Then it’s just us, walking along the shore path in the moonlight.
“Thank you,” Muir says quietly.
“For what?”
“For letting them see us. For singing. For,” he stops, “for giving me this.”
I take his hand. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“The sandbar.”
His fingers tighten on mine. “Cora?—”
“It’s been a while,” is all I say.
We stop by my house long enough to grab a beach blanket. Then we take the water taxi across the dark lake, the motor purring softly, the moon painting everything silver.
The sandbar rises from the water like an island, a shallow shelf of soft sand surrounded by deep water on all sides. Private. Perfect.
I spread the blanket on the sand where the water just laps at the edges. The night is warm, the air soft against my skin. Muir stands at the edge of the blanket, watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Come here,” I say.
He does.
His mouth finds mine in a kiss that starts gentle and deepens into something desperate. His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and I open for him. He tastes like lake water and smoke from the bonfire and something that’s purely him.
We sink onto the blanket together, his weight pressing me into the soft sand beneath. Every point of contact, his chest against mine, his hips settling between my thighs, the hard length of him already straining against his shorts.
“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against my neck. “God, Cora, I’ve missed this.”
“Show me,” I say. “Show me how much.”
His hands find the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. My swimsuit top follows. The moonlight paints my skin silver, and he looks at me like I’m something sacred.
He lowers his mouth to my breast, tongue circling my nipple until I arch up with a gasp. His hand slides down my stomach, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts. When he finds me, already wet, already aching, he groans against my skin.
“Please,” I whisper. “Muir, please?—”
He strips my shorts and swimsuit bottoms away, then his own clothes. The moonlight catches on the planes of his body, the corded muscles of his shoulders, the lean strength of his torso, the hard length of his cock jutting toward me.
I reach for him, wrapping my hand around him, and he shudders. “If you keep doing that, this will be over before it starts.”
“Then don’t make me wait.”
He positions himself at my entrance, the head of his cock pressing against me. Our eyes lock. Then he pushes inside in one long, slow thrust that makes us both cry out.
The stretch of him filling me, the weight of him inside me, the perfect friction as he seats himself fully. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he drops his forehead to mine.
“Okay?” he asks, his voice strained.
“More than okay. Move. Please move.”
He does. Long, deep strokes that make me see stars. The blanket shifts beneath us, sand mixing with the water at the edges, creating texture against my back. His breathing is harsh in my ear, his body slick with sweat despite the cool night air.
I run my hands down his back, the flex of muscle as he thrusts. My nails dig into his shoulders when he hits something deep inside me that makes my vision blur.