Page 45 of Beautiful Desire (Blossom Beach #3)

Georgia

“ L ook at the mess you made,” I purr, easing out of his ass, sweat glistening all over our bodies as I run two fingers through the cum coating his stomach. “Guess I’ll just have to clean you up, won’t I?”

Fletcher looks dazed and sated as he nods, a lopsided grin tugging on his face.

Keeping my eyes locked on his, I lick my fingers clean before leaning down and running the flat of my tongue along the sticky mess, not stopping until I’ve got it all, then I climb over his body while he pulls himself up on his elbows.

Without even being asked, Fletcher drops his jaw and sticks out his tongue, allowing me to spit his release into his mouth before our lips are consuming each other.

He groans as our tongues tangle, the salty flavor mixing with our shared saliva, and it sends heat to my core, as if I didn’t just come a few minutes ago.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he breathes when I finally pull back.

Climbing off the bed, we find the articles of clothing we tossed all over the room in a horny mad dash when we got home earlier, and we’re nearly dressed when the doorbell echoes through the house. My head snaps up as Fletcher’s tugging his jeans over his ass.

“Are you expecting anybody?” he asks.

“No, are you?”

Fletcher clicks his tongue. “Now, who the hell would I be expecting?”

I snort. “Okay, fair point.” Once I’ve worked my t-shirt over my head, I say, “I’ll get it.”

“Wait!” Fletcher blurts out as he strides over to me. “You look like you just got railed.”

“I did the railing, thank you very much,” I tease, smirking at him as I run my fingers through my hair. “Better?”

Chuckling, he says, “No, let me.”

The doorbell chimes again. “Shit.” I laugh. “Hurry up.”

“Well, if you didn’t have so much damn hair, this wouldn’t be an issue,” he teases.

Face close to mine, I can’t help but admire his sharp, beautiful features as he gets me situated.

Scruff lines his jaw, having not shaved for a couple of days, and I kind of like it.

Though, the mustache has long since grown on me too.

His lips still are red and puffy from kissing me, and his cheeks are flushed.

“There, all good,” he announces, pressing a quick kiss to my mouth before stepping back.

“Thanks.” Smiling, I leave the room while he pulls his shirt over his head, and as I turn the corner, Fletcher not far behind me, I stop in my tracks.

“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, heart in my throat, as I make my way toward the front door.

Or should I say, toward the glass screen door, because we were a little pre-occupied when we got home and never shut the actual door.

I hear Fletcher’s footsteps come to a stop as he notices who’s waiting for us. “Oh, shit.”

Plastering a smile on my face, I unlock and open the screen. “Dad, Denise, what a surprise,” I say as I step to the side and let them in.

What the hell are they doing here?

“Sorry for dropping by unannounced.” I watch in horror as Denise pulls her son in for a hug, hoping like hell she can’t smell sex on him. “But I know your presentation is in a few days, and I’ve got a pretty busy week coming up, so I wanted to make sure I dropped these off to you beforehand.”

That’s when I notice the basket in my dad’s arms. What the hell is with this family and making baskets for everyone? Clearing his throat, he hands it to Fletcher, all without making eye contact.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do this, guys,” Fletcher says awkwardly.

“I know that, honey,” Denise says sweetly. “We wanted to.”

Then I remember we’re still standing in the entryway. “Let’s go sit in the living room,” I offer. As I’m walking past Fletcher, his eyes widen, and he rolls his lips together but doesn’t say anything.

Fletcher and I each take one of the recliners while our parents sit on the couch. The tension in the room is so thick, you could slice it with a butter knife. Jesus Christ, this is bad.

After several long seconds of uncomfortable silence, Denise says, “Well, open it, dear!”

It’s a rather large basket filled with several different things, and my heart squeezes at how thoughtful everything is.

There’s a four-pack of blackberry lemon mini muffins from Grace’s bakery, a new Nike muscle tee and shorts—too short, just like Fletcher likes them—some of his favorite snacks, a mini foam thumb in the school colors that says, You’re #1 , a tiny crochet cow holding a motivational sign that reads, Positive Moo.

Don’t underestimate yourself! I believe in you.

Keep moo- ving forward, no matter the challenge!

and a handful of other miscellaneous items.

“Wow, thanks, you guys,” Fletcher murmurs, and there’s a tinge of pink to his cheeks. Who knew Fletcher was such an awkward gift receiver?

“It isn’t much,” Denise says, waving him off. “I’m just so proud of you and how far you’ve come.” Her voice cracks at the end.

“Don’t cry yet, Mom,” he says. “I haven’t passed yet.”

“But I know you will! You’re such a smart boy. And Georgia”—she flicks her gaze toward me, making my pulse race for some unknown reason. “Thank you for all that you’ve done for Fletcher?—”

Before she can continue, Fletcher barks out a cough, whacking his fist to the center of his chest. All eyes turn toward him. “Sorry,” he mutters in between coughs. “Swallowed wrong. Keep going.”

Real nice, Fletcher.

Clenching my jaw, I turn back toward our parents, and my heart thumps against my ribs when I find my father’s gaze already on me, his brow furrowed. As soon as he realizes I’m looking in his direction, he clears his throat and looks over at his wife.

Jesus Christ, this is bad.

Denise breathes out a giggle. “As I was saying, thank you for helping Fletcher and for letting him stay here. I know it wasn’t the most ideal arrangement, but please know, your father and I appreciate it very much.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” I murmur. “It hasn’t been as bad as I thought it would be. Just glad I was able to help.”

Clearing his throat again , my dad chimes in. “So, what have y’all been up to today?”

Fletcher and I glance at each other briefly. They know… They have to know, right? It’s why my dad’s being so weird.

“Uh, not much,” Fletcher offers with a shrug.

“We went rollerblading on this trail Blakely told me about at the state park,” I add. “It’s beautiful out there and wasn’t too crowded.”

“That’s nice, honey,” Denise says. “Sounds like fun.” She looks over at her son. “I bet you’re excited to get back home in a few weeks.”

My stomach bottoms out at the reminder that this arrangement is coming to an end.

I should feel relieved. I should be looking forward to it, counting down the days.

But I’m not. The more time Fletcher and I spend together, both in and out of the sheets, the more uneasy I become at the thought of him going back to Charleston.

Which is nuts…right? This isn’t anything serious; it’s always been temporary, and when he first got here, I was so ready for him to go home.

So, why do I feel this way? Why does even talking about it make my throat ache, and why does it leave a sour taste in the back of my mouth?

What’s going on with me? I need to snap the hell out of it. This isn’t who I am, and that’s not what this is.

Fletcher huffs a laugh, but it sounds forced. “Yeah, for sure,” he says flatly. “Can’t lie, though. Parts of this town have actually grown on me. So, I don’t think it’ll be as easy to leave as I assumed it would be.”

Pressure builds behind my eyes at his words, but I don’t understand why.

Feeling attention on me, I drag my gaze over to my dad, finding him watching me again , with another perturbed expression.

Correcting my face, I offer him a small smile as the conversation continues around me, but I’m finding it hard to partake in it, because I’m too far inside my own head.

All of this is feeling a little too real for my liking, and I need to get myself in check.

They don’t stay for long, and by the time they leave, I breathe out a sigh of relief. That was the single most awkward encounter I’ve ever had with them. Locking the front door behind them, I rest my back against it and meet Fletcher’s gaze.

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Fletcher busts out laughing. “Fuck, that was awkward.”

“You think they know what we were doing before they got here?” I ask.

“Oh, one hundred percent.” Then he chuckles and adds, “Doesn’t help you’ve got a hickey on your neck.”

“What?” Striding over to the mirror in the hallway, I check out my reflection, my nerves spiking once more when I see the mark he’s referring to. I turn toward him and shove him on the shoulder. “Fletcher, you gave me a fucking hickey? Are we fucking fifteen?”

“Oh, come on,” he drawls as he wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me into him. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.” He presses a kiss to the bruised spot on my neck, sending a shiver down my spine and a wave of goosebumps over my flesh. “You just felt too good,” he purrs. “I couldn’t help it.”

Covering my face, I groan, dropping my forehead to his shoulder. “This is bad. This is so bad.”

“Calm down, Peach,” he says soothingly as he runs his hands along my back. “They didn’t say anything, so maybe they don’t suspect anything.”

“I hope you’re right,” I grumble and make no move to pull away from him. I hate how easily he’s able to comfort me.

It’s a little after two in the morning. My eyes burn, but I couldn’t sleep so I decided to get some candle work done that I’d been needing to do.

Apparently, Fletcher couldn’t sleep either, because not even twenty minutes after I started, he sauntered in here, barefoot and shirtless, wearing a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips.

For a moment, I contemplated letting him bend me over this table instead of doing any actual work, but thankfully, the logical part of my brain took control and told me I needed to get this done.

“I made nachos,” Fletcher announces as he strolls into the spare room.

My brows pinch as I turn toward him. “You were gone for, like, five minutes.”

He chuckles, setting the plate down on the table beside the tins we just filled with wax. “That’s all I needed, Peach. A can of refried beans and the leftover queso on some chips, thrown in the microwave for a couple minutes.” Shoving a chip in his mouth, he adds, “And they’re fucking good too.”

Leaving the room again, Fletcher comes back a minute later with two glasses filled with ice water. He sits down in the chair across from me and shoves the plate closer. “Eat,” he insists. “I heard your stomach grumbling while we were working.”

I do what he says, and I must admit, the microwave nachos are actually pretty good. “Thanks for your help,” I say in between bites.

Fletcher helped mix everything and get it poured while I had him run through his presentation with me.

I can tell he’s nervous, but he’s more than ready.

After about two hours, we finally reached a point I was comfortable stopping at.

Had it not been for his help, I probably wouldn’t have even gotten half of this done.

“No problem, Peach.” After taking a swig from his water, he then asks, “Is your mind still on our parents coming over earlier? That the reason you couldn’t sleep?”

Heaving a sigh, I nod. “Yeah, but I don’t really want to talk about it right now. Otherwise, I’ll never get to sleep.”

“Fair enough.” His lips tic up as he watches me, and it makes my stomach flutter. “Thank you, by the way.”

My brows pinch. “For what?”

“For all your help. My mom said it earlier, and it made me realize I haven’t said it.” Fletcher holds my gaze, my skin tingling under the weight of his stare and what he’s saying. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve been able to finish.”

Swallowing thickly, I huff a dry laugh. “Yes, you would’ve,” I murmur. “You would’ve figured out a way to do it, because you know it’s the only thing standing in your way from your dreams. Give yourself a little more credit, Fletcher. I’m proud of you. I don’t think you hear that enough.”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “Well, still. Thank you.”

Once we’re finished eating, we take everything to the kitchen and drop the dishes in the sink.

Crowding my body against the counter, Fletcher wraps his arms around my shoulders, and I automatically do the same around his middle.

Looking into each other’s eyes for a moment, my throat gets tight, and when he leans in and presses his lips to mine, the feeling only intensifies.

He kisses me with soft, tender strokes of his tongue and gentle nibbles on my lip. I melt in his arms.

I’m starting to like the way he feels wrapped around me a little too much, but I don’t know how to stop.