adventure, except now he has the top peeled down, exposing his strong, toned chest and hard, flat stomach.
He catches me staring and smirks. However, instead of being embarrassed, and giving in to an even
For some reason my words cause his gaze to widen significantly. I glance down at the foam board he placed onto the sand for my practice, unsure why my question is so baffling. This is my first introduction to his special world of surfing; I’ve never attempted it before, so I do not know if I should sit, stand, kneel, or dance across the long stretch of board resting on the sand.
I look back up, and Austin clears his throat. “Excuse me?”
Wrinkling my nose, I point to the board. “Should I stand up or lie down?”
“Uh, lie down.” He scratches the back of his neck and hollows out his cheeks, and it isn’t until he clears his throat again that I get the potential double meaning to our conversation. And
The rough sound of his voice sends shivers racing across my skin. Goose bumps prickle in their wake, and though they are concealed beneath my own wetsuit, I still feel exposed. I splay my limbs across the board and sink my fingers into the soft sand, watching his tall shadow fall across my own. Despite the layers shielding me from his keen vision, I can’t help feeling that he can clearly see what the sound of his voice does to me.
“The first thing you need to learn,” he says with just a trace of huskiness remaining in his voice, “before you even get out on the water is how to paddle and pop up.” He places a foot on either side of my hips and leans down to clasp both of my hands in his. The bulk of his body hovers in the air just above my own, and suddenly that is all I can think about. “Paddling is a lot like crawling, pulling one hand after the other through the water, cupping and scooping. Good, just like that.”
I nod weakly in acknowledgement. Words right now are impossible. He continues guiding my arms in the proper technique, and my eyelids flutter shut.
I take a breath and inhale Austin.
The scent of citrus on his breath as it fans the loose hair around my face and the scent of salt, sweat, and clean soap that wafts from his body. The kiss of his bare skin grazing my back, burning through my wetsuit as he dips forward to instruct me, the intoxicating sensation of his strong hands engulfing mine. And finally, the restrictive feel of his legs straddling my hips.
Austin continues in a steadier voice, seemingly not as affected by my own proximity. “When you’re out there, I want you to dig in deep. Really propel yourself. Then, when you’re in position”—he takes my hands and places them on either side of the foam board—“grab your rails and shoot to a strong push-up, hands and toes touching the board.”
Again, he places my body into the correct alignment, handling me like a child’s pliant doll. The coolness of his fingers sliding and making circles around my bare ankles sends a jolt to my stomach. When he moves his hands to grip my waist, helping to take the pressure of my weight off my hands, my head grows light, as if filled with air.
“It’s, uh, important,” he says, voice a tad rougher than before, “that you don’t go to your knees…when you pop up. Just snap right to a crouch. Here,” he adds, releasing me somewhat abruptly onto the board. “Watch me.”
The loss of his warmth leaves me slightly dazed. Swallowing, I push myself up to a sitting position and try to concentrate on Austin’s lean body snapping into position. But I seem to have lost the ability to focus on anything.
Austin pops to his feet again, and his eyes lock with mine.
I do not know what expression he sees on my face, but it causes his confident smirk to fade.
In the distance, shouts ring out from other surfers riding the waves, but here, on this patch of sand with Austin, I feel isolated.
One of us moves first, I am unsure which, but soon my knees are sinking into the sand, and I am tipping my head back to look into his eyes. The brilliant blue color has deepened again.
Awareness fills the thin sheet of air between us. I lick my lips without thinking, and he lowers his eyes to watch the flick of my tongue. I have never in my life been wanton, but the feminine empowerment I feel as he exhales a shaky breath makes me want to do it again. So I do. Slowly this time, gliding my tongue over my bottom lip.
A low growl is my only warning before Austin’s hands thrust into my hair. “I warned you about playing with fire.”
Breathlessly, I say, “And I told you I’m tired of being careful.”
He nods once…and then his mouth crashes onto mine.
Firm lips devour me, and I drown in the rush of feeling. In all my late-night dreams of what this moment would be like, I never expected it could be like this. My body collapses, and one of his arms locks around me, smashing my chest against his.
My first kiss is not the slow, sweet build-up I witnessed between Cat and Lorenzo. This is aggressive. This is passionate. This is Austin.
The shocking sting of teeth biting into my lower lip causes me to gasp, and Austin uses it to drive his tongue into my mouth. My knees buckle. If it weren’t for the splay of his hand on my lower back and the pressure of his fingers wrapped around the nape of my neck, I would sink to the sand.
I hang in the moment and briefly do nothing. Everything that is happening is so shocking, so unexpected, and so deliciously wonderful that I cannot think, cannot breathe. Then the taste of orange hits the back of my tongue, reminding me of the orange soda Austin drank on the way here, and I give myself over to the embrace. Good girls may not kiss like this where I come from, but I am here now, and there is no greater adventure then the feel of Austin’s lips on my own.
Suddenly he breaks away.
The heat in his eyes as he stares down at me is enough to melt my wetsuit. His shifting, unusually vulnerable gaze has me wanting to wrap my arms around him and bring his mouth back down to mine. But then the walls he chooses to hide behind come back up. They shut me out as effectively as if he had slid on a mask, and my arms dangle to my sides, weighted.
“So,” he says, pushing to his feet, “back to surfing.”
Acting as though nothing happened, Austin slides his arms through the slick fabric of his suit and zips it over his chest, the cold, metallic closing sound symbolic of his own attempt at retreat. But what he doesn’t know is that this time, I refuse to let him hide.
To quote an expression I heard a teacher use yesterday, I have Austin’s number now.
Today may’ve begun as just another one of his challenges, but now it is so much more. Licking my lips and tasting orange, I vow that before the day is done, I will know the
Chapter Nineteen
The turbulent waves crash all around me and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t terrified—this seemed like a much safer proposition on shore. After practicing on the sand until I perfected my pop-up, Austin handed me a pair of surfing booties and gloves to keep my extremities warm in the cold winter water. Then, after donning his own booties (he just rolled his eyes when I asked about his gloves), he grabbed the board and guided my prone body to a “calm” stretch of ocean between the breaking waves.
If this is calm, I do not believe I will ever be ready for agitated.
Who would have thought that a God-given ocean could be more frightening than a man-made, death-defying roller coaster?
It is imperative that Austin not see my distress. I want him to think me brave and confident. I want him to be
