Surviving Us (13 page)

“Inside,” she breathes, her fingers grabbing at hair I don’t have, “I need you inside me.”

Hurriedly, I remove my shorts, retrieving a condom from the side pocket in the process.
Thank god for waterproof
pockets
. My hands trembling with anticipation, I open it and roll it on, then resume my place on my knees between her legs. Bristol lifts her head slightly off the pillow, peering down her body at me, her eyes glazed over with pure, brazen desire.

“You sure about this?” I ask, hoping and praying she says yes.

“Never been more sure about anything.” She reaches down and wraps her petite fingers around my dick, pulling gently to line me up with her slick opening. “Need this . . . need you.”

Completely lost in her, I gradually ease in, soaking up each sweet inch of her tight core until I’m completely buried. Lowering my chest, careful not to crush her, my face hovers directly over hers as I begin to thrust in and out of her, slow and deliberate. Our eyes are locked in on each other—something I
never
do—and my lips seek out hers, needing to taste her once again.

“Need you too,” I mumble against her mouth as my tempo begins to steadily increase.

In and out, out and in, my strokes become frantic as I can’t get enough and I’m getting too much all at once. Her nimble body writhes underneath me, nails digging into my back, ankles hooking around me as we both grow closer and closer to our release.

“Fuck, Davis,” she gasps for air, “I’m gonna—”

She throws her head back and screams out as her inner walls clamp down on my shaft and she unravels into euphoric bliss underneath me. Drowning in her orgasm, she pulls me right along with her, causing me to plunge into her one last time, falling over the edge.

Everything around me gets hazy . . . everything except the sight of Bristol’s face below me, the sated expression in her heavy eyes, and the lazy smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. The
just fucked
look suits my little troublemaker way too well; I may want her to look like this the rest of the trip.

“I’ll be right back; let me grab a washrag,” I whisper as I lean down and tenderly kiss her swollen lips before rolling off of her.

I hurry to the bathroom, throw the condom in the trash, and wet a rag for her, but by the time I return to the bed—in what has to be less than two minutes—she’s passed out in the same position I left her in. Laughing softly, I delicately clean her up and cover her with the blanket, careful not to wake her, and then debate if I should go back to my place or sleep here.

As inviting as the bed looks with her curled up in it, I know I need to leave. Sex is one thing; sleeping together is another. Neither of us needs to get any false hopes about the future. In eleven days, she returns to her life and I go back to my own miserable reality.

With a hopeless sigh, I step into my cold, damp board shorts and quietly let myself out, walking the few feet over to my place, where I lie awake all night long.

THE FIRST NIGHT I WAS
either too tired, too drunk, or maybe a combination of both, to notice it. Yesterday, the fascination of so many ‘firsts’ and spending time with Davis fully captivated my attention. And after its brief appearance at dinner last night, I was too spellbound in the moment of selfish, unadulterated physical pleasure to care about anything else. But this morning, when I awoke, there it was, suffocating me with its presence, reminding me who I am.

Guilt.

A sentence of the spirit I can’t escape no matter what I do.

The enemy I sleep with every night and wake up to every morning.

I lie in bed staring at the white gauzy canopy above me, hoping I don’t have to get up quite yet. Maybe if I sleep a couple more hours, it will go away. Glancing to the side, the clock reads a little after eight and I curse under my breath. I can’t miss breakfast for the second day in a row.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I cringe at the soreness between them as my feet hit the floor. Flashbacks from the night flood my memory and the shame overwhelms me. I shuffle my naked self across the floor, through the bathroom, to the outside shower, turning the cold water on full-blast.

The icy spray pounding down on my head does little to penetrate the stifling remorse I’m suffocating in. Resting my forehead against the rock wall, I give in and allow the tears to flow freely until I’m choking on my sobs—the way I start most of my days.

My guilt doesn’t lie in the fact I had sex with Davis last night, or that he didn’t spend the night with me. Despite the fact we only met a couple of days ago, I actually know more about him and his past than I do most guys I’ve slept with. No, I enjoyed what happened very much, and will most likely do it again . . . many times if the opportunity arises. And it’s probably best if he doesn’t see me in the mornings, at least not until post-sunrise breakdown. After that, I can pretend to the point I actually start believing I’m normal . . . just for a little while.

The fact I’m alive to experience such things as taking trips, having summer flings, going to college, eating delicious food, making new friends, even to fucking breathe is what smothers me to the point I question my own will to live. These are things my parents and the other fifty-seven people in my neighborhood will never again get to experience, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I’m allowed to. Logistically, scientifically, plausibly . . . none of it makes sense. Bottom line is I shouldn’t have lived through that tornado, but somehow I did, and now I get to carry that burden around with me for the rest of my life.

Once I’m out of the shower, I pull a new bikini out of my suitcase, seeing that the one from last night is still wet and wadded up on my floor. I put it on underneath a cute, bright yellow cover-up, then brush my teeth and braid my wet hair into two pigtails. Since I’ll be headed to the beach right after breakfast and morning session, I don’t bother with any makeup; it’ll only sweat off or wash away in the water anyway.

Looking over the schedule of sessions before leaving, I see that my morning will be spent with Alex, and my afternoon with Kayden and Peyton.
Oh, joy!
I scan the rest of the schedule to see when Davis and I will be paired up, and am happy to find we have a one-on-one the morning of Day 5, and afternoon group on Day 11. I have a
good
idea of how I’d like to spend that morning with him . . .

I grab my beach bag, still packed from the day before, and make my way down to the main house for breakfast. There’s no sign of Davis around his cottage, and I’m afraid it’ll be a little overbearing if I stop in to see if he wants to walk with me. I don’t want him to think I’m going to be attached to his hip just because we had sex. I can do casual with the best of them.

The tables are almost all full by the time I walk into the dining room, having stopped off quickly to email Granny and Alyvia to let them know all is going well, and still not saying anything to Lyv about Davis. Ashleigh and Charlotte are sitting together, but there’s not a free chair since they’re with Lynnette and another lady I haven’t met yet. As I stand there perusing the other options in the room, an arm circles around my waist from behind, pulling me into an embrace.

“Good morning, baby girl,” Kayden exclaims cheerfully, pulling on one of my braids.

I turn around in his arm and hug his neck, then take a step back away from him. “Morning, old man. How are you feeling today?” I reply with a smile.

“I’m feeling great, the best I have in years.” He winks. “Are you just getting here, or have you finished eating?”

“Just walked in. I was looking for a place to sit, but it seems there aren’t a lot of options.” I chuckle as I continue to look around.

He too glances around the room. “Where’s your friend from last night? What’s his name . . . David?”

“It’s
Davis
, and I’m right here.” Davis magically appears from behind us, not attempting in the least bit to hide the scowl on his face as he stares at Kayden. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. I’m Davis McKay.” He extends his hand.

Kayden looks down at Davis’ hand and then back up at his face, the awkward tension between them palpable. Thankfully, he shakes his hand and forces on a smile. “Kayden Douglas. It’s nice to meet you, young man.”

Davis takes a step closer to me, his face relaxing once our eyes meet, and leans down to kiss my forehead. “Why didn’t you wait for me to get out of the shower?” he asks, low enough that no one but Kayden and I can hear.

I know exactly what he’s trying to do—and by the grimace on Kayden’s face, it’s working—and though there’s no reason for him to be acting this way, I play along. I won’t make him look stupid in front of anyone.

“I’m sorry, D.” I rest my cheek against his chest. “I’m so hungry after last night I couldn’t wait any longer. I thought I’d grab us a table, but it appears there aren’t any with two chairs.”

Kayden pats my shoulder with his hand, obviously having had enough of the conversation. “Well, you two kids enjoy your breakfast. I’m gonna grab a coffee and head to the business center for a bit. I’ll see you guys down at the beach later. Okay?”

“All right, Kay,” I call out after him, already on his way out. “See you later.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Davis and shake my head, trying to hide the grin threatening to overtake my face. “That wasn’t necessary, you know.”

He takes my hand in his and pulls me towards the buffet line. “It most definitely was, and don’t pretend you didn’t like it.” He flashes me a cocky smirk. “Your eyes don’t lie, Bristol.”

“Oh really?” I roll my eyes overdramatically as I grab a plate. “What are they saying now?”