Page 47

“I’d love that.” I lean in to peck his lips again.

“Come, let’s go down to the beach. I want to see if we can get you standing this time,” I say it with no hesitation or fear.

Being here, so near the ocean again, it’s brought back a peace I thought would never settle.

Port Orford was the first glimpse of light after months of darkness.

But this place? This is where I finally feel like I can breathe again.

Where the pull of the waves no longer feels like a threat, but a call.

Not to forget everything that happened, but to believe I could still make my way back.

Back to the water. Back to surfing. Back to the version of me I thought I’d lost. All with Foxx by my side every step of the way.

When we make it down to the beach, the sun’s slowly descending, but there’s still plenty of light, enough to get out into the water, which is calm but not completely flat, perfect for a beginner like Foxx.

He stands at the edge of the sand, board tucked under one arm, eyes narrowed at the Pacific. I drop my board and go to him.

“Shall we go over the dry land practice first?”

He chews his lip, but then nods to himself. “No pop-up drills, lets just do it. I remember what we went over. I’m ready.”

His confidence is a little shaky, but I admire it all the same.

When we first started to do this, he was convinced there would be some kind of way he would understand the physics of it.

I just laughed and said he’ll never find the perfect formula for surfing; it’s more about feeling than mathematics.

We wade in together, water curling around our ankles, shins, then thighs. He shivers a little when it hits his waist, glancing over to see if I’m still close.

“Ready?” I ask, and he nods once.

Once we’re far out enough, I straddle my board and rest my arms on top, and he does the same.

Checking around us, I call out to him. “Wave’s coming.” I point to his left. “Not a big one, but it’s clean. You want it?”

I see him swallow, but I know it’s his already.

“Okay,” I coach him. “Same thing as pop-ups. Angle a little, paddle hard, keep your eyes forward, then you’ll feel when it’s the right time.”

He lines up, paddles, and then he fucking catches it. Elation bursts in my limbs for him as I watch him ride the wave for at least three seconds, carving slightly, then falling and popping right back up again with the widest smile I’ve ever seen.

Suddenly, a memory flashes into my mind of me and Jared, from when we were about fourteen, maybe.

One of our first trips together and he stood on his new board for the first time.

I remember laughing so hard I almost wiped out when I tried it too.

I think about the way we collapsed in the sand together after, sunburnt and buzzing, already arguing about who stood the longest. The ocean always felt bigger when he was in it with me.

For a while, remembering all those good moments hurt too much, but now, as I watch Foxx rush to paddle out to me again, I just feel full.

My heart pitter patters in my chest, and I realize I’m grateful to have those memories with him, that I still get to make new ones with my family and my boyfriend.

And I still get to honor a friend. For the moments we didn’t get to have. The waves we didn’t catch. The ones I’ll ride for both of us now. Because healing doesn’t mean forgetting—it means remembering without drowning. And maybe, finally, letting the tide carry me forward.

“Did you see that?” Foxx beams as he reaches me.

“You were incredible,” I say, splashing him with water.

Foxx shakes out his hair, and then nods behind me. “That one is all yours.”

With the perfect swell behind me and my board beneath me, I think he’s right.

I’ve got salt on my skin again. A man at my side who sees me in a way I never thought I’d let anyone see me.

Foxx isn’t the reason I started healing.

But he’s the reason I kept going. We met in the pull of a riptide, all force and breathless wanting, and we didn’t fight it.

We let it take us somewhere new, because what we’re building is now full of peace and slow mornings together, nothing like the life I used to chase. This is real.

It’s mine.

And for the first time in a long time, I want it all.

***

It’s early evening, warm and golden, the kind of light that makes the salt in the air shimmer.

We walked back from being at the beach with sand still clinging to our ankles, split a platter of grilled snapper at the corner restaurant, and now we’re here—sheets half-tangled, skin sun-warmed, limbs lazy and stretched across the bed like we’ve got all the time in the world.

He kisses me like he’ll never get enough, and that kind of attention is intoxicating and only makes me want him more.

I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer.

He kisses his way down my throat with single-minded focus, palms flat against my chest, grounding himself.

And I let him. I let him crawl over me. I let him roll his hips against mine, hard and slow, his body already telling me exactly what he wants without words.

I slide my hand down his swim shorts, fingers wrapping around him, already slick, already straining. He groans, “Fuck yes,” into my ear, and my body erupts into a million nerve endings all begging for him.

“Baby,” I whisper, slowing my strokes just enough to bring him back into his body.

His eyes find mine. “Yeah?”

“Let me fuck you.”

It’s not a question, because we’ve talked about it already, but haven’t revisited it until now.

His breath hitches, eyes flickering between mine, and I can see how quickly his mind tries to reach for control, to stay in charge of the rhythm like he always has done.

But then something shifts. His expression changes, the tension around his mouth eases, and his hands curl gently into the sheet on either side of my head like he’s holding on just to steady himself through the yes that’s already forming in his chest.

“You don’t have to,” I say gently, dragging my knuckles along his jaw. “We don’t have to rush this. You know that, right?”

“I want it,” he says, not looking away. “I’ve wanted it with you.

” Those dark brown eyes burn into me like a brand, as I swallow past the euphoria of him admitting that to me.

He wants me to have control and, fuck, have I been craving it.

To see my man submit for me, even though I have no doubt he’ll still try to top from the bottom.

“You’re sure?” I ask one last time, not because I doubt him, but because he deserves the space to change his mind.

He nods. “Take control, baby. I want to feel you.”

It undoes me.

He lets me guide him, lets me tug the rest of his shorts down, lets me roll him onto his back and kiss every part of him I can reach. I take my time. I want him flushed and trembling, want him so focused on the feel of my hands and mouth and voice that he forgets to overthink the moment.

I move between his thighs, spreading them apart, leaning in and taking his cock into my mouth with one hard and firm suck, my tongue lingering around the tip.

The groan he makes is deep and feels like thunder in the air.

I pull off slowly, just to suck the head again with a little more pressure, flicking at the slit until his hips shift up on instinct.

He curses under his breath, and when I glance up, his eyes are hooded and heavy, but completely fixed on me.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he mumbles as I sink down taking him to the back of my throat.

“Mmm just like that. Swallow around me. Fuuuuuuck,” he hisses when I oblige.

He might want me to take control a little here, but I know my man, so I give him some of that control that gets him all hot and bothered too.

I release him with a pop and reach for the lube, coat my fingers, and trail them lower. His breath stutters as I circle his rim, his body twitching beneath mine in anticipation. “You want my mouth again?”

“So bad,” he growls. “Open.”

I do, letting him tap himself on my waiting tongue with filthy slaps. I take that opportunity to continue teasing him with my finger before easing in, the tight heat of him pulling me in inch by inch, and his jaw drops open, a soft moan catching in his throat.

“You okay?” I ask.

His eyes are already hazy with lust, a lazy smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah,” he says again, more breath than voice. “I’m good.”

“Can you take more?”

I move my finger around, stretching and prepping him, letting him adjust just as I lower back to take him in my mouth again.

It feels so fucking dirty the way he holds the base of himself still and I lap him up.

We’ve done this ass play part before, danced around the idea and almost gotten there, but my guy usually can’t last once I hit that spot, so I avoid it for now because I want this to go on longer.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Give me more.”

I push in, adding another finger, while running open-mouthed kisses up and down his shaft. Groaning, his head tips back, his whole body twitching with it, and I take my time working him open with patience and care, listening for every sound, every breath, every shift.

And when he finally says, “Please,” soft and ragged, I feel myself leaking onto the bed.

I scissor my fingers, and his hips push down into my hand, the tension in his thighs changing from resistance to want.

I can feel the moment his body yields fully—when the last of that grip he keeps on everything finally slips, and he just lets me have him.

I move off him. “I know,” I say, pulling my fingers out slowly, carefully, watching the way he breathes through the shift. “I’ve got you.”

I pull out a condom, breath shallow and legs nearly giving out beneath me at the sight of him. His sun-kissed skin is flushed, pupils dilated, his entire body curved toward mine like gravity can’t bear to keep us apart.

And then I center myself to him and press in just little. His ass tries to clench around me, and I hiss at the feeling. As I move in slowly, watching him take every inch of me, his body shakes. Mouth dropping open, eyes fluttering closed.

He breathes through it, chest rising, jaw clenched, and I see it all: the effort, the surrender, the way he lets me in, even though this is new and raw and too much and exactly what he wants at the same time.

My hips sink the last inch forward, and I still, buried to the hilt, the heat of him wrapped around me so tight it borders on unbearable. I collapse forward to rest my forehead against his neck, breathing him in, trying not to lose it. “Jesus fucking fuck,” I growl.

He’s so fucking beautiful like this.

Vulnerable and wide open, but never weak. He’s all tension and trust and impossible strength, his body saying yes to me in every way a mouth can’t.

“You have no idea how good this feels right now,” I whisper, barely able to find the air for it.

Arms loop around my hips as he pulls me in, not because I’m slipping, but because he wants more contact, more weight, more of me.

“Move,” he breathes, wrecked and wrecking me. “Please just fuck me.”

So I do.

I want him to feel every shift, every drag and pull and press of it. I want him to know I’m there, not taking, not claiming, just giving him everything he asked for.

His nails rake lightly down my back, and he arches under me, hips lifting just enough to chase the rhythm but never touching himself, and something about that turns me on even more.

His sounds are low and breathy and completely unguarded, and the way he says my name, it’s rough and needy and it undoes something within me.

“Yeah, just like that,” I say, voice like gravel. “Fucking made for this. Only me, huh, baby?”

His head turns, and he groans into my shoulder, teeth grazing skin. Then he meets my eyes. And God, the way he looks, eyes glassy, lips red, sweat starting to bead across his chest, is going to ruin me for every other version of this. The trust in this, the enormity of it, makes my chest burn.

“Only you,” he whispers on a moan.

He’s meeting my thrusts now, cock leaking between us, his whole body opening for me like he was always meant to be under me, with me, mine.

And when I lean down and kiss him deeply, he kisses me back like he’s been waiting for this exact moment his whole life. And fuck, maybe I have too.

His hands grip at my back now, nails dragging just enough to leave marks I want him to see later. He’s so close—I can feel it.

“I’ve got you,” I rasp against his mouth. “Come with me.”

His moan fractures against my lips as his body arches, chasing it, chasing me. His cock taps his abs, pre-cum coating them as I thrust again and again. I lean down and lick the trail left there, his salty taste so fucking perfect. “Mmmm, you want me to touch your beautiful cock?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Fuck, yes.”

I smile darkly, moving deeper, letting him feel how good he already has it. “Too fucking bad,” I whisper against his jaw. “You don’t need my hand, you need my cock. Show me how good I fuck you, baby.”

I increase the pace, holding his leg now, relentlessly taking and giving simultaneously.

And then he shatters. His entire body seizes under me, a cry catching in his throat as his cock twitches against his stomach and he comes untouched.

I can’t tear my eyes away, watching him absorb every single morsel of pleasure from his orgasm.

His eyes squeeze shut, his lips open, thighs trembling as he rides it out, taking every last thrust while I fuck him through it.

The sight of him unraveling like that, for me, because of me, pulls me under too. I thrust once, twice, and then I’m gone, spilling inside him as a groan tears from my throat, my whole body curling over his.

We stay there, tangled and sated, breathing together in the dark. Arms wrapping around me, he holds me close, even as we both come down. His lips brush whatever part of me he can reach, my shoulder, my jaw, my temple. Like he can’t not touch me.

And I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so much, have been loved so deeply before.

Not just the sex. The after.

The staying.

The safe place to land.

The home.

The End