Page 13 of The Cruise Back to You

Colter pulls back slightly, searching my face. “You sure?”

“No,” I admit. “But it’s the wise thing to do. We’re on a cruise ship. Holiday brain, remember?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then he nods. “I can do that.” He lowers his head, his lips brushing my jaw. “Can I still make you feel good?”

My breath catches. “God, yes.”

He takes his time. That’s the thing about Colter—he’s never been one to rush. He kisses down my neck, my collarbone, my chest, each touch deliberate and reverent. When he tugs at the hem of my shirt, I lift up to help him pull it off, and then his mouth is on my skin and I’m arching into him.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he murmurs against my stomach. “Missed you.”

I want to say it back. I want to tell him I’ve missed him every single day, that my bed has felt empty without him, that sometimes I still reach for him in my sleep. But the words stick in my throat, so I just thread my fingers through his hair and guide him lower.

He undoes my shorts, pulling them down along with my underwear. The cool air hits my skin, and then his breath, warm and close, is on my cock, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

“I’m negative,” I say. “Haven’t been with anyone since …”

“Same.”

I don’t want to unpack what it means that neither of us has been with anyone else since we broke up. That was months ago.

“You don’t have to be quiet,” Colter says, looking up at me. His eyes are dark, hungry. “I want to hear you.”

Then his mouth is on me, and I stop thinking entirely.

He knows exactly what I like. Every swirl of his tongue, every gentle pressure, every moment when he takes me deeper—it’s like he’s memorized the map of my pleasure and he’s determined to hit every landmark. My hands fist in the sheets. My hips buck up, and he lets me, one hand pressing gently on my stomach to steady me.

“Colter,” I gasp. “Colter, I’m⁠—”

He hums in response, the vibration sending sparks up my spine, and that’s all it takes. I come with his name on my lips, my whole body trembling, and he works me through it until I’m boneless and breathless and utterly wrecked.

When he finally pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he’s smiling. That satisfied, smug smile I used to love and hate in equal measure.

“Your turn,” I say, and flip us over.

He laughs, but it dies when I start kissing my way down his body. He’s still wearing too many clothes, so I fix that, pulling off his shirt and shorts until he’s bare beneath me. He’s beautiful—he’s always been beautiful—and I take a moment just to look at him.

“Robin,” he breathes. “Please.”

I take him into my mouth slowly, savoring the weight of him on my tongue, the way his breath hitches when I swirl my tongue around the tip. His hand finds my hair, not pushing, just resting there, his fingers trembling slightly.

I set a rhythm, slow at first, then faster when his hips start to move. I know his body as well as he knows mine, so when his breathing turns ragged and his grip tightens in my hair, I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, and he comes apart with a low groan that sends heat pooling in my stomach all over again.

I work him through it, gentling as he comes down, pressing soft kisses to his hip, his stomach, his chest. When I finally crawl back up to lie beside him, we’re satisfied and smiling like literal cats that got the cream.

“That was amazing,” Colter says.

“Yeah,” I say. “It was.”

We lie there for a while, catching our breath. His hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining loosely. It feels natural. It feels right.

But I can’t stay.

“I should go,” I say quietly.

Colter turns his head to look at me. “You could stay.”

“I know.” I sit up, reaching for my clothes. “But we agreed. Casual and uncomplicated, remember?”