Page 125 of The Rookie

Because she’s too good.

Too damn perfect.

And I’m too far gone.

I try to hold on, to slow down, to make this last, but then she hums again, taking me deeper, and I lose every single bit of control I have left. It’s her sweet floral scent, her thick hair, the way she isn’t intimidated at all.

My fingers tighten in her hair, my body going rigid, my jaw clenching.

"Fuck, Sinclair. I?—"

And then I come apart.

Completely, shamelessly, loudly.

My vision goes white, my entire body tensing, and I swear to God—I might actually black out.

The pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it nearly fucking breaks me.

And I don’t even care.

The water sloshes gently as she surfaces, pushing her wet hair back, her lips slick, her eyes unreadable.

She looks at me.

I look at her.

Neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves. Because she knows.

She fucking knows.

She just ruined me.

And I can’t even pretend otherwise.

My chest is still rising and falling too fast, my brain still scrambled, my body still wrecked.

And she just sits there, watching me, waiting.

For what?

For me to say something?

For me to recover?

For me to admit that she just single-handedly shattered every last ounce of my self-control?

Not happening.

Not tonight.

So I do the only thing I can think to do.

I grab her.

I haul her into my lap, my mouth crashing onto hers, tasting myself on her tongue, feeling her soft, satisfied sigh against my lips.

I kiss her deep, slow, full of everything I can’t put into words.