One Shot Wonders Part 2

Flames of desire pt 1

The last log collapsed into the embers, sending a shower of orange sparks spiraling up into the inky black sky. A silence, deep and expectant, settled over the beach, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves and the faint, distant echo of our friends' laughter as they disappeared down the boardwalk.

It was just us.

Allie and I had successfully avoided being alone together for the entire summer, a delicate dance orchestrated by our respective best friends, who were now blissfully coupled up and presumably halfway back to their apartment. The charade was over.

I kept my eyes on the dying fire, feeling the heat on my knees. Don’t look at her. Just don’t.

“Well,” her voice was a low, smooth contrast to the crackling embers. “This is awkward.”

I finally chanced a glance. The firelight painted her face in flickering gold and shadow, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw, the full curve of her mouth. She was staring into the flames, her arms wrapped around her knees.

“Only if we make it awkward,” I said, my voice coming out rougher than I intended.

She snorted, a soft, unladylike sound I’d always found irritatingly endearing. “Right. Because every conversation we’ve ever had has been a pinnacle of effortless charm, Jazon.”

“We’ve had our moments.” I poked at a log with a stick, avoiding her gaze again. The tension between us was a physical thing, a thick, hot wire pulled taut across the few feet of sand that separated us. It had always been this way, a constant, charged competition of barbs and wit. But tonight, it felt different. It felt… heavy.

“Name one,” she challenged, turning her head to look directly at me. Her eyes, usually sparkling with defiance, looked older in the dim light. Softer.

I met her gaze. “The debate in senior year. You were right about the economic policy. I just couldn’t admit it.”

She blinked, clearly surprised. A slow smile touched her lips. “I remember. You were so mad you kicked a trash can on the way out of the auditorium.”

“It was a very satisfying kick.”

We lapsed into silence again, but it was different now. The animosity had evaporated, leaving behind something raw and unnerving. The air hummed with all the things we’d never said.

“Why do we do this?” she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Why is it always a fight with us?”

I tossed the stick into the fire. “I don’t know. Maybe because it’s easier than the alternative.”

“And what’s the alternative, Jazon?”

The question hung in the air between us, dangerous and inviting. I looked at her—really looked at her. At the way a stray strand of hair curled against her neck. At the faint smudge of charcoal on her wrist. At the pulse beating a rapid rhythm at the base of her throat. My God, she’s beautiful. The thought was so sudden, so absolute, it stole my breath.

I didn’t answer with words. I just moved. I closed the distance between us in two strides and knelt in the sand before her. Her eyes went wide, but she didn’t pull back. Her breath hitched, a tiny, sharp intake of air that was louder than the ocean.

Slowly, giving her every chance to retreat, I reached out and brushed that stray strand of hair from her neck. My fingertips grazed her skin, and she shuddered. So soft. So warm.

“This,” I murmured, my voice husky. “The alternative is this.”

Her lips parted. I could see the war in her eyes—a lifetime of arguing clashing with the undeniable pull of this moment. And then, something in her surrendered. Her gaze dropped to my mouth.

It was all the permission I needed.

I closed the final inch between us.

The first touch was electric. A soft, tentative press of lips that exploded into a cascade of sensation. It wasn’t a fight. It was a surrender. Her mouth was incredibly soft, yielding under mine, and she tasted of cheap wine and something sweet, like the strawberries we’d eaten earlier.

My hand slid from her neck into her hair, tangling in the thick strands. A low moan escaped her, vibrating against my mouth, and it was the most erotic sound I’d ever heard. I deepened the kiss, my tongue tracing the seam of her lips, and she opened for me without hesitation.

This. This was what all the arguing had been about. All that friction, that tension—it was just stored energy, waiting for this exact moment to be set free. It was a conversation more honest than any we’d ever had.

Her hands came up, not to push me away, but to clutch at the front of my shirt, her fingers twisting into the fabric as if she were afraid I’d vanish. I broke the kiss, both of us gasping for air, our foreheads resting together.

“Allie…” I breathed her name like a prayer.

“Shut up, Jazon,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Don’t talk. Just… don’t stop.”

She surged forward and captured my mouth again, this kiss hotter, hungrier. Her hands slid from my shirt up to my shoulders, then into my hair, pulling me closer. The careful control I’d been clinging to snapped.

I lowered her back onto the soft bed of her discarded sweater, the sand cool beneath it. I followed her down, bracing my weight on my arms as I settled over her, never breaking the kiss. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the heat radiating from her body beneath me.

My lips left her mouth to trail down the line of her jaw, to the frantic pulse in her throat. I pressed my mouth there, feeling her life beat against my lips, and she arched her back with a broken sigh. Her fingers dug into my shoulders.

“Jazon,” she gasped. “Your hands…”

I hadn’t even realized I’d done it. My hand had slid under the hem of her top, my palm flat against the smooth, warm skin of her stomach. I froze, waiting for her to tell me to stop.

Instead, she squirmed, pressing her abdomen closer to my touch. More.

Emboldened, I let my hand slide higher, my thumb brushing the underwire of her bra. She inhaled sharply. I kissed my way back to her mouth, swallowing her little gasps and moans. My fingers found the clasp at the back of her top, a simple hook-and-eye closure.

I fumbled for a second, the simple mechanism suddenly complex. She let out a breathy, impatient sound against my lips and reached behind her own back. A quick, deft movement, and I felt the fabric loosen. She did it for me.

The invitation was as clear as if she’d shouted it. I slowly, so slowly, pulled the fabric of her top up and over her head, tossing it aside into the sand. She lay beneath me, bathed in firelight, wearing only a simple lace bra the color of cream. Her chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths.

“You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” I said, the words raw and honest.

A blush spread across her chest. I lowered my head, brushing my lips across the swell of her breast above the lace. She cried out, a soft, desperate sound, and her hips lifted off the ground, pressing against me. The thin layers of our remaining clothes were a frustrating, tantalizing barrier.

My mouth found hers again in a searing kiss as my hand came up to cup her, my thumb stroking over the lace, feeling the hard peak of her n****e beneath the delicate fabric. She was melting under my touch, every gasp, every shudder, every tiny movement of her hips telling me everything I needed to know.

“Tell me you want this,” I murmured against her lips, my own control hanging by a thread. “Tell me, Allie.”

Her eyes, dark with desire, locked onto mine. Her voice was a husky promise, a vow that made my blood thunder