Page 38 of The First Kind of Love
Even though the temperature is in the comfortable eighties, her frame still shivers against mine, as if there’s an ice-laced wire crackling underneath her skin. She’s crushing me with enough force to bruise, and I feel this inherent need to protect her. I mean, of course Iwantto, but it’s more than that.
Everything is more with Shiloh.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have listened to Gage. He and Cali are adrenaline junkies. They’d rock climb without ropes.”
“It’s not your fault. I just need to…get out of my comfort zone more. I’m being crazy. There’s no way I’d fall off this thing, get crushed by eight hundred pounds of fiber-reinforced plastic and polypropylene because you didn’t notice, then have an ecosystem of fish eat my horribly disfigured, decomposing body until there’s nothing left for the police to retrieve, right?”
Jesus. If that imagery wasn’t so disturbing, I’d actually be a little relieved that Shiloh’s prone to implausible overthinking just like I am. The sensible part of me wants to ease her concern, but the other part of me is too focused on the contact happening between us. Her arms are buttery-soft, and her product-free hair tickles the ledge of my shoulder. Even with an obnoxious life vest in the way, her breasts are squished against my back in another aneurysm-inducing one-piece.
My usual words of consolation are stripped of their comedic effect, and that possessive animal that’s been hibernating inside of me has stirred awake once again. “Even if that did happen—which it wouldn’t—I’d notice.”
“You would?” she asks, her voice barely audible over the jet’s cough of bubbles.
“I notice a lot more than you think I do.”
Her death hold loosens the slightest bit. Like a wind-up toy, her breath slithers out in one long heave, cooling the back of my nape that’s been brutalized by the sun.
“It is kind of cool being this far away from civilization,” sherelents, resting her head against my spine. “I’d never swim all the way out here.”
Despite the noisy hum of the Jet Ski and the metronomic thrash of the sea, it’s quiet out here. There’re no children screaming at the tops of their lungs, no stir-crazy parents berating said demon spawns, no syncopated rumble of car engines, not even the overhead caw of seagulls. It’s idyllic. The motion of the waves creates this out-of-body floating sensation, and that’s exactly how I feel when I’m in Shiloh’s presence.
Something queasy tugs at my stomach—like butterflies, if all the butterflies had miniature knives. I turn off the Jet Ski’s engine. “I like being alone together.”
Now that there’s no irksome vibration in the background, Shiloh’s giggle is as clear as day. “Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“An oxywhat?”
“An oxymoron. It’s a figure of speech that contradicts itself.”
I have no idea what that means—even dulled down—but Shiloh’s always right. And ridiculously smart.
“Keep doing that,” I beg, grabbing her hand that’s resting on my stomach. Her fingers flinch, but she doesn’t dare move her arm. She’s magnesium to my open flame of oxygen, heating up my whole body without even lifting a finger.
“Doing what?” she asks.
“Educating me.”
Righting my footing—and being sure not to nudge her—I flip my body to face her, drinking her in like she’s a tall glass of water. With my hands on her waist, she scooches closer to me, her legs bookending either side of my hips, and the gusset of her swimsuit cinches enough to show me her hot-as-hell tan lines.
A vixenish grin overtakes her lips. “Fulton, you don’t have a secret teacher kink, do you?”
I pull her into me so that her front is crushed against mine, and I drag my hands down to the curve of her butt. “Maybe Ijust like listening to you talk,” I counter, loving the way the lower half of her responds with a frisson.
“Did you know that a Jet Ski can reach up to seventy miles per hour?” she whispers, her fingers featherlight as they trace the bend of my collarbone. She’s got me balancing on a knife’s edge, and I’ll probably need a cold plunge in the water if her hands get any other ideas.
“Fuck, you’re incredible.”
I consume her in a breath-robbing kiss, my tongue skating the ridge of her teeth, and my fingers growing hungrier the longer her dew-smattered skin glistens like starlight in my periphery. She’s ravenously accepting every lick and every bite with an equal amount of enthusiasm, squirming her pussy until it butts up against my hardening erection. Her hands are nestled in my hair, and her legs are slung around me to the point where our combined weight is tipping the Jet Ski’s center of gravity.
I’m like the cat that’s caught the canary, and then it happens—my heel slips on a cumbersome patch of water. I’m submerged beneath the surface within a second, and the white noise in my ears is impeded by frantic shouting.
When I breach for air, I smear a hand down my dripping face, still met with a disconcerting number of shrieks. Shiloh’s a hazy silhouette in my waterlogged vision, and although I’d never admit it, I’m glad my fall managed to shrink the half-chub in my swim trunks.
“Oh my God, Fulton! Are you okay?”
She’s reaching out to help me—a rookie mistake—and instead of using her outstretched hand to pull myself up, I yank her into the ocean with me. Dick move? Maybe, but that Jet Ski was getting uncomfortable.
She splashes beside me in a circlet of droplets, only buoying a few moments later with some paddles from her hands and feet. When I can intercept the flailing withoutsustaining a black eye, I hold her close to my chest for security, and she instinctively hooks her legs around my torso even though she’s pissed.
