Page 44 of Sand in My Boots

His finger traces the outline of my chin. “I’ll suck it up for you, angel.”

I let the use of angel slide, focused on the fact of what he’s sacrificing.

“But why?” I ask the same question for a different reason.

“So you can say you’ve had sex on a deserted island. An adventure to take home with you.”

My lady parts cheer. And as much as that sounds like a story I definitely need, the reality seems harsher.

My nose scrunches up. “There will be sand in places.”

“I brought blankets and towels. We’ll do our best. Or we don’t have to. We can wait until we get back to my house. I’ve got a bed. Sand-free.” He’s definitely more amenable to that suggestion. But since we’re here, and he went to all this trouble, and he’s making a huge compromise, I can’t not.

“You seriously want to do this?” I give him one last out, hoping with everything he doesn’t use it.

“I’d only ever do this with you, but yeah. Let’s get naked and do it on the sand.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Chapter 12

Cameron

I’ve had some good ideas in the past.

Persuading Juli to give in to our teenage urges that one night? Best decision ever.

Convincing her—and myself—sex on the sand would be fun? Epic failure.

She wasn’t kidding about the “sand in places.” To her credit, she’s holding it together pretty well, not letting on how much it’s bothering her.

Me? Not so much.

I tried to get most of it off with a dip in the ocean, but yeah. Should have stuck with a place way less natural.

The ride back to the marina seems to take forever. Every time I move, the sand shifts. I don’t know how I’m going to completely rid myself of it, even at home in the confines of my shower.

What the hell was I thinking?

The answer to that is I wasn’t.

Because I wanted her alone. As if we weren’t alone in her hotel room or my house.

I wanted her to have a story. Accomplished that, though I’m not sure who she’ll share this with.

I thought it would be romantic. It’s anything but.

At lunch yesterday, she offhandedly mentioned something some characters did in a book she once read. It sparked an idea. Should have left it up to the fictional characters.

By the time we’re saying goodbye to Axel, it’s all I can do not to make a run for my car. I cringe at what running would actually do to make this worse.

I feel it with every step, rubbing against the shorts, but more severe, it made its way into my ass crack. And I can’t deal.

“Remember when I told you you could trust me? Kinda thinking I lied.”

I had to be the hero, didn’t I? Prove a little sand wouldn’t hurt me. What have I proved? Not to make any rash decisions.

And be more annoyed with sand.