His eyes—close, quiet, serious—held mine. I wanted to stay exactly here, in exactly this gaze, and never move.
“And you?” I asked softly.
“What about me?”
“You’ve been very complimentary this morning.”
A crooked smile pulled at his mouth.
“Stating facts, love.” He nuzzled his stubbled cheek against my shoulder, kissing me.
“Uh-huh?” Still caught off guard by the love, but getting more used to it.
He leaned forward slightly. His voice was low near my ear, and my pulse picked up.
“Besides,” he said, “if you’ve spent your whole life waiting to care about someone and it never came—”
His thumb traced slowly across the back of my hand beneath the blanket.
“Maybe you were just with the wrong people.”
The words settled, quiet, and sure.
I believed him.
Because when he touched me, when his arm tightened around me, when his voice dropped low and soft against my ear—
I didn’t feelnothing.
I didn’t feel fine.
I felt everything.
The boat rocked gently as the sun climbed higher, turning the water to gold. I couldn’t look away from his face—his eyes steady on mine, dark and simmering underneath, which made my pulse trip.
His thumb kept tracing slow circles on my thigh.
His fingers slid higher, traced the inside of my thigh, the soft skin there. Warm. Intentional.
“Callan…”
Fainter than I meant. Almost a whisper.
He didn’t answer. His hand moved again—patient, unhurried—under the edge of the blanket, finding the curve of my waist. His palm flattened there and held.
I didn’t pull away; I didn’t want to.
And that alone—the wanting—sent a jolt through me so sharp it stole my breath.
His fingers slid lower, skimming the waistband of my leggings. Dipped just beneath. My stomach clenched as the boat swayed, and I used the motion to press my thigh against his.
He accepted the invitation, his fingers brushing over sensitive skin, teasing the edge of my panties before slipping beneath the fabric. When he finally touched me—where I already ached for him—a gasp escaped my lips.
His gaze dropped to my lips.
“Shh,” he murmured, barely audible over the water lapping against the hull. “Just let it happen, love.”
His finger circled my clit. I tried to keep still, to stay quiet. But my thighs trembled and parted wider beneath the blanket, and I couldn’t stop them, couldn’t control any of it—and that terrified me and thrilled me in equal measure. Another finger joined the first, sliding down, pressing inside me slow and deep while his thumb held that perfect, maddening rhythm. Heat coiled low in my belly. My free hand fisted the blanket; the other found his forearm beneath the cover and gripped hard, nails biting into his skin.