Into You Series: The Complete Collection

40. Nia

CHAPTER 40

NIA

I now wonder why I wasted any time not allowing myself to be being completely enraptured by Ian Chambers. Was it my stubborn nature? My pride? Or was it that misunderstandings truly ruin everything?

It’s irrelevant now as the two of us walk away from the reception tent and farther down the beach, Ian’s hand around my waist and me clutching the hem of my dress. I don’t know where we’re going, and we walk for who knows how long. The music from the party dulls, the light from the tiki torches vanishes, and then we’re alone walking down the shore in pitch-black darkness, just as we did a few nights ago.

At some point, Ian’s hand glides lower from my waist to my hip, where he stops and pulls me into him.

I can’t see where we are yet. My eyes are still adjusting, and the loss of one of my senses makes the touch of his wandering hands seem that much more thrilling and electrifying. They run up my sides, trailing the stitching of my dress, following it to my shoulders, where his fingers curl under my dress straps. When he lowers one, I feel the warmth of his lips brush my shoulder. He repeats the motion, making a path from my shoulder up to my neckline. A shiver runs through me.

“Are you cold?” he whispers. The tone is low, rumbling, and though it has a hint of concern, I sense more than that—I sense longing.

“No,” I say breathlessly.

I can feel the mist from the ocean hit the backs of my calves. The rolling tide rushes beneath my heels, and I’m thankful for the relief of the water. With every small kiss, I’m beginning to lose touch with reality. Am I dreaming? Is this just one of my fantasies? Maybe I fell asleep while reading. But no—the surge of water tickling my feet reminds me that the world is still moving. I am most definitely not dreaming.

I place my hands against his button-down, sliding them up to touch his neck. Every kiss planted on me triggers another tick in his jaw, another sharp inhalation of air, and a hum of happiness reverberating from his throat, vibrating my palm.

He’s barely touched me, and I’m already begging for seconds.

“Is this the fabled ‘next time’?” I whisper, running my fingers through his curly hair, letting each lock bounce its way between them. Full, thick, and mine .

“This is whatever you want it to be,” he says between kisses. My legs clench as shocks travel from my stomach down between my thighs.

He lowers my other dress strap and shimmies the top down just enough for me to feel the cool air harden my nipples. He rubs his thumb over one, and nerves radiate out from my chest.

“Dirty talk,” he says.

“What?” I choke out. My nipple, exposed to the breeze, isn’t cold for long before he’s captured it in his mouth, rolling a tongue over it. Desire takes me in waves, and I moan involuntarily, fisting his hair. He chuckles against me and I gasp at his breath.

“How do you feel about it?” he asks.

I am on a beach with a hot-as-hell man—a man who, in every other aspect of his life, just acts upon what he wants. He doesn’t ask questions; he just does . That’s why I like him, and I would expect nothing less now.

“Don’t ask me questions,” I demand. “Just do.”

He snarls deep, immediately turning his attention from my chest and smashing his mouth against mine. I can’t breathe as every one of my nerves is lit aflame. He bites my lower lip, tugging and claiming it for his own.

“Gladly,” he growls.

Both of his hands grip my thighs, forcing me to jump up and wrap my legs around him. My arms clutch the back of his neck for support as he lowers us down to the hardened, damp sand.

His hands rest on either side of my shoulders as his mouth devours mine. His tongue demands entry and I grant it. Our bodies wrestle for power, but we’re both much too stubborn to let the other win.

My hands rise to wander over his chest. I undo each button and trace over his abs as they are slowly revealed. They’re hills, valleys, and peaks rolling across his stomach, shifting with every slight movement. After the last button, his shirt falls open. He leans up to toss it off and I reach for his belt, pulling it out of the loops and letting it dangle against the crotch of his crisp black suit pants. His hardness beneath is begging to be released.

“God, I want you so bad,” he says. My hands start for the zipper, pulling it down. I lower his waistband, revealing him fully, and take him into my hands. He’s large just as I remember—unsurprising given his height—and exciting to hold. I stroke, pumping my hand up and down. My movements cause him to groan and his hips buck toward me.

In one swift movement, he lowers down, rolling over in the sand and centering me on top of him. My dress is up to my hips and he grinds himself against the fabric of my underwear.

“You’re wet,” he says. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness just enough to see the sly nicked eyebrow rising. “Give me your pussy.”

Hell, he can have all of me at this point.

“I believe I promised you something first,” I say. He exhales heavily, running a hand through my hair as I kiss down his stomach to his waist. “Do you want it?”

“Don’t ask me questions.” He flashes a grin. “Just do.”

Even in a moment like this, he can’t help but be sarcastic.

“Shut up,” I snap.

“Make me,” he growls.

With that, I sink lower, wrapping my hand around his cock and licking him before taking all of it in my mouth. He groans, tilting his head back as I whip my tongue across him and suck at his head. His hips jerk again, and I hear the sound of sand shifting under his fingers.

I bob my head, forcing his long length in and out of my mouth. I distantly hear him groan my name, and it only empowers me more. He’s hard as a rock, hard for me —and then it’s taken away, pulled out of my mouth as he pushes my shoulders back.

He sits up, bending at the waist and twisting us once more so my back hits the ground. He hovers over me.

This feels so familiar: his hands on either side of my body, his knees bent to capture me beneath him. Reflected in the moonlight are his bright blue eyes, the same ones that mystify my fantasies.

His fingers ghost down my stomach, lifting the skirt of my dress to my waist. He’s bending down to kiss my chest again, rolling one then two fingers to bypass the fabric of my underwear and curl deep inside me. His entrance is effortless, as I’m already soaked, just waiting for him. I moan, sensations running through all of my body, from my chest to my stomach to my hips.

He’s moving his fingers in and out, pushing against my soft spot, driving me more mad by the second.

He pulls out and I whine while he shifts my own underwear down, lifting my feet through them and throwing them to the side. My ass is bare against the textured sand and he lowers himself to me, teasing the outside of my lips with the head. He lowers to my ear, breathing into me, heaving out the words “I want you” through gritted teeth. He rubs my clit with his thumb, causing me to moan and arch my back into him.

“Hang on,” I whisper. My hands fumble in my dress pockets— thank you Grace for choosing a bridesmaid dress with functionality —and I tug out a condom.

He laughs loud and hearty, taking the silver wrapper from me and rolling it through his hands. “When did you get this, you nasty girl?”

My stomach twists. “After the wedding pictures.” I begged the resort minimart to sell me just the one even though they insisted on the whole box. I instead ran off with the single wrapped one yelling, “Charge my account!” before rejoining the group once more.

“You wanted me to fuck you, didn’t you?” he says, rubbing circles around my clit, causing a moan to escape me. He brings this out in me—this desperation to be touched, the need to be wild, different, to allow myself to lose control.

“Yes,” I whimper.

He removes his hand and I immediately feel lost without it. He digs in the pants that remain limp on the ground beside him and pulls out a silver wrapper identical to mine.

“I came prepared for you too. And, Nia, I want all of you.”

He places one of them down next to my forgotten underwear and takes the other in his teeth, tearing the top off. The condom is rolled down his length slowly before he runs a hand between my legs. He wraps it around the outside of my calf to spread my legs farther apart and scoot me closer to him, sand shifting all around me.

“Fuck.” He exhales, angling in front of me, rubbing the head against the outside of my pussy. He’s requesting entry, teasing me into submission. Little does he know, I’m already a goner. I shift closer, taking him into me the smallest bit. “Fuck,” he repeats, sharper and more desperate.

He pushes in only slightly before pulling back out. I clutch his hips in an effort to drag him deeper, but he resists, forcing me to endure only a taste of him with every thrust, gradually granting me more each time.

Then, all at once, he pushes in, his entire length driving into me as I let out an unrestrained moan. He doesn’t stop me or tell me to quiet. He encourages me, demanding I moan louder as he fills me whole. His hand grips my knee, bending it into his chest, using it to find purchase for his repeated motions.

The nerves in my stomach clench. Every movement against me feels better and better, euphoria striking through me until the sensation spreads from my hips out to my stomach and tingles to my fingertips.

I come before I can even tell him it’s happening. All I say is, “Keep going.”

“Of course,” he says, bending over to place both hands on either side of my head, grounding his palms in the sand as he pounds in and out of me, driving in over and over. My head, barely recovered from the first wave of my orgasm, is already at the edge of losing touch when I clench again, veins lighting up with every roll of the second orgasm coursing through me.

“Ian.” I moan his name and it sends him over. I feel him throbbing inside me, pounding more until he slows to a stop. His breathing is heavy, gasping for air until his eyes open and he stares down at me. He grins, and my heart sinks down, falling against my back, cracking into a million little pieces with the remains melting and pooling around me.

I’m lost to him. This is more than fucking. This is what it feels like to melt into another person, to fall into them, to fall with them.

He kisses my forehead, and it’s gentle yet possessive.

“I like you, Ian,” I whisper.

We pull apart, and looking back at me are those ice blues, sharp yet kind and lusting for one more go—just as I always imagined.