Page 45 of The Forbidden Summer
He reaches up lazily, trailing wet fingers along my forearm. “You’re looking at me like I’m something you can’t touch.”
I swallow hard. “You’re wet.”
Van laughs, low and soft. “All over. Not just my skin.”
I shiver, despite the heat, picturing the last time I saw his perfect dick wet for me.
I should say something smart or pull away before I do something I can’t take back. But his hand slides down, catching mine, and tugs gently until I’m hovering over him.
He’s still stretched out on the dock, all golden skin and lake water eyes that don’t blink, don't look away.
“Père,” he whispers, like he’s asking me something. Or maybe daring me.
Before I can stop myself, I lean down and lick a crumb from his lip.
Just close enough to feel his breath on mine. Just enough to fall into the gravity of him.
“I don’t want to ruin this,” I whisper.
His fingers curl into the front of my shirt. “Then don’t. Just… be here.”
I kiss him like the world’s stopped spinning, like the sun might burn us up right here on the dock, and I wouldn’t care. He tastes like lake water and bread and something sweet.
Van sighs into my mouth, like I’m exactly what he’s been waiting for.
His hands slide under my shirt, palms warm and flat against my stomach. I shiver, not from his cold hands, but from the spark that lights up where he touches me. Everything inside me tightens and pulls toward him.
“You okay?” Van murmurs, his lips brushing mine.
I nod, because yeah, I’m not just okay. I’m gone. “Yeah,” I whisper. “More than.”
I kiss him again, deeper this time, and he opens for me. He pulls me closer, until I’m half on top of him, sun hot on my back. His skin is damp, smooth beneath my hands, and I can feel the strength in him, the tension, the want.
Van makes a low sound—hungry, open—and my whole body responds like it’s been tuned to him all along.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing across my jaw, down my neck. Each brush of his lips makes me feel like I’m unraveling in the best possible way. I thread my fingers through his wet hair and hold on.
“I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against my skin, voice barely there. “For so long.”
He spreads his legs and I press my thigh against his dick, hard now beneath his wet shorts. Van writhes against me, chasing his pleasure.
“Me too,” I breathe, and the truth of it feels like a wave crashing through me. I’ve wanted him in every quiet glance, every charged silence, every moment I pretended not to.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes full of heat, but also something softer. Something that could wreck me if I let it.
“Then don’t stop,” he dares.
“Van,” I hedge, glancing around. But we’re surrounded by nothing other than the lake, smooth and glassy and empty.
“There’s no one here but us, Cap.”
Only a handful of people have cabins on this lake, and most of them remain vacant throughout the year. Occasionally, we’d hear a boat go by and someone shout, but for the most part, it’s just us.
I lean back in, kissing him like I’m tasting sunlight—slow, savoring, like I’ve got all the time in the world and no intention of rushing through any of it. His lips are soft, eager, and the way he kisses me back makes my knees weak even though I’m already on the ground.
Van’s fingers slide up my spine, dragging warmth across my skin like a secret. I press into him, letting my weight settle, our bodies lining up in ways that make my breath catch.
He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, his mouth hot and open. He tastes like sweet summer, and I want to drown in it.
