
My mind blacked out, consumed by having him in me, above me, around me.
Our bodies couldn’t get close enough. His legs tangled with mine. His stomach stuck to mine with every breath.
Kissing.
Devouring.
Fucking.
We spun our own time frame as his hands left my hair and skated down my body. Every inch of me blazed with supernovas and stardust, wanting him to abuse me with love.
He kissed me so deeply, my mind splinted into mirrored fractals granting me a new memory while sending me whirling into another.
I held him.
I held his naked cock in my hand for the very first time. I’d never felt anything like it. Silk but steel. Velvet but rock. Dry but wet at the very tip.
He fascinated me.
He lay on his back, eyes squeezed shut. His chest rose and fell as if he’d run miles.
With my tongue peeking between my lips in concentration, I stroked him.
The reaction was instantaneous.
His torso jerked off the sand and his groan made every inch of me quiver.
I stroked him again and again. Craving the way he came undone before me, giving me complete power over him.
I fell deeper into love, harder into lust. I became obsessed with making him explode.
“I loved making you come that first time,” I breathed, tearing my bruised lips from his as Arthur thrust harder.
“I couldn’t help it. Fuck, you drove me mad that day. I had the self-control of a saint to stop myself from rolling on top of you and taking your virginity right there.”
I cried out as his hips pulsed, his cock thickening inside me at the thought. “You should’ve. I wanted you to.”
He came.
His head snapped back and a cry tore from his lips. His entire body quaked as I stroked him up and down, up and down.
I’d never seen someone give ultimate control to another but his body surrendered everything to me in that moment—every muscle seizing with bliss, his mind utterly blank from everything but waves of pleasure.
Spurts of white ribboned onto his black T-shirt, arching through the air with every pulse of his hips into my hand.
It both scared and thrilled me. I wanted to do it again and again. To force him to relinquish control to me—to trust me completely.
Arthur dragged me back, his hand clutching my hip as his thrusts lost uniformity, driving relentlessly and punishingly. An orgasm sparked, half from him taking me now and half from us in another time.
Art’s fingers felt amazing inside me, but his thumb was the magic.
My pussy rippled around his digits as the first band of whatever teased me responded to his hesitant touch. I cried out as he thrust and rubbed, the combination of the two sensations driving me up, up and up.
“I want you to let go, Cleo. You made me come. I want to do that for you.” His lips landed on my cheek, then chin, then throat, spreading fire through my blood.
His finger hooked upward, pressing against a spot inside that wasn’t flesh and blood but magic and love-laced.
“Oh God. Art, yes.” I wanted to beg him for more, to never stop, but he knew what I wanted.
His wrist jerked up and down as he drove his finger harder and faster into me. My hips bowed up to meet him. I lost all pretense of shyness and demure young woman and gave myself in to the grip of sin.
This was where I belonged. Here. With him.
“I’m—I’m—” I didn’t know what I was. Shattering perhaps? Splitting into two as my core tightened and tightened until I thought I’d combust.
“You’re coming, Buttercup. Give it to me. Give me your first.” Art’s lips took mine, his tongue thrusting in time with his finger.
I couldn’t hold on any longer and my body demolished beneath his touch, imploding on itself before shooting outward in a billion tiny rays of heaven.
“God, I’m coming…”
I couldn’t help it. The memory of that time drove me to the point of detonation.
“Fuck, wait for me. Wait!” Arthur picked up his pace. Our breathing matched—tattered and broken as pleasure became too much for single cells to feel. He was the perfect maestro—giving my body no choice but to reach the pinnacle of release.
His fingers dove into my hair again, his elbows digging into the sand by my ears as he drove himself as deep as possible.
Then he came.
Shuddering and trembling, cursing and panting, he set off my own explosion.
Tiny comets shot from my core and into my heart, and every crash of pleasure gave more of my soul to him. He gave me another piece of himself, too, but stole so much more in return.
Our hearts thrummed to the same beat as we finally calmed and our lovemaking ceased to a gentle rock.
I would always keep what happened here tonight locked away inside—just like that first time. I would hoard it like a priceless gift. Arthur was mine. As much as I was his.
It was fate.
My heart fisted with pain at the thought of never experiencing our first times together. A brown-eyed boy I still couldn’t remember had taken mine in awkwardness and dissatisfaction, and Arthur… I couldn’t think about Arthur giving up something so precious to a whore.
But that was in the past. I never wanted to be with another man. Ever.
Arthur was it for me.
For life.
“Tell me about the tattoo. Apart from the equations and the poems I recognize, I don’t understand it.”
My eyes opened to find Arthur propped up on an elbow, his silhouette cast in silver by the moon.
We must’ve drifted for a while because the moon had moved from where it had been while I’d been on my back with him between my thighs.
Arthur’s face filled with pain. “You lived an entire life without me. I—I want to know what you did, who you became without me by your side.”
Hating myself all over again for the pain I’d caused, I murmured, “There’s nothing to tell. It’s a mix of everything and nothing.”
He frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It means nothing compared—”
“It means that—”
We stopped, smiling at each other in silence. We’d always done that—jumping over each other, trying to talk at the same time. Little things like that were starting to come back.
I wanted to squeeze him in joy.
He ducked, pressing a delicate kiss to my temple. “Go on…”
I searched my body for something that made sense. The tattoo was undeniably beautiful and fantastical, but really it hadn’t helped link me to a past I couldn’t remember.
“I suppose I wanted something pretty to cancel out the ugliness of my scars.” I shrugged. “I was told I might never remember. In a way, I hoped the pain would jog something. That each tattoo would somehow magically unlock everything hidden inside. Silly, huh?”
Arthur shoo
k his head. “Not silly at all. I wish it had worked—then you might’ve come back to me sooner.”
My heart squeezed at the thought.
His eyes hooded; a finger traced up the inside of my thigh, whispering over my core. A moan fell from my soul at the barely there graze.
“Tell me about your tattoo,” I whispered, fighting the already building need to connect again.
He looked down, bringing his fingers up to my lower belly, following the path of burn marks. “You know what it is—allegiance to my brothers. Before I had the Dagger Rose cut on my back, then, when I inherited the Corrupts, I had the new logo tattooed over it.”
Ah, that was why it seemed a little messy. One oath over another. I didn’t know it was possible to… swap, as it were.
But that wasn’t what I wanted to know.
I leaned up, planting a kiss on his collarbone.
He sucked in a breath as I whispered against his skin, “Not that one. The mermaid.”
He relaxed, brushing his nose down my throat. “Do you really need to ask? Red hair, green tail…”
Oh my God.
“It’s Ariel from The Little Mermaid?”
He reared back, eyes narrowed with annoyance. “No, it’s not the fucking little mermaid. It’s you, goddammit.”
I froze. “Ah, I get it. Red hair”—I grabbed a red curl, flicking it off my shoulder—“and a green tail for green eyes.” I batted my eyelashes.
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“How old were you when you got it done?”
“Twenty-four. I got it the year I got out.”
“And the Libra sign… That was for me, too.”
“Everything is always for you, Cleo. I thought you understood that by now.”
I reached up and caressed his cheek, running my fingers along his chiseled jaw, drinking in his aquiline nose and perfectly handsome face.
I had no words. None at all.
He rolled on top of me. His biceps tensing as he kept his weight from crushing me. Looking deep into my eyes, he murmured, “I missed you so fucking much.”
His mouth joined with mine in the dreamiest of kisses.
Slow and gentle.
Giving and worshipping.
A gentle tide rather than a tsunami.
This kiss was different.
Before they’d been full of violence and dominance. This was sweetness and surrender. A single moment where we weren’t man and woman, but two hearts reconnecting beneath the moon as our only witness.