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“Oh...” A throaty moan slips past my lips as I thread my fingers through Vincent’s curls, tugging when his tongue teases me just right.
My dress is bunched high above my hips, the night air licking at my bare skin while his mouth devours me. My thighs rest on his broad shoulders, his grip steady, holding me open for him. He caresses, kisses, tastes, making me writhe on the towel beneath us as if I belong to him.
The ocean crashes in the distance, the wind snatching my gasps and scattering them into the night. It’s almost seven, the sky streaked in dusky gold, and we’re tangled together in our secret hideaway on Montara Beach. Here, no one can see us. No one can hear me as I cry out his name. At Ocean Beach,we’d never dare—too many people, too much risk to be heard. But here, with only the waves as witnesses, I can be as loud as he makes me. I never knew I could sound like this and it embarrasses me a little bit.
Vincent hums against me, a low, pleased sound that vibrates into my core, and I can’t stop the desperate buck of my hips. My fingers clutch his hair tighter, pulling, but he only chuckles, a wicked grin curving his lips against my skin.
The sensation makes me whimper, torn between begging him to stop teasing and begging him never to stop.
We weren’t smooth at first. For twenty fumbling minutes, nerves had tangled us, until something shifted—until instinct took over. Now it’s like his body was made to read mine. He knows exactly where to kiss, when to press harder, when to slow, when to push me to the edge and keep me there. It’s maddening, intoxicating. It’s as if he’s known my body longer than I have, and I never, ever want him to stop learning it.
I’m trembling, undone, when his face lifts from between my thighs. His lips are swollen, slick, his eyes molten as they meet mine. His fingers replace his mouth, brushing against me in a way that makes me jolt and moan without shame.
“You okay?” he murmurs, voice rough, breathless.
I nod, but it’s a lie. I’m not okay—I’m spiraling, unraveling, desperate for more. My hips move toward his hand on their own, chasing his touch. His grin is slow, sinful, devastating.
“Okay, baby,” he whispers, before lowering his head again.
The cry that rips from me is swallowed by the crash of a wave. I arch off the towel, his tongue drawing shapes that make the world blur. My nails rake through his curls as he laughs softly against me, and the vibration pulls another broken moan from my throat.
Then—my phone.
Its sharp, insistent ring cuts through the haze. At first we try to ignore it, my body still shaking under his touch, but the damn ringtone won’t stop. Finally, with a frustrated groan, Vincent pulls back, lying down beside me. His hand is gentle as he adjusts my dress, covering me again, but his eyes are still dark, still hungry.
Panting, I fumble for my phone. The name flashing on the screen makes my stomach plummet.Mom.
Ice floods through me, panic stealing the heat from my veins. I freeze. Vincent sees it instantly, his body tensing as his gaze darts from my phone to me.
“No.” His voice is urgent, desperate. “Don’t go. Please.”
“I don’t want to.” My voice cracks, small against the roar of the sea. “But... maybe my dad came home. Maybe they fought. Maybe she found out I’m with you, and she got mad.”
Vincent pushes up, kneeling in front of me, cupping my face in his hands and his eyes burn with fierce resolve. “Nova. I don’t care if she hates me. I don’t care what she thinks. I just want her to stop hurting you.”
“It’s not her fault,” I whisper, though the words feel flimsy even as they leave me. My forehead presses into his neck, hiding.It’s just...But I can’t finish the thought.
He kisses me—soft, steady, grounding. “No excuses. She’s wrong, Nova. She’s an adult, and your mother. She’s not some kid our age. The way she treats you is wrong. I get that she’s been through hell, and if I could, I’d make your father pay for every single thing he did to her. But none of that excuses how she treats you. You’ve done nothing to deserve it. You don’t have to go running every time she calls. You’re not alone anymore. You have me.”
My throat tightens. Tears burn. “I don’t—I should go home.”
His grip doesn’t loosen. “But what do you really want?”
The truth rips free, raw and urgent from my mouth. “I want to be with you.”
And the way he smiles at me then, like I’ve given him the world, makes my chest ache.
He smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Alright. And when we get back home, I’ll walk you to your room and stay outside until you’ve locked the door, okay?”
“And the ladder under my window?” I murmur, leaning against his chest. I close my eyes, letting his breathing rock me to calm.
“And the ladder under your window,” he whispers, stifling a laugh.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask, holding him tighter.
