Page 83 of Dirty Damage

Taking a cold shower is supposed to clear your head, but mine is still foggy. The longer I look at Oleg—water streaming down his neck and shoulders, his powerful arms resting on the surface of the water like it takes no effort at all for him to float—the more I think he wouldn’t have to dare me, after all.

I’d climb him just for the fun of it.

“I figured you’d be more worried about what else was in this water.”

I tear my eyes from him to glance around. “What do you mean? What’s in the water? Are there sharks?!”

His laugh is low and rough. “Are you worried about sharks?”

“Everyone is worried about sharks, Oleg! Especially when they’re swimming naked in the ocean. Some of us have seenJawstwelve times.”

“You watch too many movies.” He circles me slowly, like a shark himself. “The only predator you need to worry about out here is me.”

His leg brushes mind underwater and goosebumps explode across my skin. “Is that supposed to be reassuring? Because it’s not.”

“No?” He moves closer, sending little ripples across the surface. “Then why are you still here?”

The question hangs between us, weighted with meaning.

WhyamI still here?

With him, on this boat, in his life?

He caught me at a low point, but I’ve clawed my way from the pits before, all without Oleg’s help. I could do it again if I wanted to.

Except maybe I don’t want to.

He’s moving closer, his eyes flicking from mine to my lips again and again.

“Maybe I like a little danger,” I whisper.

Suddenly, his strong arm snakes around my waist, pulling me flush against the hard wall of his chest. “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”

Then his mouth comes down on mine, and everything else—the ocean, the stars, my own racing thoughts—slip through my fingers like water through a sieve.

The only thing I can hold onto is him.

I’ve never been kissed like this before. Like I’m being consumed, devoured, claimed.

His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding and possessive. My hands grip his broad shoulders, fingers tangling in his wet hair as he deepens the kiss.

Time becomes fluid, meaningless. There’s only sensation—the cool slide of water against our skin, the heat of his mouth, the solid length of his desire pressed between my legs.

I roll myself against him and memorize the groan that claws out of his chest.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and trembling.

“Still worried about sharks?” he murmurs against my lips.

Honestly, no.

I’m just afraid he’ll never kiss me like this again.

And even more afraid of that admission.

So I curl my arm around his neck and pull him back to me until there’s only Oleg, and the endless night sky above us, and the growing certainty that I’m in way over my head.

But for once in my life, I don’t care about drowning.

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