When We Are Enough (Valiant Hearts #1)

27. Emmy

Chapter 27

Emmy

T he wind picks up, the first real gusts of the approaching hurricane whipping sand around our feet, the blast of it sandpapering my bare soles. Patrick’s pace is quick, almost urgent, and I have to jog a little to keep up with him as we continue away from the party.

“What’s going on?” My voice is barely audible over the rising wind.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just keeps walking until we’re far enough from the bonfire that the music is a distant hum and darkness wraps around us. Finally, he stops and turns to face me.

“Ethan’s trouble.” His voice is tight, rolling through the wide of his chest. “I don’t want you near him. He’s already leading my brother down a bad path. I don’t want him getting his hands on you, getting the wrong idea.”

Searching the intense blue of his gaze. “I can take care of myself. And we were just dancing, having fun. Besides, I thought we were keeping us a secret. You made a scene back there that I’m pretty sure half the party noticed.”

There’s no anger in my voice, just curiosity about the big dark things that hide behind his eyes, all the things he can’t talk about .

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to our still-clasped hands. “They won’t think twice about anything that happens between me and Ethan. We haven’t been real friends for a long time...” He trails off, his fingers tightening around mine in a way that feels right.

Then the wind screams. I shiver, and Patrick pulls off his olive bomber jacket and wraps it around me. He takes my hand again and pulls me closer to the shore, where we take a seat on the damp sand, watching the intense power of the waves as they smash into the black of the sand, exploding bombs of white that drown out the distant music.

For a long time, Patrick just sits there, staring out at the tumultuous sea. His gaze is fixed on the point where the waves crash and churn, each one breaking with relentless power. The wind is a living thing, grasping and pinching and blasting, making Patrick’s dark hair whip across his forehead, although he remains perfectly still. A muscle in his neck twitches, but he absorbs the raw energy of the ocean with an almost meditative focus as salty spray from the waves mists the frigid air.

“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day,” he finally says, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he turns to face me, everything with Ethan seemingly forgotten. If it’s possible, he’s even more beautiful in the darkness, some of the rough edges of what lies behind his eyes smoothed over.

His fingers spear through my hair, pulling my face closer to the softness of his mouth. We kiss, wet and deep and greedy, his cold hands sliding under the borrowed sweater, finding my hips. He pulls me onto his lap to straddle him like I weigh nothing.

He’s already hard, and he leans back on the sand as we kiss, muscles tensing as he grinds against me, letting me know just how much he wants me. Rain hits us, the sound of the waves growing louder as he slides his hands up to cup my breasts, taking the weight of them as he groans.

“Reckon you can get those jeans off?”

“I’m up for the challenge,” I say, glancing up briefly at the bonfire in the distance. We’re still alone.

I slide off him and wiggle out of the jeans, gooseflesh breaking out across the skin on my thighs. I’m wearing just panties below the sweater and his jacket. Patrick’s kissing me again, rolling on top of me, my legs spread wide for the thick of his thighs. My hands explore the hard planes of his chest, sliding down to the edge of his jeans as we share a long kiss that leaves us both breathless.

“What’s this?” There’s something square, hard, attached to his belt.

“Two-way radio,” he replies, breathing hot on my cheek. “In case they need me.”

He moves his way down, sucking and kissing the skin on my neck and chest left exposed by the sweater’s plunging neckline, his stubbled skin leaving mine raw and wanting, my head falling back against the sand.

“Do you want me?” His voice is husky with desire. His fingers grip the outside of my bare thighs.

“Yes. God, yes.” I pull him to me, capturing his lips with mine once more, pressing the soaking heat of my core against him.

Patrick breaks from the kiss, kneeling between my legs in the sand. His eyes glint darkly under the moonlight before he slowly peels off my panties, leaving me bare to him. It’s dark, and I let my guard down. But I shouldn’t have.

“What is that?” He leans down, looking at the inner part of my thigh, the moment suddenly pulling taut.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, snapping my legs closed. “I had a small surgery when I was younger. Please don’t look at it. It’s so ugly.”

The lie rolls off my tongue, smooth and practiced, and Patrick’s so caught up in the moment he just nods, slowly working my legs back open.

“I won’t look, I promise. ”

He groans deeply as he strokes a single finger over me, eyes taking me in. His wicked fingers continue their dance, alternating between gentle circles around my clit and dipping deep inside me.

He believed me. It’s okay. My eyes close, losing myself in the moment once more.

Pleasure roars through me, every nerve ending sparking like a live wire as he lowers his greedy mouth to my wetness. The beach, the bonfire, fades away, there’s just me, the movement of his mouth, his roughened fingers.

He devours me, holding my legs wide open, his tongue and fingers working me, thrusting, sucking, licking, bringing me close until I’m begging to come, and he keeps going, the world shattering into a million pieces, then a million more. He pins my bucking hips until I still, before flipping me over.

My cheek and chest are pressed against the austere cold of the sand, one of his hands raising my hips up, readying my slick want for him. His belt loosens, a foil packet torn with teeth. Then his cock fills me with one swift movement as he takes me from behind. He’s fully sheathed within me, filling me completely, groaning as the wind steals the sound from lips that glisten with my wetness.

Patrick holds still for a moment, letting me adjust to him before he starts moving slowly then faster, gradually building up a steady rhythm in time with the crashing waves. There’s sand and salt spray and none of it matters except him filling me, thrusting deeper. I don’t want him, I need him.

His name is on my lips as his hands grip my waist, bruising. My fingers dig into the sand as I push back against him, getting up on all fours, moving in time with him. A hand snakes around me and he’s stroking me right there . Stars explode behind my closed eyes as I come undone, both of us breaking apart together. He pulses inside me as he empties.

Leaning down, pushing up the too big jacket, the borrowed sweater, he places a tender kiss on my lower back, before slowly pulling out. We shrug back into our clothes and lay there together, staring up at the moody, feral sky, the light rain continuing until we’re soaked and shivering and we don’t even care.

The storm suddenly intensifies, the roaring wind whipping the sand into frenzied swirls. Someone near the bonfire screams in mock fright, and then, as if on cue, the heavens open and it’s pouring rain, sheets of water drenching us in seconds.

“Come on!” Patrick shouts over the din, grabbing my hand, a wild grin on his face.

We take off running through the dark, the rain coming down so hard it’s almost blinding. The beach is chaos as everyone scrambles to pack up and head for cover, the bonfire doused, reduced to half burned wood and cooling coals.

Nora and Liam find us in the rain and dark, Patrick and I letting go of one another, and their faces are alight with the thrill of the suddenness of the storm. Nora gives us a brief look that makes me feel like she’s suspicious about what and where we’ve just been, but despite her warning earlier, it’s almost like she’s happy to see us together, both smiling, both filled with something that transcends joy. It’s life. It’s living.

“Let’s go!” Nora yells, the ankle boots I was wearing already tucked under one arm, her voice barely audible over the roar of the wind and rain. Together, we all run back through the driving rain, our laughter drowning in the sound of the storm.

The cold of the rain hits my skin, a thousand tiny needles, but Patrick’s hand is warm and strong against my back, guiding me through the darkness and empty streets, and everything feels just like it should. I can barely see twenty yards ahead, but his presence beside me is a solid, reassuring anchor.

We finally reach Granny Sloane’s house, the familiar pale blue structure standing solid against the onslaught. My breath comes in ragged gasps, but my heart is light. Nora and Liam are standing under Ruby’s porch, and Nora waves goodbye before they duck inside, slamming the door shut against the wind.

Patrick checks the sandbags in front of his mom’s place, before pointing to Granny Sloane’s house and we run up the neat path together, splashing through puddles as the heavens continue their downpour.

If this is what nothing serious feels like with Patrick, I’m not sure I can handle anything more. This is perfect. Better than perfect.