Forbidden Surrender (Forever 1)

I pushed myself up again, distraught. “I have no idea why you like this sport so much,” I said, trying to blame my agitation on the lesson. I teetered on the board as I tried to gain my balance and he clutched the top of my thighs to keep me steady.

“Haven’t you ever had an adrenaline rush?” he asked, moving his hands further up my thighs until they were dangerously close to the heated space between my legs. I looked at him, his eyes wild with anticipation, the tendons of his neck taut as he clenched his jaw. “Your body becomes attuned to every sensation, your energy peaks—”

“It’s addicting,” I breathed.

“Don’t you want to feel that way?” he asked as he drew his face closer to mine, our lips brushing briefly. I could taste the salt that had caked to his mouth.

“And if I fall?”

“It won’t hurt.”

I pulled away from him, afraid if I let him any closer I’d lose my bikini, and paddled toward the shallow waves in the distance.

We practiced surfing well into the afternoon but Vincent proved more of a distraction than a help—the pent up sexual energy I had felt during our lesson still lingered within me. When my arms were too weak to keep paddling, we left the water for the beach. As I set my surfboard in the sand, Vincent reached out and gently grabbed my left hand, pulling it close as if to inspect it.

“How did you injure your pinky?” he asked, sitting down next to me. Being so close to him on the sand made me pine for the cooling effects of the water. “You’ve been holding it out all afternoon.”

I pulled my hand away, instinctively clutching my finger. “I’m a little accident prone, tripped and fell a few years ago and sprained it.”

“Accident prone? You were pretty good on the water.”

I practically scoffed, I’d been falling off my surfboard all afternoon. “I don’t think surfing is my true calling. It’s a little too rough for me out there.”

“Sometimes rough is good,” he said as he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed my pinky, dragging it across the full line of his bottom lip. I looked up at him, the sun catching the amber of his eyes, and I could hear the rapid beating of my heart in my ears. I still didn’t understand how one look from him could throw me so off balance. I glanced around the beach, making sure we were alone.

“You’re covered in sand,” he said, wiping the grainy pebbles from my palm. “We should rinse off.”

I did feel the need for a shower after all our time in the water so I agreed.

He stood and reached his hand out to me, pulling me up and into him. My hands grasped at his bare chest as I tried to gain my balance. His skin was warm and slick with a layer of sweat, and I couldn’t help but imagine running my tongue down the firm ridges of his abdomen. It had been two years since I’d slept with a man and I could feel my neglected need hitting me full force.

I tried to pull myself from his grasp, afraid the friction of our bodies would overwhelm the rational part of me, but he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me closer. The quick pulsing of my heart seemed to take up between my legs as he leaned forward and took my face in his hands. As he pressed his lips into mine, working my mouth open with his tongue, my knees buckled and I grabbed his bicep to keep myself steady. I could hear his heavy breathing, feel his warm exhales against my cheek as our tongues moved over one another. It was true it had been years since I’d been with a man but I’d never been so consumed by a kiss and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I let it continue.

“Where are the showers?” I asked, breaking away. I was desperate for a reason to distance myself from him—what would he think of me, better yet what would I think of myself, if I had sex with him when I’d demanded a date to avoid sex? But without a word he lifted me onto his waist, my legs wrapping instinctually around him, and walked us toward the showers.

“Put me—” I began but he cut me off with another kiss, his mouth pressed so urgently against mine that my lips tingled. I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, as the hard cut of his pelvis rocked against my clit while he walked. I clenched my thighs around his torso to keep myself from grinding shamelessly against him, wanting to feed the desire that had begun pulsing faintly between my legs.

He put me down as he turned on the shower and before I had time to get my bearings, I felt his hands running down my back and across the waist of my bikini bottom. He reached up and loosened my hair from its ponytail, the heavy, damp locks falling down my back as he rinsed the sand from my body.

“What are you doing?” I asked, trying to avoid his touch. I immediately berated myself for getting caught up in the moment—I didn’t need casual sex, especially with someone who was used to getting what he wanted from women. I had promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with another man too quickly, and here I was about to strip naked on the first date.

“I’m cleaning you.”

“I can do it myself,” I insisted.

His hands stopped their merciless roaming but lingered in the middle of my back, his fingers batting at the loose strings of my bikini top. He looked at me, the water running over the sharp bridge of his nose and down to his lips.“Why’re you so afraid to ask for help?”

“Because I don’t need your help.” I tried not to acknowledge the muscled torso, wet and glistening, just mere inches from me.

“I want to make things easier for you.” He slid his fingers beneath the strings of my bikini top and I could feel him wiping away the coarse sand stuck there, his fingers moving toward the side of my breast. I felt my ni**les harden from his touch, barely concealed beneath the thin fabric of my suit.

“I just think it would be better if we take things slow,” I breathed.

“Is this slow enough?” His hands creeped toward my chest, the cool tips of his fingers sending goosebumps across my skin. Just as he was about to cup my breast, he shifted quickly, trailing his fingers lightly down my torso. I groaned in a frustrated desire, wanting him to pinch my ni**les between his fingers, take them between his teeth and bite gently.

I reached out to him in spite of myself. My fingers traced the raised edges of a tattoo on his shoulder. “What does this one mean?”

“It’s sanskrit for ‘balance.’ I’m a hard worker, Kristen, but I believe in rewarding myself.” I could feel the bulge of his stirring package beneath his board shorts as he moved closer to me.