Rogue Wave by Isabel Jolie (reading eggs books txt) 📕

The tips of my fingers skimmed along the waistband of his board shorts, to the tip of his erection, peeking out from the top, and my thumb rubbed over the soft flesh, circling the pre-cum, and he tilted his head back to the ceiling. “Fuck.”

When he lowered his head, his gaze found mine, and my skin lit under his inspection. His palms slammed against the wall on either side of my head, and his biceps bulged as he pushed against the immovable object.

He groaned, a twisted sound of agony and frustration, and moved away so quickly it took seconds to register why cool air surrounded my nipples. My back was pressed against the wall for support, my top around my waist, my legs shaky beneath me.

“You are too fucking young,” he shouted, his bare back to me.

“I’m twenty-two. We aren’t doing anything wrong here,” I argued to his back, matching his tenor, defiant. Somehow, deep down, I knew he needed this, more than I wanted it. He’d been ripped into somehow along the way. He needed to not be so alone. Even if all I could give him was a physical connection, it would be good for him. I didn’t pose a risk to him; I wouldn’t break his heart. No, I could make his world better. “What are you afraid of? It’s just sex.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Sex is natural.” I said the words my mom had used when she’d first handed over a box of condoms.

“What do you want?” he asked, his back to me.

“I’m not looking for forever, if that’s what you’re worried about.” I could only guess at what his issues were, his fears. Maybe he figured a young girl like me would aim for marriage. But he didn’t know me, or what I’d been through. I definitely knew some girls in college with sights on marriage. But I’d say most of the girls my age, they might want a boyfriend, but they weren’t thinking about marriage. Hell, for a relationship averse guy, a twenty-something girl should be a dream.

He dropped his hands to the back of a nearby kitchen chair. He gripped the wood so hard the skin on his fingers whitened. I watched him and waited. I pulled my top up over my breasts as he deliberated. I awaited the verdict.

Finally, his words slower, calmer, measured, he asked, “Shouldn’t I take you out on a date? I don’t want to treat you like…” His words trailed off.

I cautiously approached with silent steps, the way you would approach a wild animal, expecting it to flee or possibly attack at any moment. The pads of my fingers lightly touched his back, and he dropped his head forward. With measured strokes, I kneaded the muscles along his back and across his sinewy shoulders.

“It doesn’t have to be anything. Or it can be something. We’re simply doing what feels good.”

“And you’re okay with that? I could be gone next month.”

“I have zero expectations.” And I didn’t. Sensation, experience, sexual release, these were the things I wanted. There were no reasons to fixate on what anything meant or where it would go. Tate was the most gorgeous guy I’d ever come across. He was older, worldly, and experienced, traits that made him even sexier.

“Luna, it’s been a long time for me. Once we start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop. Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve wanted you since I first saw you. I like sex. I don’t understand your hesitation. I like that you’re older. Experienced.”

His back lengthened as he stood straight. My arms dropped to my side as he twisted around. His striking aqua blues met mine with a frisson of anticipation.

“Upstairs.”

Chapter 13

Tate

I followed her up, determined. Agitated. Needy. Angry. She flounced around, barely dressed. In front of a man who’d spent far too long in the bowels of a ship.

About mid-flight, guilt caught up to my libido. My gaze remained glued to the sway of her hips as she stepped up each narrow, high wooden stair. She seemed like the type of girl who believed in fairy tales. The type who would want the fairy tale.

She was too young, too naïve, too optimistic. No matter what she said, she probably believed something good could come out of this. I told myself all these things, but when she led me to my bedroom, with the sunlight pouring through the open windows unencumbered, I let my need win out.

“Clothes. Off,” I commanded.

Without ever breaking her gaze, she unsnapped the back of her bikini bra and let it fall to the floor, revealing youthful, perky breasts, snow-white skin, and dusty pink nipples. Acting the part of a seductress, her fingers unsnapped the buttons on her short shorts. She wiggled her hips ever so slightly. The denim fell to the floor, cascading down her shapely, lean thighs, in a heap by her ankles. Her thumbs hooked the sides of her bikini bottoms, and she ran her tongue over her bottom lip as she leaned forward, wiggled, and let her bikini join her shorts in a pool at her feet. Her tan skin contrasted with the velvety whiteness of her unblemished triangle, leading to a small, closely trimmed patch of dark blonde hair.

She stood before me, stunning, open, and asking for me to take her any way I wanted. My cock pressed against the waistband of my board shorts, painfully erect, eager. It had been years, years since I’d felt desire, much less acted on it. I considered having her drop to her knees and take me in her mouth. But the desire to explore her exquisite, smooth, unblemished skin won out.

“Lie down on the bed.”

Like a good, obedient girl, she did as I commanded, never breaking her gaze from mine. She lay back on the bed, situating herself in the middle, her back against the pillows I’d tossed against the headboard. She raised one leg demurely, partially covering the triangle I had every intention of