Page 174 of Surfer's Paradise

He gritted his teeth, eyes locked on her. On the curve of her back. The way her lashes fluttered as she focused. The soft, eager little sounds she made—like she wanted him to know how good this was for her, too.

Fuck.

He felt it building fast—tight and urgent, coiling in his gut like a wave that was going to swallow him whole. And it wasn’t just the physical edge. It was the emotional one too. The kind of high-wire tension that came with realizing he could fall—hard—and he might never recover if she walked away.

“Rosie…” His voice cracked low in his throat, gravel and need. “God, baby—please—”

He didn’t even know what he was asking.

To stop? To keep going? To save him?

She looked up at him as she moved, lips slick and eyes impossibly blue, and Isaac saw it—all of it—in her face.

Devotion. Desire. Love.

It ripped through him like a goddamn bullet.

His hips jerked once, involuntary. His abs locked. His hand tightened in her hair, not pulling, just holding on—because he didn’t know how else to stay grounded.

“You have no idea,” he breathed, head falling back against the pillow, “how long I’ve wanted you.”

She hummed around him.

And Isaac Rayleigh—SEAL, survivor, badass—broke apart in the hands of the only girl who ever really had him.

Isaac came undone with a low, feral growl—his body locking, unraveling in a pulse of heat so strong it punched the air from his lungs.

“Fuck—Rosie, goddamn—that’s it, baby. Just like that,” he rasped, his fingers fisting the sheets, the crown of her head, the only anchor in a storm of sensation. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

He spilled into her mouth, and she didn’t stop—not even a little. She took every last bit of him, soft hands steady on his hips like she wanted to keep him there. Like she wanted to take care of him.

Jesus.

He was gone.

Every part of him.

Gone.

He lay there, panting, ribs aching from the sheer tension of release, heart hammering against his chest like he’d just been dropped from a plane without a chute. He reached for her—instinct, need, something—and the second she crawled up into his arms, he wrapped himself around her like she was the last soft thing in a brutal world.

“Come here, Coco,” he said, hoarse. “Get in here.”

She did. Quiet. Warm. Her face tucked under his jaw, breath feathering against his throat.

The room was still. Only the sound of the ocean said through the open window, a faint breeze lifting the curtains like breath.

She was curled against him now, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, fingers trailing absently along the line of his ribs. Each slow sweep of her touch felt like both balm and burn—soothing his skin, setting something deeper inside him on fire.

His hand came up, threading into her hair, drawing her even closer. He kissed the top of her head—soft, lingering.

He felt her fingers trace his ribs gently, brushing where he still hurt from the dive accident. Her hand paused, like she remembered he was breakable. Isaac tugged her tighter into him anyway.

“You okay?” Rosie asked softly, breaking the silence. Her voice vibrated against his skin.

Isaac swallowed, tightening his grip around her waist.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice rough. “You’re making me feel things I don’t know how to fucking feel.”

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