Page 113 of Isla

"Tilt your head back, love." His fingers press against my chin,guiding my head back until it’s resting against his chest. He takes a cup from the side of the tub and carefully pours water over my hair, then he squirts shampoo into his palm and works it into my scalp.

"Thank you, Isla," he murmurs, the moment somehow turning even more intimate as he rinses the soap from my hair.

"For what?" I ask, opening my eyes, tilting my head back, and looking up at him. The only thing I can see is the underside of his chin and the way his throat bobs as he swallows.

"For being you. For letting me fuck your face like a lunatic." A hint of remorse in his voice puts me on my guard.

"No, we're not doing this," I say, turning to face him. "I liked it. I liked it a whole fucking lot. You don't need to say thank you. You don’t need to feel bad. If you ever ask me to do something that I don't like, I'll tell you, Henry. Scout’s honor."

He breaks out into a smile so big it takes my breath away. "Honest?"

"Honest. I mean it when I tell you I want everything you have to give me." I stand, holding my hands out to him to help him up. "Let's eat before my stomach decides to revolt and consume itself."

The pizza is cold,but it's fucking delicious. I don't think I've ever been this hungry in my entire life. Three-day-old bread would taste like a gourmet meal at this point.

"What did you have in mind for dessert?" I ask, swallowing the last bite of my fourth piece of pizza.

"We used to do something called campfire cones when I was younger. I brought a portable grill we can set up on the shore. They'll only take about ten minutes once the charcoal has burned down a little." He pops the top off another bottle of champagne and fills my empty glass before trekking back to the car to grab the grill and charcoal. I join him with the intention to help but quickly realize I'll only be in the way. Instead, I sit on the dock with my feet hanging over, nursing my glass of bubbly and getting shivers every time I think about what we just did.

"Are you cold?" Henry asks, coming up behind me and rubbing my shoulders.

"No, I just keep getting flashbacks."

"Of what?"

"Your cock down my throat."

He coughs, then clears his throat, blushing. "Oh."

The sun is just starting to dip below the horizon when he pops two foil-wrapped packages on the grill, sets a timer on his phone, and sits beside me, the champagne bottle in hand.

"I really enjoy spending time with you, Isla. I know that seems stupid to say at this point, but I mean it. There's always been a level of anxiety in other relationships. I'm scared I'll do something wrong or won't be enough somehow. Not with you."

He keeps talking, but all I can concentrate on is how his hand squeezes around the neck of the bottle, making his veins pop. I look over at him from beneath my lashes, biting my lip. "You need to be careful saying things like that."

"Why?" he asks, his eyes darkening.

"Because it makes me want to do dirty things to that magnificent body of yours."

"Nobody is stopping you, Isla."

Fuckkk.

"Is that so?" I ask, swinging my leg over his hips and straddling him. He lies down, hands behind his head, staring up at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Never stop looking at me like that," I whisper.

"I couldn't even if I tried."

"Even when I'm old and gray, and my boobs are hanging down past my belly button?"

"Especially then." He smiles up at me, his eyes crinkling. "I love you, Isla MacLeod."

"I love you, too." I melt into his body, snuggling against his chest, breathing him in. Just as the scent of charred sugar starts drifting over to us, Henry's alarm goes off. We hop up, and he flings the little packets from the grill onto the rocks, instructing me to let them cooldown before I try to open them. God, he knows me well. The smell is almost impossible to resist. When they're finally cool enough to pick up, I shake the debris from the outer layer of tinfoil and unwrap the first layer, discarding it before I start on the second layer. Inside is a waffle cone coated in melty peanut butter, stuffed with bananas and chocolate chips. It's the most delicious-looking creation I've ever seen.

"Whoever invented this is a goddamn genius," I mumble around a giant bite, scalding my tongue and not even caring.

"It's good, isn't it?" Henry asks, blowing on his before taking a bite.

---