Page 59 of Surfer's Paradise

Just torture.

Just blue eyes flashing in the dark.

Just cherry lips slick and parted, teasing in ways they never should be.

He groaned, shifting against the mattress, squeezing his eyes shut.

And then—

The door cracked open.

Isaac’s breath hitched, his body stilling.

A small, familiar silhouette, framed by the faint moonlight spilling in from the window.

Bare legs.

Oversized t-shirt.

Rosie.

Silent.

Still.

Only the sound of the ocean breeze slipping in through the open window, rustling the curtains, cool air dancing over his overheated skin.

She hesitated at the door.

Isaac swallowed hard, his voice low, rough, drenched in something dark.

“Come.”

His hand never left his cock.

His skin flushed, burning, aching.

She listened.

Jesus Christ, she listened.

She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, the pads of her bare feet soft against the floor.

Isaac’s pulse slammed against his ribs as she moved beside the bed, standing over him, hovering.

For a moment, she just stared.

At him.

At the way the sheets had slipped low, barely covering anything.

At the way his cock was thick, hard, straining against his stomach, swollen and aching for relief.

She reached for the sheet.

Pulled it down.

Isaac swore under his breath.

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