“Would. You. Like. Ketchup?” I tease, inches away from his lips.
“The other part,” he says. His voice is a whisper, suddenly husky in a way that makes my knees weak. “Tell me.”
“I was thinking about how much I love you,” I repeat the whole sentence. While looking into his eyes, there’s no laughing now, only an intensity as the two of us stare. Heat pools in my lower stomach the longer we look, and in tandem, our lips rise into smiles.
“And I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I would have waited a lifetime to hear those words.”
“You have my whole heart.” My fingertips fall onto his chest, and he holds them steady, his palm flat as he guides me to his heart.
“I won’t break it,” he says, the sentence so tender, splaying his own hand out so it covers mine, and I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is beating.
“But you could,” I say, snuggling into his arms. “Or I could break yours…”
“It’s worth the risk,” he says softly, and I nod because nothing has ever felt so right.
“I love you, Gil,” I say, willing myself to be bold and not shy away from his gaze.
“I love you, Marina,” he says, smoothing out my hair. “My sweet, beautiful Marina.”
His webbed hand finds the small of my back, and I moan, clutching his shoulder. There’s a coolness to his scales, which soothes the rough spots of my skin when his legs tangle in mine.
He holds me tight, pressing me against the doorway, and I wonder if we’ll make it to bed—and at the same time, I don’t care. His thigh is between my legs, and as the kiss deepens, I findmyself grinding against him—what is it about Gil that makes it so hard to control myself?
“Oh darlin’,” he croons as the pad of his fingers trace along the worst places my skin has flared, “It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”
I nod, letting myself relax into his body. For two people who appear so different, we fit together like puzzle pieces.
He rubs circles around my neck, and I nuzzle into each touch. It’s so much worse than the last time we saw each other, but he doesn’t hesitate to touch me. His mouth is hot on mine, and our lips meet with need and hunger. His hand trails up the inside of my shirt, and I moan, savoring the way the cool feeling of his scales soothes the rough spots of my skin.
I don’t ask if he minds the cracks and bumps—I know he doesn’t.
I groan. There’s no amount of Gil that would be enough. The need for more—more of his touch, more of his taste, more everything, grows with each moment. His hands continue to slide up until they cup my breasts, and I shiver against him, melting forward until the kiss breaks and my mouth finds his shoulder, kissing his scales as his webbed hands continue to explore my body.
“Hold onto me.” His voice is husky, firm—but kind in a way that makes me instantly comply, wrapping myself around him tighter. By the way Gil chuckles in response, maybe I’m a little too eager. There’s something undeniably inhuman about this strength—he wants this just as much as me, and it feels effortless.
“Perfect.” Gil’s voice vibrates against my ear. Heat pools in my lower stomach as I savor the sound of that word from his lips.
And that need for more intensifies with every agonizing second.
More heat.
More praise.
I’ve always been too scared to ask, to take, to want—but not with him, not ever.
Not anymore.
“Marina.” His voice is a low song that sends shivers up my spine. I moan, careful to hold diligently to him with every strong step he takes toward the bedroom, which is a bumpy ride considering I’m feeding him directions between kisses.
My fingers graze along the fins on the side of his head—they’re smooth with grooves I can’t help but stroke as he carries me to bed. The moan he emits is so low in his chest it vibrates against me, the sound guttural and wild—like a gator deep in the swamp. Gil tilts his head, leaning into my fingers, and I continue to touch as I trace the fins that jut out of his neck and arms and feel him shiver in response.
He’s salt and sunshine and life: everything I’ve craved, and now he’s in my grasp. He’s mine at this moment—all mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice deep, and I wonder if the light from the moon is enough for him to see that I’m blushing from head to toe.
“I’m not.” I want to argue—I try, but the words and thoughts tumble from my head the moment he leans his muscular body down, caging me to the bed. His lips find my shoulder, then collarbone, and he peppers me in praise and kisses until his tongue is met with mine. Between broken kisses, he says, “You are.”
And any argument I had is swiftly stolen by kisses.
