Page 63 of Surfer's Paradise

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I wanna fucking know.”

She swallowed hard, eyes locked onto his, and then—

“I’ve wanted you since high school.”

Isaac froze.

His entire body seized.

Rosie was panting beneath him, face flushed, pupils blown wide, glistening, gorgeous, everything he’d never let himself see.

And his world fucking tilted.

His chest caved in, pressure unbearable.

“Rosie,” he rasped, voice nearly breaking.

But she shook her head, biting her lip, her hands slipping up to grip his face.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please.”

And Isaac fucking lost it.

Isaac was fucking drowning in her.

The way her body wrapped around him, soft and tight and perfect, the way her breath hitched with every thrust, the way her nails dug into his skin, desperate, needing him to give her more.

And Jesus, he did.

He buried himself deep, his rhythm turning slower, harder, driving into her like he needed to burn the shape of himself into her forever.

Because she had been his all along.

And he had been too fucking blind to see it.

His forehead dropped to hers, his breath ragged, uneven, messy, their bodies slick with sweat, every inch of her fitting against him like she was made for him.

Rosie moaned, her thighs squeezing tight around his waist, her hands gripping the back of his neck, holding him to her like she couldn’t bear to let go.

“Isaac,” she whimpered, her lips brushing his, breathy, needy, his name like a prayer.

He swallowed hard, hips grinding into her, deeper, deeper, deeper.

She let out a soft, desperate sound, her eyes fluttering open, blue and burning.

His heart slammed against his ribs. His grip tightened on her thighs, her waist, anywhere he could touch.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

How had he not seen it?

How had he spent years thinking she was just his best friend, just Rosie, just part of his world without realizing she fucking wanted him?

That she had wanted him forever?

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