Page 69
But Ethan doesn’t let go.
My back presses against his chest, the ladder still in front of me, his presence closing in behind me in a way that instantly awakens every nerve in my body.
He leans in, so close that his breath grazes the curve of my ear, his voice dropping into a quiet murmur that sends a pulse through me.
“What’s this, Thalia?”
The words brush against my skin just as much as his breath does, and then his lips follow—barely there, ghosting over the sensitive line of my neck, making my spine arch almost imperceptibly.
“This is not a swimsuit,” he continues, his voice edged with tension. “And you spent half the day with the top undone, like it wasn’t already doing nothing to hide you.”
His teeth catch lightly on my earlobe, his hands closing around my waist, anchoring me in place.
My breath stutters.
The water around us glitters under the afternoon sun, fractured light dancing across the surface, but all I register is him—solid, burning, inescapable.
“I thought you were too busy staring at your phone or laptop to notice anything else,” I whisper, leaning my head to rest against his shoulder, my tone hovering between playful and deliberate provocation.
A low chuckle hums through his chest, vibrating straight into me. His right hand drifts down my thigh, firm and possessive, while his left slides upward, brushing over my breast before pulling me flush against him.
There isn’t even a trace of water left between us. Our bodies align too perfectly, drawn together with a pull that feels inevitable.
Everything else dissolves. The others fade into the background—their voices, their laughter, the splashes—reduced to distant echoes. The world narrows until it’s just this pressure, this dangerous closeness.
“You’ve been pushing me since the moment we stepped on this island, kitten,” he says, his breath warm against my ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my spine. “Do you need something from me?”
His hand slides between my legs, over the thin fabric of my bikini, pressing with intent, claiming space he has no right to take.
“You think so, Ethan?” I shoot back, my voice steadier than the storm building underneath my skin. “I’m too busy enjoying this paradise to waste time trying to get your attention.”
His quiet amusement only feeds the fire.
“Think so, hmm?”
Two fingers press against my clit, and my body betrays me instantly, a violent tremor running through me as lust blooms, spreading fast, relentless, impossible to ignore.
Damn him. How does he do this so easily?
“If I slide my hand under this barely-there bikini,” he continues, voice dipped in dark amusement, “won’t I find you wet?”
“We’re in the water,” I reply, my tone still light, still defiant, even while I press back against his hand, refusing to move away. “Of course I’m wet, Ethan.”
This time, his laugh breaks free—unrestrained, real—and for a second it throws me off balance more than anything else.
Before I can process it, he moves the fabric aside and pushes two fingers inside me without warning.
A gasp escapes me then, sharp and exposed, and the low sound that rips from his throat in response—hungry, satisfied—sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through me.
“Wet from the water, kitten?” he teases, the irony thick in his voice, while his other hand lifts, closing around my breasts, squeezing slowly, deliberately.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, panic threading through the words. “Someone could see us.”
I try to make him stop—because I know I won’t. Not really. Not when every nerve in my body is already unraveling under his touch.
His lips brush along my neck, slow, intentional, each contact lingering just enough to make my breath catch, while his fingers move inside me with smooth precision.
The world disappears completely.
