I kiss her collarbone. The curve of her breast above the fabric. The valley between them, where her heart is pounding so hard I can feel it against my lips.
She pulls the sports bra over her head, and the sight of her bare in this blue light with the mist on her skin and her hair falling around her shoulders and the waterfall roaring behind us like the world is applauding is something I’ll remember forever.
I press my forehead to her chest and breathe her in.
“You’re everything,” I say. “You know that, right? Every seven seconds I’ve ever counted, you’re in all of them.”
“Lance. If you make me cry before you make me come, I’ll never forgive you.”
I bark out a laugh. Actual, genuine, full-bodied laughter that I barely recognize as mine. Swooping down, I take her nipple into my mouth and she gasps, her back arching off the rock. I tease her with my tongue, sucking, biting softly, rolling the peak between my lips while my hand palms her other breast. Her fingers twist in my hair, pulling, and the sting of it lights me up the way it always does. I switch sides. Take my time. Learn her all over again like I didn’t memorize every inch of her body weeks ago, because every time feels new with her, every time she gives me something I didn’t know was there.
Her hips grind against me, seeking friction, and I can feel the heat of her through our clothes. I slide one hand between us, down the flat of her stomach, beneath the waistband of her pants.
She’s soaked.
My fingers slide through her, slick and hot, and the sound she makes bounces off the alcove walls. I press my forehead to hers, watching her face as I find her clit and circle it with the pad of my thumb.
“There?” I ask, because I always ask, because consent isn’t a one-time thing and she deserves to be asked every single time.
“There,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”
I work her slow, the way she likes it when we’re not forbidden and hiding from the world. When there’s no clock ticking and no one waiting and no guilt rotting us from the inside out. Just my hand and her body and our cold skin, and the waterfall swallowing every sound she makes.
Her thighs tighten around my waist.
“More,” she says. “I need more.”
I pull her pants down, and she helps, kicking them off one leg while I hold her up. Her underwear goes with them, and then she’s bare from the waist, pressed against the rock with my hand between her legs and the mist painting her skin. I slide two fingers inside her, and she clenches around me so tight my vision blurs.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
I find the spot that makes her legs shake and stroke it while my thumb keeps pressure on her clit. Her whole body tightens, her nails digging into my shoulders, and the sounds she’s making are small, and raw, and everything I’ve ever dreamed of hearing.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” I say against her throat. “Do you know that? When you stop thinking and just let me have you.”
“I always let you have me.”
“I know.” I press a kiss to her pulse.
She pulls my face up and kisses me, and it’s messy and wet and her teeth catch my lower lip and I groan into her mouth. My fingers pick up the pace, stroking deeper, harder, my thumb pressing circles that match the rhythm of her hips grinding against my hand.
“I’m close,” she gasps. “Lance, I’m—”
“I’ve got you. Let go.”
She breaks. Her whole body locks up, her back bowing off the rock, and she comes around my fingers with a cry that the waterfall steals before it reaches the trees. I feel every pulse, every clench, every tremor that runs through her like an aftershock,and I hold her through all of it, my mouth on her neck, my hand not stopping until she’s wrung out and shaking.
She sags against me, breathing hard, her forehead dropping to my shoulder.
“Good?” I ask.
She laughs against my skin. “You know it’s good. Don’t fish.”
“I’m not fishing. I’m confirming.”
“Confirmed.” She lifts her head. Her eyes are glazed and happy. “Your turn, Champ.”
Chapter 47