“A, I have plenty of panties. B, I told you I don’t wear them sometimes because it makes me feel sexy.”
He opens my door and sets the bag by my feet after I get in. Then he leans down and brings his face a breath away from mine as his hand slides up my leg. His thumb eases past my shorts. He stops and shakes his head as the pad of it meets my bare sex, no underwear.
My face contorts into a grimacing smile as my shoulders rise into a guilty shrug. He presses his thumb to my now wet center. My mouth relaxes as I suck in a breath and try to close the distance between our lips. He moves his head back just enough to deny me. He grins then moves his thumb a little higher. I moan as he rubs slow circles.
“How do you feel?” he whispers.
“G–good.” I grip the side of the seat and let my head fall back.
“What else?”
“Turned … on.” I close my eyes.
“What else?”
I tilt my hips up as he works me up so high I fear my own reaction to the impending fall.
“Oli …”
He speeds up, pressing his lips to my neck, and when his teeth graze over my sensitive skin I lose it.
“What. Else?” he whispers in my ear as the blinding sensation rips through me.
“Sexy … I feel … sexy.” I try to catch my breath while my head’s still spinning.
He kisses me hard then shuts my door.
I hate that I have no self-control to deny him giving me an orgasm while parked with the door open on a public street. Now he’s sporting a ridiculously smug grin as he pulls out into traffic.
“What was the point of that?” I break the silence.
“I wanted to prove that I make you feel sexy. Now that you know that, you can start wearing underwear.”
“What does it matter if no one else can see that I’m not wearing underwear?”
“First, some of the dresses you wear are awfully short. Second, I know you’re not wearing underwear and I don’t like walking around saluting everyone I pass.”
“Saluting?”
He shoots me a you-know-what-I-mean look.
“Whatever, you’re just being weird.”
“I’m being a guy.”
“That’s what I said. You’re being weird.”
“Can you believe I’ve never seen Boston from the harbor like this?” I say, sitting on his lap as he takes us farther away from the coastline. I’m wearing the bikini and he has on his board shorts with no shirt.
“Are you serious?”
“I know, it’s crazy. There are tons of boat tours, even the whale watch, but I’ve never gone. I haven’t even been over to the airport.”
He nuzzles his face in my hair and kisses the back of my head. “What do you think?”
I laugh. “It’s amazing. When you think about all that land that was manmade and the tall buildings sitting where there used to be water … it’s incredible.”
“I think you’re incredible.” He kisses my shoulder, squeezing me tighter.
“I think you’ve lived here so long you’re taking it all for granted.”
He slides his hand over my stomach and up to my breast, slipping his fingers under my top. “I think we need to throw out the anchor and go down below.”
“Oli …” My breath hitches as he cups my breast.
“I can’t wait. You in my shirt with those sexy glasses this morning, and now this bikini … God, I’m dying, Vivian.”
“How many women have seen this view with you?”
His body stills against mine. We’re one with the rhythmic sway of the ocean.
“Does it matter?” His hand moves from my breast back to my waist.
“Of course not. It doesn’t change anything, I’m just curious.” I’m twenty-one with enough insecurities to sink this boat, and while I’m too smart to really think this is a good conversation for us to share, I’m too young to not have a burning curiosity.
“I can’t really say. It’s not my boat, so I’ve been on here with my parents’ friends and Chance’s friends …”
“That’s not what I mean.”
He brings the boat to an idle on the choppy water. “Then what do you mean?” He stands, forcing me off his lap. Lifting the cooler lid, he grabs a beer. Keeping his back to me, he takes a pull and looks out into the saltwater abyss.
I sit back down and wait. There’s really nothing else I can do. I’m seeing the one percent of Oliver that is consumed by something else—something that scares me. There’s this inferno of anger he falls into sometimes, but I think it’s fueled by pain. I see it in his eyes like the night he shattered his phone. The man crying in his room was an Oliver I don’t know. Where do we stand now and where can we possibly go from here if he can’t show me his scars—bare himself to me?
“We should go back.”
“No!” His voice cuts through the air with a sharp edge. “I just … need a minute.”
Everyone has a crazy button and it’s usually hidden like a land mine waiting to be detonated by some poor unsuspecting person who just happens to take a wrong step. Oliver should have watched his step … he just hit mine.
“Absolutely! Take all the minutes you need. I’ll just wait here with my heart on my shoulder because I don’t have a sleeve to wear it on since you picked out these ridiculous string pieces of nothing that leave me completely exposed to the whole fucking world! Or maybe I’ll take a dip in the water and get eaten by sharks since I look like shark bait anyway and you’ll be let off the hook of having to answer one simple question about your past!”
Oliver turns. “Two. Two women before you have seen this view with me—my mom and a girl I dated in college.”
He lifts the top to one of the back seats and takes my sundress out of my bag. I uncross my protective arms as he slips it over my head. Shoulders slumped, head bowed, he pulls me into his arms and we collapse on the seats as the midday sun gets lost in the overcast gathering of clouds. The wind begins to cast a chill upon my skin and Oliver holds me closer, shielding me from the breeze, the world … myself.
“I used to love going to Michigan to visit my grandparents. They had Tupperware and glass containers everywhere filled with candy and cookies. We only had candy at our house on Halloween and Easter, so Chance and I would drain their stash until we were doubled over at the toilet in misery. But by the next morning, we’d be feeling better and ready to raid the pantry, which was stocked with all the good cereals that we saw on TV but rarely got to have. Fruit Loops was my favorite. I’d eat the entire box with a half-gallon of whole milk.” He laughs. “Milk never tasted so good—sugar and FD and C numbers one through a million.”
I turn in his arms and rest my head against his chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, we loved it so it was worth the stomach ache—”
I press my lips to his. He smiles against mine. “I’m sorry too,” he murmurs.
Draping my leg over his hip, I move my hands to his face and deepen our kiss. He slides his hand up my leg and under my dress palming my ass with a firm grasp.
I moan into his mouth, sliding my tongue against his. Oliver draws emotions from me that I never knew existed. I’m the go-with-the-flow girl, a survivor, a lover of life. Burying my emotions, veiling them behind the façade I want people to see is my specialty. But I can’t with Oliver. I want him to see me, all of me, even the ugly. He takes all of it and makes it better.
Oliver’s mouth moves along my jaw as I draw in a deep breath.
“We should throw out the anchor … and go down below.” My words are anxious, my body desperate.
Oliver chuckles while grazing my earlobe with his teeth. “Brilliant idea.”