Page 9 of Beach Reads: Three Summer Scorchers

I ’m gonna go out on a limb here and say: not a good sign. When a man has you begging him for sex, then answers his phone instead? When he doesn’t have kids and he’s not, like, a doctor on call? When there’s no clear reason that you’re a low priority?

If this were anyone but Jesse, I’d already be buckling myself into my car.

Instead I stroll around his living space, my legs still trembling from the aftershocks of that orgasm, inspecting the books on his shelves and the workout equipment fixed to the wall.

There are weird bars and handles screwed into the brick that I’m sure help work out individual tiny muscles on his back. Fancy.

Am I being a fool right now?

I chew on the inside of my cheek, running a fingertip along a mystery bar. Jesse did promise me dinner. Fresh tortellini and lava cake.

And he’s been nothing but sweet and courteous to me this whole time. He’s never once been weird about my weight; he’s never shown a hint of embarrassment to be seen with me.

Not just seen with me—seen publicly in pursuit of me. Desperate for a date. I straighten my shoulders, frowning at a vintage tourism poster on the wall. Not today, insecurities. Not today.

By the time Jesse strides back into the room, his jaw clenched and his blue eyes wary, I’m not spoiling for an argument anymore.

“Who was that?” I ask, then inwardly curse myself out for being nosy. “Not that you need to tell me, obviously—”

“It was my agent.” Jesse shoves his hands in his pockets, watching me closely from across the room. “I’m going for a big audition next week.”

A million feelings swirl up in me at once, charging around me in a big, messy tornado. Is he leaving Riptide ? Why didn’t he mention it before? What about Franklin?

What if Jesse becomes a huge international star and doesn’t want to see me anymore? What if he gets a fancy publicist who won’t let him have a fat girlfriend? What if he needs to move away?

Or what if he doesn’t get it? What if he’s still here when I move to L.A and I have to leave him behind?

Ugh.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse says quietly, and he sounds resigned. “Believe me, I would not have answered the phone for any other reason.”

Well, that’s nice to know at least. And I’m not a lunatic; I get that other things are important too. I want Jesse to be happy, and to have all the success he deserves. Franklin’s words from our earlier conversation float through my brain.

You’re going places, Darla. And Jesse…

“You’re gonna get it,” I blurt. “You’re gonna do so well, Hendry.”

His smile is strained. Shy and uncertain. It’s surreal seeing that expression on one of the finest physical specimens on the planet.

“I might not get it, actually. It’s a big role, and the director’s a huge deal. It’ll be competitive. And I’ve stayed on Riptide for so long, I might be typecast going forward. People might think that this is all there is to me.”

A pretty face and smoldering eyes. That jaw, with its own Twitter account.

“Well I’m sure you’ll get it. But even if not, there will be other roles. Other auditions.” I swallow hard, and I don’t even know where this is coming from. Maybe I’m way off base, but I feel like Jesse needs to hear this.

The famous star of Riptide needs my pep talk. Such a weird world.

“It’s going to happen for you, Jesse.” My fingers pluck at the hem of my dress. His eyes are glowing, searing into me from across the room. “If not next week then soon.”

He takes a step forward. The floorboards creak beneath his muscled weight. “My agent doesn’t think so.”

I scoff, irritated. “Then you need a new agent. What an asshole.” And I have about a million more things to say about that, but now Jesse’s coming for me, barreling across the open plan room.

I lift my arms, heart pounding.

He sweeps me up against his chest, lifting me off my freaking feet, and I’m so dazed that I let out only a single squeak when he carries me aloft, then presses me against the wall.

Jesse Hendry hitches my thighs around his hips. He reaches between us, flicking the top button of his jeans open.

“Next time, I’m getting you naked. You hear?”

My salute is wobbly. Not as cocky as I was aiming for. “Yes, sir.”

And I want that too: I want his bare skin sliding over mine; I want the tickle of his chest hair against my boobs; and I want us to sink together, no barriers between us.

But there will be plenty of time for all that—our whole lives, if the intuition purring happily in my brain is anything to go by.

“Baby.” Jesse shifts his hips, sliding me a little higher against the wall. The head of his cock nudges at my entrance, and his eyes are so, so blue. “You gonna let me?”

“Yes.” Oh my god, yes.

He presses up into me, letting gravity drag me down onto him at the same time. It’s tight, and the stretch makes my eyes water, but it’s also the best feeling ever. I’m surrounded by him. So filled.

“God.” Jesse rocks his hips forward, and his cock slides an inch deeper. I let out a strangled moan, burying my hands in his dark hair. “I can’t believe you’re letting me do this, Darla. But I’m gonna deserve you. I’m gonna be worthy.”

He already is, and I suck a trail of hot kisses along his throat. Try to show him so.

Jesse grunts and fucks into me deeper.

His muscles flex and shift in his shoulders, and Jesse’s breaths come in short pants as he sets a steady rhythm. With each thrust, each delicious grunt, he fucks me a little harder. A little deeper.

I must be super heavy to hold up like this, but he’s not struggling. The only signs of strain come when I lick his neck or tug his bottom lip between my teeth, and then his thrusts get wilder. Kind of sloppy, in the best way.

I like him uncontrolled. Fraying at the edges with how badly he wants me.

“You’re gonna be a big star, Jesse Hendry.” I tug a fistful of his thick hair. “And I’m gonna work on movies too. And from now, I’m gonna be your woman.”

“ Yes. ” He flattens me against the wall, bucking into me, sighing as happily as if I’d told him he’d won an Oscar. Like I’m the ultimate prize.

And even though I had his poster on my bedroom wall, I never once in my whole life imagined this could really happen. That Jesse Hendry would want me back; that he’d pop my cherry in his beach house. That he’d grip me and groan into my neck like I’m his personal salvation.

When he jams a hand between us, I frown down in confusion for half a second. Then he starts rubbing at my clit, and paired with the thick length of his cock sawing in and out of me—I see stars.

“Jesus!” My head bangs against the wall.

“Nope.” His teeth tug on my earlobe. “Close, but not quite.”

Ha. Okay, if he insists.

“ Jesse ,” I sigh as tremors rush through my whole body, shivering out to my fingertips and toes and all the way to the roots of my hair. Heat flares and my pussy clenches; my eyes screw shut and my ears ring.

Jesse leans his whole body weight against me as he wedges himself deep inside. As he floods me with wet warmth. With an unspoken promise.

I’m his.

And he’s mine.

And two minutes later, when he sets me down on wobbly legs, I feel like I could float up to the ceiling. My stomach growls, and Jesse flashes me those dimples, and god, I’m so gooey inside.

“So. Clean up then dinner?” he asks, already leading me toward the bathroom.

The. Perfect. Man.

* * *

Five years later

The set is manic. People in cargo shorts and black t-shirts rush in all directions, barking instructions into headsets. Clipboards are clutched. Golf buggies zoom along pre-marked paths, delivering cast and crew up and down the huge stretch of road. In the distance, a siren wails.

They’ve blocked off the whole avenue. A giant downtown street, emptied of all non-production vehicles and passersby.

The noise is constant.

The sun is hot.

I jiggle our son on my hip, weaving my way through the crowds. This sight would probably be overwhelming to a regular person, but hey, I work on big movie sets like these. I eat, sleep, breathe this chaos. It’s my high.

And though I’ve taken a break lately to spend time with the little one currently drooling on my shoulder, I’ll be back before long. I miss it.

Hey, maybe Franklin will let me come hang out behind the scenes on his new show while I breastfeed. My uncle’s a sucker for playing hide and seek.

“Darla?” A passing runner slows, her high black ponytail swinging side to side. A bright smile spreads over her face. “We haven’t seen you here for a while. Oh my gosh, who’s this little guy?”

I wait, chatting idly as the runner coos over my son. Everyone on set lost their minds over Jesse Hendry’s adorable, chubby-cheeked baby.

“Is he around?” I ask at last, not wanting to linger in the sun. The runner startles, then points to a nearby trailer with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry! Go right ahead. Jesse’s got a break before we need him in makeup again.”

My husband is a busy man these days. Always in demand at work and whenever he sets foot in public. Everybody wants a piece of him.

Too bad. I hush my wriggly baby as I stride toward the trailer. Jesse Hendry’s all mine.

“Tell them I need a few minutes—Darla?” Jesse beams when he realizes it’s me, not a random crew member. He sets the script he was reading down on a table, then hurries to usher me inside.

His trailer is messy. Filled with water bottles and the dried mango he snacks on non-stop, and a stack of spare diapers in the corner.

There’s a framed photo of the two of us on our wedding day, right in the eye line of the doorway where every visitor can see. The sight of it makes my eyes prickle, and I clear my throat.

Pregnancy hormones, man. When exactly do they go away?

“I got bored,” I tell him flatly. Because I love my baby with my whole heart, but it’s still true. “There are only so many puppet shows I can watch in one day.”

My husband turns his dimples on me. “That’s fair. Actually, I got a sitter for us tonight. It was going to be a surprise. You remember Maisie?”

Sure: Maisie’s an elderly lady who lives on our street and fusses over our son every time we push the stroller past. She’s watched him a couple of times before, and it’s so great. Like handing him over to mission control. The lady knows what she’s doing.

“Perfect,” I breathe, sagging against the nearest flat surface. “I love him so much, I do, and I don’t want to go back to work yet, but a night off would be…”

“Titillating.” Not the word I was going for, but Jesse’s eyes sparkle as he runs a fingertip down my arm. A blush blooms over my chest beneath my clothes. “I’ll make it a night to remember. I promise.”

I bet he will. Jesse Hendry has played a lot of roles over the last five years, but the one he’s always taken most seriously is husband.

“You’re a godsend.”

His lips find my jaw. “It’s what you’re owed, baby.”

My breath hitches and I sway forward, but the watery gurgle from my shoulder jolts me back to earth.

“Later,” Jesse says, stepping back before planting a kiss on our son’s head. If those thick brown tufts are anything to go by, he’ll be his father’s spitting image one day. “Later, you’re all mine.”

Yup.

Later, and right now, too.

Every minute of every damn day.