Page 66 of Country Vows

“I remember. God, I remember.” Desire assaults me at his filthy reminder. I grind harder against him. “Tate,” I whimper. “I’m—I’m so close.”

I’d be embarrassed if the telltale signs of his orgasm weren’t written across his face—jaw slack, deep grunts of satisfaction vibrating up his throat.

He moves us again, this time settling on a rock peeking out of the water, and dropping me on his lap, the evidence of his arousal sitting proudly between us. Tate pumps his hips as he drops his mouth, lightly biting down on my nipple. We move in such a heated frenzy, neither of us realizes he’s slipped between the apex of my thighs until the blunt head of his cock pushes past my bikini bottoms. I gasp when his hot, smooth skin glides through my center, not entering me. Teasing. Toying. Giving me a taste of what my body needs and wants. It drives me wilder. Gone is all inhibition as I match his movements.

“Talia, Talia, Talia. Baby, let me put it in. Just the tip. Anything. I’m dying.”

I shake my head. Partly to deny him what we’re both craving, and mostly because his attention to my breasts and the pressure between my legs is becoming too much. “We can’t. Oh god. We can’t, Tate.”

“Fuck. We are. You are—God, you’re grinding that sweet little cunt over my cock so good, baby. Keep at it.” He ruts up into me, the water sloshing violently with every snap and grunt. “Fuck. You better come now or so help me.”

“Ah, Tate. Shit. Tate!” I explode, neck pulled taut as I throw my head back and cry out with my release.

Tate is quick to follow as he groans into my throat, and god, I feel every pulse as his cum marks me between my thighs before quickly washing away with a swell of water.

The sparks of my orgasm fade, fizzing out, until realization kicks in.

Shit. What have we done?

Our eyes meet.

Unsatisfied desire fills his, his cup only half full.

What does he see in mine? I don’t regret it. Maybe I should. I settle on the fact that this was just a scratch that needed itching.

Except my body tingles, like feathers coasting over my skin.

To his credit, he doesn’t act smug or tease me. He looks toward our belongings. “You must be hungry.”

I’m starved, but for completely other reasons. I don’t know what else to say after I humped my estranged husband. If I make it awkward, he doesn’t show it.

“I could eat.”

Tate keeps a hand on my waist as we trudge through the water, my legs wobbly, and he climbs out first before helping me up onto the ledge. We dry off and change in silence. I feel his gaze on me the entire time, and I steal glimpses as he drags the towel over his sculpted thighs.

Dressed, sated, and thoroughly torn, we unpack the Tupperware of sandwiches and sliced watermelon he prepared. We sit side by side on our towels, basking in the sun. Something warm trickles in my chest when I see he’s cut my sandwiches into squares and his into triangles. It’s ridiculous to tear up over a sandwich, yet here I am.

Tate’s shoulders collapse when he sees my expression. “Don’t overthink it.”

Too late, though he isn’t just talking about the sandwiches. “That can’t happen again, not until…”

“Until you decide if we’re worth saving.” His eyes cut to the still, opulent water, a mirror reflecting the bright green and blue above.

“I do think we’re worth saving.” Surprise flickers on his face. “You’re my entire world, Tate. That hasn’t changed. But we’re not the same people, and I think we need to stop pretending we are.”

He inhales sharply. “I’ve never pretended. Not once with you. Everything I said and am saying now is the truth.” He drops his sandwich into the container and rises to his knees in front of me. “You never watched my shows, did you?”

My mouth twists. “I couldn’t. Seeing you, it was too painful.”

“I’m not mad about that. I get it. But if you’d watched any of my live performances in the past year, you would’ve seen that I took you with me wherever I went.” I look at his bare wrist, his watch at home. It’s too old and not water-resistant. “No. Not that. Not even my ring. The watch is a reminder of what I’ve got to lose: a lifetime.” He taps my nose, with purpose this time, our eyes locked. “I started doing it to myself during rehearsals. Didn’t even know I was doing it until a sound tech asked if I had something on my nose.” He huffs a laugh. “Don’t you get it? You are embedded in my brain, Tally Girl. There’s no shaking you if I tried. So don’t overthink the sandwiches, our little gesture, or even what we did in the water. That isn’t us pretending. That is us.”

He takes my left hand. “I think I’m the only genuine one here, because this hand is still bare, but you look at me like I’m your husband and scream my name like I’m the only man that’s ever been between your legs.”

Want to see the NSFW artwork of Tate and Talia at the waterfall?

TWENTY-SIX