Page 104 of On The Edge

“I just wanted—”

“Have you ever been on a Jet Ski?” he asks, topic clearly changed.

“No. Never.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious.” I look at the water, and our distance from the land, and then back to him. “Do we need to worry about sharks?”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You’re looking at one of the top drivers in the world. Do you think I’m going to throw you off?”

“You being a good driver didn’t address the shark issue.”

He puts a hand on my ass and pats and playfully nips my shoulder. “Last I remember, you don’t mind when I bite.”

“Little different.”

But all thoughts of sharks go by the wayside as Cruz convinces me to climb on the back of the Jet Ski with him. I hold on tight, arms wrapped around his waist, as he races across the top of the water. The swell is calm today, but the Jet Ski still slaps the water, my hair whipping behind me, and my thighs squeezing tight against his as our life vests bump against each other’s.

It’s an adrenaline rush like I’ve never felt before. Fast. A little on the edge of out of control. Addictive.

It’s a mere glimpse of what he must experience under the ridiculously high horsepower of his Formula 1 car, but it’s enough that I can understand it now. The draw to racing. The thrill of the speed and the draw to the recklessness.

Cruz eases up on the throttle and my hands fall onto his thighs. He turns his head so that I can hear his voice. “Your turn to drive.”

“Um . . . but how?”

And before I can say another word, he bails off the Jet Ski and jumps in the water with a whoop.

His name falls from my lips but when he resurfaces and does that thing guys do where they shake their head, water spraying, and their hair sticks every which way, I just stare. How can I not? The man is absolutely gorgeous.

“What about sharks?” I ask.

“I’m too salty.” He winks and then swims over to the Jet Ski, boosts himself up, and then onto the back of it. The whole thing rocks violently and I hold on to the handlebar tightly.

He scoots up behind me on the seat, the cold water on his skin and vest now on me, and his strong thighs cage mine in. But it’s his cock nestled perfectly against my ass that has my attention.

Most definitely.

“Well, this turned out in my favor, now, didn’t it?” He chuckles. “First, you need to put this around your wrist. It’s the kill switch in case you fall off so the ski doesn’t keep going.” He helps me put it on and then he ghosts my arms with his so that his hands are on the handles too.

“Press here,” he says, and the ski starts to propel forward. I yelp involuntarily and freeze but then after a bit, I get the hang of it.

It’s simple really, and I love the feeling of the wind on my face without having to see around his life jacket.

“Take us out to where that bird is,” he says, pointing.

I veer to where he’s directing, and he drops his hands down off the handlebars and onto my thighs.

He slides them up. Then back. And then one slides beneath the fabric of my bikini bottoms. “Cruz,” I gasp, realizing that the width of the seat I’m straddling provides him perfect access to between my thighs.

“Stop,” I moan, clearly not meaning it.

“Drive, Madds. Steady on the throttle.” He rubs a finger gently over my clit. “You keep letting up.”

Another stutter on the throttle when he dips his fingers into me to wet them before going back to work on adding friction to my clit.

“Drive,” he commands, and I try to focus on two things at once. One of them is definitely winning out.