Page 47 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

I let go of Brenna, pulling myself to the surface. I look for her the second I break through, reaching for her and hauling her into me when I find her. I can’t tell if the fall cooled my ardor or upped the ante, my heart jackhammering as she wraps herself around me.

We get lost in a fit of giggles, squirming and roughhousing in the water, but never fully letting go of each other. The feel of her in my arms is incredible. Like she’s meant to be there.

“At least my hair is clean,” Brenna managed through her laughter.

“Awww, but now you no longer look egg-cellent.”

Brenna groans, trying to dunk me. I wriggle just enough to keep myself from going under, holding on to her tighter.

“You’ve been holding on to that one all day, haven’t you?”

“Sure have. I’ve been very egg-cited, but had to find the right moment. Preferably while we’re alone—can’t have anyone poaching my best yolks.”

Brenna groans again, but this time wiggles her core against me. There’s no hiding my erection, and for a split second I worry that it’s going to cause this moment to end. Thankfully, she tightens her legs around my waist instead. So I go all in.

“Have I thanked you for not egg-noring me after that race this afternoon?”

That one gets me another giggle. Score.

“How many of these do you have?” she asks.

“More than one probably should. Not as many as I have about wood though.”

“Wood? You have wood puns?”

“Oh yeah. I collect them like some people do shot glasses. Bust them out at just the right moment to Hux. Oh man, he hates them. Dude’s like an egg white—can't take a yolk.”

“You’ve already made the yolk pun,” she points out.

“It’s good enough it’s worth using twice.”

As if on cue, the skies dim even more. The mood shifts as the fading light takes over, answering my question from before. My ardor hasn’t cooled one bit.

“Brenna,” I whisper, unable to look away from her gorgeous lips. I tighten my grip, making sure there is absolutely no space between us.

“Milo.”

I don’t wait. I don’t hesitate. I just act.

Sliding a hand up her back, I stop at the nape of her neck. Brenna shivers, lips parted in anticipation, waiting for my next move. I don’t keep her waiting long, grabbing hold and lowering her mouth to mine.

Soft, warm skin brushes against my lips, the sweet taste of her taking over, turning my brain to mush. I can think of nothing else, her gentle touch hovering on too much, teeter-tottering on not enough. So I deepen it.

Brenna’s hips buck, her core making contact with my hard-on all over again. It’s all I can do to hold back a groan. Instead, I nibble at her lip, letting her know that I like this. I more than like this. It gets me the reaction that I’m looking for, Brenna kissing me harder, fingers digging into my skin.

I feel like I could kiss her for forever. That if I spent the rest of my life tangled up like this with her, that everything would be all right. That I wouldn’t ever want for anything else. Okay, that’s a lie. All the blood rushing to my dick right now, the memory of her on the bed, that vibrator between her legs, and those soft moans taking over—so maybe I might want a little more.

A single, loud boom breaks through our haze, the two of us separating like a pair of teenagers who were just caught making out under the bleachers. There’s no one around us—no one to see that we’d given up control for a moment, losing ourselves in one another. Just the lone firework letting us know it’s an hour to show time.

“I guess we should…” she trails off, biting into her bottom lip.

The subconscious habit is so fucking cute and makes me want to kiss her all over again. Hell, after that, I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to stop myself from spending the rest of the night with my lips exploring hers.

But, she’s right. We should get back to the boat and dry off. The plan for the night was to watch fireworks, not create them.

I nod, not letting go of her as I sidestroke back over to Fishy Business. Yanking myself up into the boat, I grab the small ladder and attach it for her to use. I keep one arm outstretched to help, desperate to feel her skin on mine again. The loss I felt immediately after letting go was like losing a limb.

Brenna looks down at herself, soaked to the very core, lake water dripping off her and creating a puddle where she stands. Raising her head, her eyes meet mine, and I can’t tell if she wants to laugh or cry.