Page 65 of Surfer's Paradise

His big, rough hands moved over her like he was mapping her, memorizing her, one sliding down her waist, the other teasing slow, distracting circles on her thigh.

Like she wasn’t his oldest friend.

Like she was something brand fucking new.

God, she hated him.

Hated how easy it was to sink into this, to sink into him, even when her brain was begging her to run. Fuck this felt too good.

“Isaac,” she said, pulling her mouth from his, her forehead pressing against his, her hands slipping up into his hair.

He hummed, distracted, his lips trailing down her jaw, his fingers still fucking playing with her, teasing, tormenting, making her breath shudder.

“What are we doing?” she whispered.

Isaac exhaled hard, his forehead still pressed to hers.

“Don’t fucking know,” he admitted, his breath warm against her lips.

Her chest tightened.

“But I know I want this.” His voice was low, serious, too real.

Her stomach twisted.

She turned her head, trying to look anywhere but at him. “Isaac…”

His grip tightened on her waist.

“Stop,” he said, quiet but firm.

She swallowed. “Stop what?”

“Thinking. Looking for the exit. Whatever the fuck is happening in your head right now.”

And then—he kissed her again.

Deeper. Hungrier.

Like he was trying to shut her up, to make her forget everything except the way he was touching her.

His hands slid up her waist, over her ribs, palming her breasts, rolling his thumbs over her nipples, making her breath shudder.

“You’ve been hiding this all from me,” he muttered against her lips.

Her stomach clenched.

“It was never yours,” she whispered.

Isaac grinned, dark, knowing.

“Is now.”

Her jaw clenched. “Be realistic.”

Isaac exhaled sharply, like he was already bracing for a fight. But he wouldn’t stop touching her. He traced slow, lazy circles down her stomach, over her thigh, gripping it and pulling it high over his hip.

His voice dropped, kissing her throat, sucking just enough to make her whimper.

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