Dallas doesn't stop. He's relentless, milking my orgasm until I am quivering as the last electric sparks flutter through me. And that's when he releases my bound wrists. When he uses his fingers to pull aside my bathing suit crotch.
When he finally enters me hard and fast, I'm so turned on that I lift my hips to meet him, thrusting to match his rhythms, and gasping as pleasure builds and builds, this time deeper, hotter.
When he explodes inside me, I'm not far behind, and we both collapse, breathing hard beneath a sexual haze that still clings to us, as warm as the sun above and as bright as the clear blue sky.
And in that moment, in Dallas's embrace, I can't help but think that, at least for this small moment in time, everything is perfect.
That's an illusion, I know. But I cling to it. Savoring these moments before, inevitably, we have to return to the world.
Dallas and I hold hands as we wander The Resort at Cortez, going in and out of shops, sipping coffee in the shade, gazing with awe at the stunning paintings of ocean scenes that fill the fine art gallery. This is my first time on the island, and I'm having a wonderful time, despite the circumstances that drove us here.
After exploring the stores, we kick off our flip-flops and play in the fountain that is the centerpiece of the retail area. Jets of water shoot straight up inside a concrete circle in the middle of the common area, and I am soaked by the time we stop running around like idiots, trying to dodge the vertical spray.
A few other shoppers are scattered about, and they watch our antics. I think vaguely that I should be a little embarrassed by our silliness, but I'm honestly having too much fun. Besides, I'm engaged now. And that makes today a day to celebrate.
There's an ice cream stand by the fountain, and we both grab a cone, feeling light and alive, like children out discovering the world.
"Beach," he says, taking my free hand in his. "We're already soaked. Let's go make a sand castle."
"Two castles," I counter. "And mine is going to totally blow yours away."
"You can try," he says. "But you won't succeed."
I laugh out loud, thrown back suddenly to our childhood days on Barclay Isle, an island in the Outer Banks that has been in the Sykes family since the beginning of time.
I lick my strawberry ice cream cone and glance sideways at him. He'd opted for chocolate, and I laugh at the little mustache on his upper lip. I tug him to a stop, lean over, and lick the ice cream off. When I pull back, my pulse has kicked up a notch. "Tasty," I say.
"Very," he agrees, though I don't think he's actually talking about the ice cream.
"Did you plan to make this the perfect day, or did it just work out that way?"
"How could it be anything but perfect if we're together?"
His words are as soft as his expression, and I feel as melty as my ice cream. "Dallas," I begin, but I don't finish, because he's pulled me to him, and his lips brush mine, a sweet kiss made all the sweeter by the lingering taste of chocolate and strawberry.
"Oh, my gosh!"
I hear the words at the same time as I hear the clicking of cameras, and I pull back sharply.
Off to the side two twenty-something girls wearing island day passes are taking picture after picture.
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks--this isn't good.
I start to turn and walk away, but Dallas tugs me back so hard I drop my cone. It lands with a splat on the concrete at the same moment his lips crush mine. This time, there's nothing sweet about the kiss. It's hot and hard and demanding, and I feel the fire of his touch coursing through me. I want to lose myself in his arms, his kiss, his touch.
But then I remember where we are, and I jerk back with a start. "Dallas, no."
"Yes," he counters. "Goddammit, yes."
I search his face, so hard and determined. So full of need. And not just for me, but for something I don't recognize. Respect? Acc
eptance?
I'm not sure, but it doesn't matter, because I want him, too. I want to kiss him here by the fountain with the sun shining down on us and my heart full of him. So I do. I start to lean in again, but he anticipates me, grins wolfishly, and dives in to devour me.
And oh, dear lord, it's wonderful. The knowledge that he loves me. The freedom to show it in public, to say screw you to the world. This is how I want to live. Openly. Honestly.
Right in this moment, I feel as though I could soar.