Out here…
Everything felt possible.
Everything felt fragile.
Everything felt like the truth was racing toward us in the dark.
As the yacht sailed deeper into open water, the sky shifted into a bruised violet. The lantern light flickered against my skin, warm and soft, like fingertips tracing over my arms.
Dane stayed beside me.
Silent.
Still.
Coiled tight in a way he didn’t want me to see but couldn’t hide.
He kept his hands in his pockets, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the horizon but every few seconds, his gaze flicked to me:
My mouth.
My collarbone.
My hands gripping the railing.
My hair tangling in the wind.
He watched like a man trying to memorize restraint.
Like a man trying very, very hard not to take what he wanted.
His arm brushed mine once.
A spark.
Twice.
A flame.
The third time, he didn’t pull away.
Neither did I.
We stood like that barely touching, barely breathing for long, aching minutes that felt like being held in the hands of something bigger than us.
The ocean rocked the yacht gently, the rhythm slow and hypnotic, making my body sway closer to his without meaning to.
He inhaled sharply when my hip brushed his thigh.
The smallest contact.
Barely anything. But the tension snapped through us like lightning on open water.
He turned to face me fully, eyes dark, unreadable, hungry in a way he was trying to hide but failing at.
“Penn…” he said my name like a sin and a prayer tangled together.
Just my name.
