Boneyard Beach (An Erotic Romance)

Introduction

He stopped in the sand, his face turned downwards to mine. His hand slipped up my back to cradle my neck, forcing my face to his. His breath, slow and deliberate on my skin, warmed me as he lowered his lips to mine. The smell of the beach, Hawaiian Tropic and lust weighed heavily in my nostrils. I dropped deeper and deeper into his trance. With our lips pressed hard against one another, his tongue darted out, forcing his way past my guard. I couldn’t help it. The flush, tingly feeling crept up my spine and now flooded my arms and legs, I felt almost lethargic. Yet his strong arms and steady embrace held me close to him, providing the security I needed to allow myself to acquiesce to him. I was his, his for the taking. I was simply powerless to guard against his desires.

I was lying on the sand, digging the meticulously painted toes of my right foot into the sand as I bent my knee slightly. His strong hand clutched my waist while his mouth gently worshipped my skin as he kissed his way across the tops of my breasts. My inner slut begged him to rip off my top so I could feel his lips on every inch of my body.

I gazed up at the moon while the curls of his hair brushed lightly under my chin. I fought the urge to spread my legs and invite him inside. His slow deliberate pace kept my passion just in front of his actions, making my body ache, urge, encourage, downright beg for his touch. His fingers slipped inside my bathing suit bottom, and slowly pulled them down over my hips. The stars above my head seemed to move in unison, deepening my trance as they all swirled together. My mind struggled to follow my body, to mentally record each of his movements, but it was a losing battle. I fell into a complete state of jello beneath him.

Independent of thought now, my hips rose to meet his fingers. I was desperate for more of his touch. And even as I tried to rush the moment, he pulled away, confirming that he was indeed in charge, and he would move this along at his pace. He was savoring every moment of the encounter as though he were a maestro and each flick of his hand delivered power and emotion.

His knee gently pushed mine aside as he rolled over on top of me. Holding himself up, he resumed kissing my face: all of it. His warm lips brushed over my eyelids as his breath matched mine. A crescendo of emotions fit perfectly with his touch. Yet each act seemed to meet or exceed my expectation.

His soft smooth skin felt hot to the touch as I slid my hands over his broad shoulders. The muscles seemed to ripple under my fingertips as I slid down to his waist. I pulled him into me, feeling the weight of his body pressing against me as he continued to kiss me deeply. It all seemed like it was both in slow motion and at the speed of light.

I felt his desire for me in each kiss, as well as the hard lump between the muscular thighs. My fingers struggled with his waistband, I pulled and pushed on his shorts but my arms weren’t long enough to get them past his muscular thighs. Sensing my frustration, he carefully balanced himself above me on one arm and slid his shorts down, never breaking the powerful kiss we enjoyed. The warmth of his skin mingled with the damp feeling between my legs. The knot within my stomach traveled to my throat. I tried to open my eyes as he pushed inside me but the raging fire of pain clinched them shut. Once past my virginal wall, he stayed still within me, allowing the pain to subside. Slowly he began to move again, instantly warming me with the slow, gentle burn I now yearned for. His motions were deliberate as he sank deeper inside, his hips once again touched mine. Slow, gentle movements allowed me to catch my breath as he finally broke our kiss. I forced my eyes open as he stared into my soul with the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. The moonlight behind him, highlighting his bouncing brown curls seemed almost majestic as our bodies moved together in perfect synchronicity. Everything seemed to fit together perfectly, and my body exploded with one orgasm after another, each better than the one before.

And then it happened. He slammed into me hard and deep as I felt this incredible flood of warmth spread through my hips, across my torso, down each leg and out each arm. Every finger and toe seemed to sizzle with electric current as the feeling of fulfillment spread throughout my entire body. He dipped his head beside mine, his young beard scraped my cheek softly as he exhaled an incredible moan of satisfaction.

Finally he rolled over onto his back, pulling me into him with his arm around my neck. I slipped my leg over his and watched him breathe. Funny how quickly our breaths resumed our rhythm. We laid there for what seemed like hours as I closed my eyes and replayed the events in my mind. If it were not for the waves now lapping at our feet, we probably wouldn’t have heard our friends calling our names from down the beach.

Chapter 1

I can remember in vivid detail the exact moment I knew my goose was cooked. The miniscule second of my life, when my very being was shattered beyond repair, came on June 2nd, 2009. It’d been one of those days when your soul anxiously screams for you to beware at every turn; like the way tiny hairs will prickle on your neck just before a devastating storm. The sheer sense of foreboding had come upon me in the wee hours of the morning, just before I showered and drank my first cup of coffee of the day. That feeling had continued through lunch with my partner at a small pub near Wall Street. The constant weight of something ominous in my immediate future held me down all day, instilling in me a version of paranoia I found unsettling.

We sat at an outside table of one of the cafés on our beat. My longtime partner, Tanner, was having coffee while I was busy clouding my iced tea with as many sugar packets as I could get my hands on. Already there was a small stack of the open paper packets on the table in front of me. Sweet tea was something I had long decided I couldn’t live without, and for the life of me I didn’t understand why it was only a Southern trend. As the raucous sounds of New York’s financial district came to life around us, my mind began to shut itself down to all my surroundings. The taste of sweet tea took me back to South Carolina, back to ‘The Night’ at the beach with Nick Talbot.

I can see the group as clearly in my mind as though they were lounging on the beach in front of me now. Teenagers, all of us, had secured enough beer and wine coolers to last us through our camping adventure on the small uninhabited island in Bull’s Bay. We’d all piled into Nick’s small Boston Whaler after carefully repeating the lie regarding our whereabouts for the night to our parents. We were just ten teenagers, of various backgrounds, relishing in temporary freedom. Our meager group included Merina, the flouncy blonde cheerleader from the wrong side of town, Bobby, the son of Nick’s housekeeper, and my sister and I. It wasn’t long before my head had begun spinning from the excess of beer and shots of Southern Comfort being passed around. Of course, I had a mighty protector for the evening in Nick Talbot. My sister already had her tongue as far down the throat of high school football sensation Morris Stevens as she could, but Nick was steadfast by my side.

Nick was the typical Charleston boy, always managing to carry the scent of pluff mud with him wherever he went. I’d spent almost every summer of my youth with him, when every respectable Charlestonian escaped to the tiny island off the coast. But that last summer was different. He’d been attentive to all my whims, laughed at my feeble jokes, and flirted endlessly. Our relationship had changed dramatically somehow. But I’d been tipsy, quite tipsy in fact, and he had changed into my own version of a modern God. Tanned, muscular, and topped with disorderly dark brown curls. I’d suddenly found myself to be nothing more than a wanton slut. When he’d invited me to walk down the beach with him, I took his hand and his direction without question.

The memory of that night burned inside me now; especially Nick’s face above mine, his blue eyes searching my every move for approval. He’d been so careful with me; utterly tender as he undressed me on the beach. Our lips met with an almost electric charge as we lowered onto the thin blanket he’d carried down the beach with him. I was a virgin. I told him so, yet somehow we seemed to get lost in our touches. Our bodies intertwined with a passion, closeness, an anxiety that has never repeated itself again in my lackluster life.

Jen? Tanner studied me across the table, Jenna!

The sensation of being quickly transported a thousand miles came over me and suddenly I was no longer on the South Carolina beach. I was in the midst of New York City with my partner staring at me. My head spun from the momentary transportation.

What? I answered quickly, trying to hide the fact that my mind had been in South Carolina and not on a plastic chair outside a New York pub.

Nothing. We’d better get moving before the natives get restless. Tanner stood up and dropped a wad of dollar bills on the small plastic table. Jenna, you sure you’re okay? You look a little, I dunno, flustered this morning. You and Mikey have a wild night?

I shook my head vaguely as I stood to follow him, No, nothing like that. It’d been far too long since Mikey and I had had any wild nights.

As a matter of fact, not a single one of my relationships had ever proved even remotely interesting to me, certainly not worth remembering. By some strange act of God, my first night of lovemaking was nothing short of incredible; a life changing event that simply couldn’t be topped. Funny, I’d always heard that the first time would be nothing to write home about, yet Nick Talbot had opened that door for me in a way that had changed my life forever. That door was so elaborate and grand, so well protected by my frequent dreams that no one else could pass through. It didn’t really matter, as that door had slammed at the end of that summer. I’d gone back to New Jersey, as I did each year, and ‘The Night’ with Nick went with me, forever held in my mind as the trophy that no other man could win.

It hadn’t been long before I heard, via my sister, that Nick had moved on and was sharing a bed with Merina… the cheerleader. That particular piece of gossip chipped away at my soul. That magical night had been so one sided. I was still basking in the dream of his body on top of mine, but he had quickly dismissed me and moved on. I’d been hurt. The thing that I heard regarding Nick was less than a year later, that his parents split up and he’d moved to their ‘Plantation home’ with his father. According to my sister, Nick had very much dropped off the social planet.

Jenna, you seriously need a vacation, girl, Tanner droned on as we pushed our way through the non-stop city towards the police station. I ignored his comments but sent a glare his way to indicate that the discussion about my mental well being was over. Tanner had been my partner on the NYPD for the past few years, so he understood my need to drop the subject. Nevertheless Jenna, this shit will get to you after a while. When’s the last time you visited your Mom?

Mmm… I dunno. It’s been a while. I hung my jacket in my locker and holstered my gun into it’s off duty position around my chest. I just need some sleep that’s all. I wiped my eyes with my fingers and pulled my hair into a fresh ponytail. Tanner’s a great guy, and I appreciate his friendship and solid professionalism without a hitch, but I had no way to explain how I felt today without facing the fact that I would sound like a lunatic.

Alright. Well, guess I’ll see you Saturday night at the party, huh?

Yep! See you there. I smiled forcibly and walked out of the locker room. That had to be it; Saturday was my thirtieth birthday, and although I hadn’t been aware that leaving my roaring twenties behind me would be so depressing, it most certainly was. In truth, they hadn’t been that roaring at all.

The affects of 9/11 had marred me as it had so many other people in the tri-state area, and against the advice of my father I’d enrolled as soon as I could in the police academy. At the time, he and his cronies from the fire department were exhausted and too engrossed in the remains of the Twin Towers to fight me about it. Later, when they were more rested and beginning to show the more outward signs of the damage that inflicted itself upon them in that tragic rubble, they would become more vocal about my choice of careers. But I’d been happy with my decision to protect the mightiest city in the world. I had ‘rose colored’ dreams of saving New York one homeless waif at a time. Now I felt that the world had beaten me into submission. The things I’d seen, felt, and experienced in the city had robbed me of my very persona; I no longer knew who I was or what path my life was taking. If the world itself was considered a puzzle, then I was most definitely the missing piece. That’s how I felt; unplugged, as though someone, something was missing. Rumors swirled among my father’s group of retired firefighters that Mikey was going to pop the question tomorrow at my thirtieth birthday party, and even that somehow filled me with a sense of dread.

Chapter 2

Michael Garibaldi had stumbled into me on Canal Street early one morning five years ago spilling his expensive latte onto my polished and glistening leather shoes. That may have been the first time I understood that Italian men need not have dark hair, dark eyes and souls carefully guarded by their mothers. No, Mikey was a complete juxtaposition to everything I assumed Italian men were. His blonde hair was upright, stiffened with various mousses and sprays, standing on top of his head as though an electrical current was holding it in place. I found it utterly fascinating how a man would spend so much time primping. He was charming to a painful degree, so his idiosyncrasies were easily overlooked. His body was compact yet muscular, and his ability to make everyone he encountered feel as if they were the most delightful person he’d ever met was downright enchanting. He not only owned a popular restaurant, but also maintained countless rental properties in the tiny little neighborhood of Little Italy. My first impression of him had been that he was a player until I realized a restaurateur’s chief profession was to be charming and delightful at all times. He’d managed to incorporate his restaurant persona into a part of himself.

Days and weeks had gone by chatting with him outside his exquisite restaurant before he even asked me out. From then on we’d been together, though I sometimes teased him that he’d be just as easily intrigued by a cardboard box as he was with me. He never once failed to reassure me that I was by far the most interesting, most uniquely beautiful woman he’d ever known; I was his Princess. In all honesty, he made me feel like his Princess whenever we had the opportunity to be together. He hailed cabs for me with a distinct domination that caused even the burliest of cab drivers to slam on their brakes at my feet. Routinely I was used as the guinea pig for recipes that sometimes made their way to the fine tables of his Manhattan restaurant. Romantic evenings in the kitchen of the small New Jersey apartment we shared always included the finest