“Peeping Tom, huh?”
His voice dips, teasing. “If that’s the case, wouldn’t that imply that you should be naked?”
Heat floods my cheeks instantly, a rush of warmth that spreads down my neck and settles low in my belly. I let out a startled laugh, half flustered, half amused.
“You’re trouble,” I say, but I’m smiling, still breathless and a little dizzy from the way he’s looking at me.
He leans in again, his mouth close to my ear, voice softer now.
“Just saying … if we’re sticking to definitions.”
I shake my head, still laughing, but the air between us has shifted, charged now.
“I like it when you blush,” he says, pulling back slightly, but I catch how his eyes darken with hunger. He might be teasing, but there’s nothing casual about the way he’s looking at me. And suddenly, I feel it too. That same ache. That same pull.
He makes sure I’m steady on the swing before circling around, his boots crunching softly against the grass. When he stops in front of me, the sunlight catches the edge of his jaw, and I swear he looks like a carved god. He’s wild, otherworldly, rugged, and tempting in a way that makes my breath hitch.
“I should go,” he says, voice low. “Sunshine’s probably wondering where I am.”
Then he leans down and presses a kiss to my forehead, brief, but sweet.
I want him to stay. To kiss me longer, to hold me close again. But I know Sunshine needs him, and I need to get back to my book. Nonetheless, my body betrays me, sagging a little at his words.
He studies me for a beat, then tilts his head.
“What’s on your mind?”
I hesitate. My heart’s thudding. My fingers tighten around the edge of the swing. But I say it anyway, voice quiet but clear.
“I know this is fast,” I begin, fiddling with the frayed edge of the rope, “but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the tent.”
His body stills. I see it, the way his shoulders tense, the way his breath catches. His jaw tightens, and something shifts in his eyes. Something raw. He’s flustered, even if he’s trying not to show it. And I know, in that instant, that he hasn’t stopped thinking about it either.
“And …” I say, my voice trembling slightly, pulling my bottom lip with my teeth, “I was thinking … maybe we could finish what we started?”
My eyes meet his and his eyes narrow, the hunger in his stare makes my skin flush hot. But he doesn’t move right away. He just looks at me, steady and searching.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “We can take this slow, remember.”
“I’m sure,” I whisper.
“I wasn’t trying to push anything,” he reiterates, voice low. “But … I haven’t stopped thinking about you either. You make it hard to think straight.”
He leans in, his hand tilting my chin again, slower this time. “We can take this slow,” he murmurs. “But if you want more …” his eyes trail to my lips.
“I do,” I breathe. “I want it.”
A slow smile spreads across his face, not cocky or smug, just full of heat and something deeper, something tender. He steps closer, the space between us vanishing like it was never meant to exist.
“You know, you’re the one who’s trouble,” he murmurs echoing my earlier comment. He pulls off his cap and sets it gently on my head and then runs a hand loosely through his hair before reaching out and brushing his knuckles along my jaw. The touch is featherlight, but it sets off sparks beneath my skin.
Then he bends forward and kisses me.
Leaves rustle softly overhead, a hush falling through the trees. The swing creaks gently beneath me, the only sound besides the quiet press of his lips against mine. The world feels suspended.
“Maybe I am,” I whisper against his mouth, “but you started it.”
My hands release the ropes of the swing and find his waist. His muscles tense beneath the soft cotton of his shirt as I touch him, and I feel the shift in his breath, the way it catches, then deepens.
