Page 137 of Meet Me In The Dark
I send a wall of water straight into her face.
“Julian!” she sputters, blinking saltwater out of her eyes.
And because she never knows when to quit, she splashes me back, hitting me square in the face.
That’s it.
In two strides, I’m on her. My hands find her waist, hauling her against me. Her laughter dies into something else, something heavier.
Her body is cold and slick from the water, but she still feels like fire pressed to me. I brush her wet hair back from her face, my thumb lingering on her cheek as I take her in.
When I lean down, it’s not to kiss her mouth. Not yet. I kiss her forehead, each cheek, the tip of her nose, and finally, I take her lips.
She melts into me like she’s been waiting for this.
Her nails scrape down my stomach until she finds me, hard against her.
“Mmm. There he is,” she hums against my mouth, biting my bottom lip. “That’s interesting.”
“It’s inconvenient, is what it is.”
She strokes me once, then twice.
My control takes the hit, splintering around the edges. I fist her hair, my other hand skimming down her spine, pulling her closer. Her mouth opens, and I taste her the way I know drives her insane.
My hands drop lower, gripping her ass, kneading the flesh as I press her against me.
“Fuck, Celeste,” I rasp, my fingers digging in.
Even through the fog of want, I catch it. That hesitation. Not hers, but mine.
I force my hands to still and pull back enough to see her face. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She clings to my arms, eyes dark. “I’m not made of glass. I want you inside me.”
Christ.
“If it hurts, you’ll tell me. Yes?”
“I will.”
For long seconds, I search her face for any sign she doesn’t mean it. There’s none.
My breath leaves me in a sharp exhale as my hands slide to her thighs and I lift her around my waist before turning toward the shore. “If that’s the case, I want you in my bed, where I can take my time with you.”
The sound she makes in response almost has me rethinking the walk back entirely.
Forty-Three
Celeste
Somehow, we made it back to the house.
Somehow, we showered off the salt and sand, scrubbed away the evidence of the ocean, and yet he hasn’t touched me since.
Not like that.
Not the way I need him to.
