“Oh my God,” she gasps.
I don’t even think. I kick off my shoes and dive.
The water’s cold and shocking, sobering in a heartbeat. I surface, sputtering, then dive again, hands searching blindly. My fingers close around the familiar shape near the ladder.
I haul myself back up, soaked, heart pounding.
The phone drips uselessly in my hand.
Salt water.
Fried.
I stare at it, jaw tight.
“Ethan,” Sage says softly. “I’m so?—”
I exhale hard, running a hand through my wet hair. “It’s… it’s fine.”
It’s not.
She sees it anyway—the way my shoulders tense, the way I don’t quite meet her eyes.
“I mean,” I add quickly, because she looks like she might cry, “it’s not my work BlackBerry. That’s the important thing.”
That doesn’t help.
Her face crumples.
“I’m so sorry,” she says again, voice breaking. “I ruined it. I ruined your night.”
She actually starts crying—quiet, mortified tears slipping down her cheeks like she’s embarrassed by them.
My frustration drains right out of me.
“Hey,” I say, pulling her into me, water and all. “Hey. It’s just a phone.”
She shakes her head against my chest. “No, it’s not. I know how you are about your stuff. I should’ve been more careful.”
She pulls back suddenly, eyes bright with urgency. “It’s okay. There’s a Verizon store in Buzzards Bay. We’ll go first thing in the morning. I’ll buy you a new one. I swear.”
I laugh despite myself. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to,” she insists. “Please.”
She presses her mouth to mine then—soft at first, then deeper, like she’s trying to apologize with her whole body. Her hands slide under my damp shirt, warm and insistent, nails dragging down my chest as she pushes me back onto the wide bench cushion. The boat rocks harder beneath us, matching the sudden heat building between us.
“I’m going to make this up to you,” she whispers against my lips, voice low and filthy, eyes dark with intent. “Right now. With every fucking inch of me.”
She straddles me in one fluid move, dress riding up her thighs, and grinds down slow and deliberate against the bulgein my soaked jeans. I groan, hands gripping her hips, already forgetting the cold water dripping off me.
“Look at you,” she murmurs, rocking harder, her heat pressing through the fabric. “So hard for me already. Forget that stupid phone. I’m the only thing you need tonight.”
She yanks my shirt open, buttons scattering, mouth hot on my neck, sucking marks into my skin as she works my belt loose. My cock springs free, aching, and she wraps her hand around me—tight, sure strokes that make my head fall back.
“I’m so sorry I ruined your phone, baby,” she says, voice dripping with that beautiful, filthy edge that’s only ever for me. “Let me apologize properly. Let me fuck the frustration right out of you.”
She shoves her panties aside—no time for more—and sinks down onto me in one slick, perfect slide. We both moan, loud and raw in the open air. She’s soaked, tight, clenching around me like she was made for this.
