When he glances back and catches me staring, he lifts a brow. “Still worried about that swimsuit, darlin’?”
I huff and peel off my shirt. “Turn around.”
“I’ve already seen it all.”
“If you don’t turn around, I’m not coming in.”
He smirks but obliges, facing the trees. “You’ve got thirty seconds before I forget my manners.”
I strip fast, heart racing. The water should be cold—it is—but it doesn’t register once I’m under. The shock steals my breath, but the laugh that follows feels so real it almost scares me.
Knox turns around. Sees me. And whatever he was about to say dies in his throat.
I’m floating, just far enough away that he can’t touch me unless I let him. My hair slicked back. Breasts barely above the surface. The current nudges me gently, like the water itself wants to show me off.
His eyes darken. “Jesus, Sierra.”
“What?” I ask innocently. “I’m just cooling off.”
“You’re gonna kill me.”
He moves through the water like it was made for him. Slow, sure, hungry. And when he reaches me, it’s not with urgency. It’s with reverence.
His hands find my waist beneath the surface, pulling me closer until I can feel every inch of him. We’re both bare. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.
“Are you trying to ruin me?” he asks, voice low, lips brushing my jaw.
“I think I already did,” I whisper.
His mouth finds mine in the next heartbeat.
This kiss is deep. Slow. The kind that sinks its teeth into your soul. His tongue strokes mine in a rhythm that feels like a promise.
He lifts me gently, wrapping my legs around his waist, my back braced by his arms and the water holding us up.
“You feel this?” he murmurs against my mouth. “How good we fit?”
I nod, shivering with more than cold.
He adjusts his grip, one hand sliding between us, guiding himself to my entrance. He doesn’t rush. Just teases, the head of him sliding against me, making my breath hitch.
Then, slowly, he pushes in.
The stretch is familiar now, but different out here. Surrounded by sunlight and birdsong and the soft ripple of the creek.
“Knox,” I breathe, sinking my hands into his hair.
He groans as he fills me, hips rocking forward in a smooth, deep thrust that makes my whole body shudder.
“You feel like sin,” he says, voice wrecked. “Sweet, warm sin I never want to live without.”
The water moves around us as he finds a rhythm, slow and sensual, each thrust measured and maddening. The wet slap of skin echoes off the trees, obscene and beautiful.
My head falls back as pleasure builds sharp and slow, like waves rolling in one after another.
He kisses my throat, my collarbone, the edge of my jaw. His hands never stop moving, stroking, holding, worshipping.
I tighten around him and his rhythm stutters.
