She lifts a brow. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No,” I admit, shaking my head. “Not to me.”
Something shifts in her gaze then. Something softer, more profound. She must see my sincerity, because she swims straight into my arms.
The world shrinks to her—the cool water lapping against us, her skin slick beneath my hands, her mouth so close I can taste her breath. I lower my head, and she rises to meet me.
The kiss is slow at first, tentative, her lips brushing mine like she’s testing. Then her fingers curl in my wet hair, and I can’t hold back.
I deepen it, tasting her, swallowing the soft sound she makes. Her body molds against mine, her bra slick against my chest, every curve fitting like it was carved for me.
My hand finds her breast, cupping it gently through the thin fabric. She shudders, arching into the touch, lips parting against mine. The sound that slips out of her makes my cock ache, even under the cold water.
I trace my mouth down her jaw, pressing wet kisses to her neck. My lips brush against the faint indentation there, the fading mark Simon left.
I pause, pulling back just enough to murmur against her skin.
“Does it still hurt?”
She shakes her head, water droplets sliding down her cheek. “No.”
My hand drifts lower, smoothing over her stomach, her hip, until my palm rests against the inside of her thigh. Her breath hitches, chest rising fast against mine.
“And here?” I murmur, my fingers brushing the edge of her panties. “What about here?”
Her breathing stutters, her nails digging lightly into my shoulders. “A little,” she admits, voice thin and shaky.
I press my hand more firmly over her, cupping her through the damp fabric. Her hips twitch, the tiniest whimper escaping her lips.
The sound awakens something primal in me.
“God, Wren,” I growl, moving my hand in careful circles. “You’re driving me out of my mind.”
Her thighs squeeze around my wrist as she presses into me, her lips parted, eyes fluttering shut. The waterfall roars behind us, but all I hear is her—the little gasps, the way she moans my name, soft and desperate.
I lower my forehead to hers, swallowing hard. “Tell me this isn’t just heat. Tell me you want me right now, like this.”
Her lashes lift, and those green eyes blaze into mine. “I want you, Beau. Not because of heat. Because it’s you.”
Fuck. That’s it. That’s all I need.
Her thighs tighten around my wrist, trembling, slick heat coating my fingers as she rides the edge. Her words slice through me, sharper than any command, deeper than any instinct.
Something in me breaks.
I press my mouth to hers, hard and hungry, tongue sliding against hers as I pull my hand free. She gasps, the loss makingher whimper, but I’m already shifting, already fumbling at the waistband of my wet boxers.
My cock aches, heavy and leaking, the river’s cold doing nothing to numb the fire she’s lit inside me.
Her hand finds me under the water, fingers wrapping clumsily around me, and I groan into her mouth. She’s guiding me without words, lifting her hips in the current, thighs spreading as much as the water allows.
“Please,” she whispers against my lips, nails digging into my shoulders.
That’s all I need.
She whimpers as I slide her panties to the side, her hands pulling my boxers down.
I line up with her, the blunt head of me nudging against her soaked entrance. She’s so slick, so ready, that even through the rush of the river I can feel the molten heat of her core waiting for me.
