Page 96 of Head Under Water

He notices. Like he notices everything else.

“I remembered this spot,” he murmurs, far too proud of himself.

I’m breathless, sweating. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Too late.”

“Don’t stop.” My legs tighten around him, hands clutch his shoulders.

He lowers himself between my legs, breath hot between my hip bones. How is he so good at this? So good with me?

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, pressing a lingering, possessive kiss against my thigh. “But I need to…” Before his words can even fade, he replaces his fingers with his tongue. I see stars, entirely blind with heat.

“Will. Oh.”

“That’s my girl,” he growls against me. His mouth fits me so perfectly it’s impossible. I’m going to pass out.

I buck against him, waves and heat crashing through me all at once.

It’s the sweetest death.

Later, when we finally move together, it’s not about winning. It’s not about who gets the last word. It’s about the years of almost. The nights spent furious with each other for wanting something neither of us was brave enough to put a name to. It’s about making up for all the years we’ve missed out on. All the time we’ve lost.

As he slides inside me, his forehead presses to mine. For a moment, he stills, letting me adjust to him.

“Perfect,” he mutters, voice so low I’m not sure I’m meant to hear it.

I nod. I’m ready. Our breaths tangle, hands clasped as if either of us might vanish if we let go.

“You still with me?” he asks, just a touch louder this time.

“Always.” The word slips out before I can stop it, measure its weight.

His eyes flicker, fingers tightening around mine at the word, but he doesn’t tease me for it. He just kisses me again, sealing it like an oath.

And actually, I think that’s kind of perfect.

There’s no room for almost between us ever again.

At last, we’re on the other side of that.

Still us—still stubborn, still frustrating, still always half in battle—but finally, finally heads underwater, swimming out of the shallows together, no longer afraid of the darkest depths.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

PRESENT DAY

The next morning, it’s strangely perfect to wake up wrapped in Will’s arms, to feel his bare chest against my back. To notice the way his grip tightens when I start to move away.

It’s weirdly normal, weirdly right to eat breakfast next to each other. The air is charged, our glances heavy with memories of last night.

His smile is boyish, pleased with himself. And I can’t pretend he didn’t earn the right to be.

Neither of us seems sure what to do once I’m dressed and gathering my keys, purse, and jacket at the door. At the last second, he pushes me against the wood frame and takes my mouth with his, his hands claiming my waist. “I could drag you back to my room right now. And you’d let me.”

He presses his body against mine like he needs to know he’s right. My hands move to either side of his neck, and he seems to take that for a yes, pulling me toward him, reaching to lift my shirt.

I laugh, catching his hand. “You’ll make me late.”