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No tripod, no camera phone. I don’t need to scan the banks of this little stream to know that. I don’t need to listen for voices. There won’t be any. No onlookers.

Which means this isn’t for them.

And I don’t care a goddamn bit that I’m asking Callie for what I want, and if she wants it too, I’m taking it.

I rub my thumb over the apple of her cheek, watching her eyes dilate as the rough pad of my skin brushes the pale softness of hers. Her lips part, and she sucks in a tiny, jagged breath.

The soothing trickle of the stream beneath us sets the pace. No need to rush. This stream isn’t running dry anytime soon. Neither is the degree to which I want her.

I can see the flickering pulse in her neck, smell the sweet scent of her jasmine shampoo or some kind of perfume oil. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating. I inhale another greedy gulp of it.

Callie stands completely still, frozen as I cup her cheek in my hand. I can’t look away from the endless blue of her eyes. If they were water, I’d drown in them.

“Luke.” The rasp of my name on her lips is an invitation. A plea.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

I can’t help the smirk that steals across my lips. “I think you know.”

She clears her throat. “I mean, should we be doing this?”

“Yes.” I can’t be any clearer than that. “Yes, we should.” I’m aware of her fear of commitment, and I don’t want to freak her out, so I add, “I can’t stop thinking about you, about touching you like this.” I drag a finger along the side of her neck and watch her eyelids flutter shut. “And this.” I wrap a tendril of her hair around my hand and tuck it behind her ear. My hand stays, fingers combing through the strands I’ve been staring at for weeks.

“I’m serious. I don’t want to confuse things.”

“I don’t feel confused. I know I want you.” But I understand what she’s saying. I don’t want to scare her off by making her think I’m pushing us into something more permanent than she wants. Her wide blue eyes make her look especially vulnerable. “It doesn’t have to mean more.”

She brings her hand behind my neck. The light touch of her fingers has my skin tingling. Begging for more of her. “Okay.”

Our mouths are so close that we’re breathing one breath. I’m as desperate to close the gap between us as I am to hover here for one second more, letting the temptation of her set fire to each of my nerve endings…

Until the final thread of resistance snaps.

My mouth dances over hers for a moment, inhaling the merest hint of her lips, tasting them with my tongue. When she kisses me back, deeper with more ferocious intensity than our “fake” kisses before… I’m gone.

My brain feels like rusty cogs, moving agonizingly slowly, recognizing that the gears work after all. My body knows exactly what to do. No hesitation.

I deepen the kiss, taking her whole mouth, as much as I can get, feeling a feral need to devour her. She returns every pass of my lips in kind, fusing her mouth to mine and sighing.

And that’s it.

No way of stopping, no hope of going back.

Like the sharp crack of a hundred-year-old tree right before it crashes to the ground. When it goes, so does all my self-control.

We’re a tangle of hands and mouths and tongues and clothes we can’t get off fast enough. Her shirt flings onto a rock. Mine ends up in the water, and I don’t care if it washes away.

Her hands on my abs and chest move slowly, covering every inch of my skin like she wants to commit me to memory. Or maybe that’s how I feel about her. Unclasping her bra, I stare at her full breasts, having trouble deciding whether I want them in my mouth or my hands.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you plan on taking a bite,” she teases, a smirk on her lips. She runs her tongue in one straight line from my abs to my chest and sinks her teeth into my skin. The air leaves my lungs, and I shudder.

“I plan on it.” The promise rumbles out when I can breathe again.

My mouth drops to suck on one nipple, rolling it on my tongue until it goes hard. Her moans urge me on, and I slide her shorts down her legs. She steps out of them and flings them onto the bank beside the stream.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing.” The demand is breathy.