Page 67 of Surfer's Paradise

“I know how this works for you,” she whispered, forcing herself to stay still beneath him as he drew pleasure out. “I’ve watched it happen. The women, the hookups, the way you live your life—”

“This isn’t that,” he cut in, immediate, firm.

She laughed dryly, shaking her head. “Isn’t it?”

Isaac sat up, his expression dark. His fingers slowed, back onto her clit, circling slowly.

“Rosie,” he muttered, gripping her thigh, holding it in place. “What the fuck do you think I see when I look at you?”

She bit her lip, looking away.

“Because from where I’m sitting,” he growled, pressing his fingers deeper, “you have the wrong fucking idea.”

Her chest ached.

“I think I have exactly the right idea,” she muttered.

His fingers curled hard again in her pussy, just enough to make her tremble.

“Maybe I want you more than you know,” he muttered. “Because I fucking care about you, Rosie. I want you to have every goddamn thing you deserve.”

“Right now,” she whispered. “But tomorrow?”

Isaac exhaled hard, shaking his head.

“I want you,” he growled. “I always want you.”

“Until when?”

His whole body tensed.

She shook her head. “Until you deploy again? Until someone else catches your eye? Until I let my guard down and then you realize you never actually wanted me, you just wanted to fuck me?”

Isaac’s jaw clenched, his frustration burning.

“You think I’d do that to you?”

Rosie looked him dead in the eye. “I think you don’t even know what you’d do.”

Isaac didn’t have a response to that, but he kissed her like it was the only answer he had left to give. His mouth was hot, insistent, swallowing every doubt, every sharp edge of resistance she stillhad left in her. His hands were all over her, like he was trying to convince her of something his words had failed to do.

And maybe… maybe they did.

Because when his fingers slid back between her legs, slow and knowing, Rosie didn’t stop him. She didn’t want to. She wanted to lose herself in this. In the way his breath hitched against her lips as he touched her. In the way his rough, calloused fingers found her slick, aching need and pressed—just right.

She gasped, her forehead dropping to his, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he teased, circled, stroked her pussy again. She moaned his name, twisting in his hold. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

“That’s it, baby,” Isaac muttered, voice low, wrecked, warm. “Let me feel you.”

His words made her pulse stutter, made her body tighten. His fingers slid lower, dipping into her heat, spreading her pussy open.

“You’re still so fucking wet,” he said, his lips dragging down her jaw, nipping at her neck. “This all for me?”

Her breath shook.

“Isaac,” she whispered, pleading, needing, barely hanging on.

His fingers moved faster, more relentless, more knowing. He pumped into her pussy, rough and determined.

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