Page 171 of Surfer's Paradise

Isaac groaned low in his throat as her hands moved—sliding down to the base of his skull, massaging slow, gentle circles into the tension that never left his neck. Her nails scratched lightly up the back of his head, combing through his damp hair. The way she touched him… it wasn’t lust. It wasn’t just desire. It was something else. Something dangerous.

It was care.

It was love.

Fuck.

He braced himself, pressing his forehead to hers for a second. His breathing was uneven. Her skin was warm beneath his hands—one of her thighs over his hip, her chest pressed against his, her body soft and trusting and completely his.

She kissed the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, slow and deliberate. Her lips found the edge of his temple. Her fingers skimmed across his chest, kneading over his shoulders, smoothing the knots there with patient, intuitive touch.

It broke him.

Not violently—but slowly, a dismantling from the inside out.

She kissed him again, deeper this time, her tongue dancing with his, coaxing, tender. His hand gripped her waist, pulling her tighter, like he needed her closer than skin-on-skin. Like he wanted to crawl inside her and hide from the weight pressing against his ribs—memories he didn’t know how to share, pain he didn’t know how to bleed.

And then she whispered it.

Right there, into the space between his breaths.

“I love you.”

He froze.

“I love you,” she said again, softer now, her fingers running along the line of his jaw. “Don’t forget that.”

His eyes burned. He didn’t know why. His throat locked up and he hated that it did. He didn’t do this. He didn’t know how.

But she just kept touching him. Gentle, steady. Like she knew he couldn’t say it back yet. Like she didn’t need him to.

Her hand cupped his face and he leaned into it instinctively.

“I’ll love you forever,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his cheek.

Isaac buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her like a man desperate to ground himself. He didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter. Pulled her closer. Pressed kiss after kiss into her skin.

And prayed she knew how much that meant.

How much she meant.

She kept touching him. Over his shoulders, across his chest. Her palms warm and soft, steady. She traced the dip of his collarbone, the slope of his pecs, the old scar on his side from a mission that had gone sideways years ago. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t ask questions. Just kept touching.

It made his throat tight. His stomach knot. Fuck, he didn’t deserve this. Her.

She kissed him softly, once on the lips, then deeper. With tongue, with heat, with every ounce of quiet fire she had.

And then—against his mouth, barely audible—“I love your cock, too.”

The words undid him.

He closed his eyes. Bit back the wave of arousal. Cock immediately hard as fuck.

His hands found her hips, her back. His body reacting on instinct. His cock thumping against her thigh. He didn’t want to want this. Not like this. But she knew.

She always knew.

She kissed down his neck, slow and deliberate, her hair brushing against his chest as she moved lower. Her lips over his sternum. His abs. His breath hitched, fingers tightening in the sheets.

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