“Hi,” he parrots, his voice deeper now, threading through me.
For a long moment, we just breathe, inches apart, the tension stretching out until it’s almost physical—something thick enough to feel on my skin.
Then he slides his hands lower, fingers gripping the backs of my thighs.
In one smooth, effortless motion, he lifts me.
A shocked breath escapes me as my legs wrap around his waist on instinct. The movement presses every inch of me against every inch of him, and the second my hips settle, I feel it.
He’s hard. Very hard.
My lips part around a quiet gasp, and his mouth curves into the kind of slow, wicked smile that makes my pulse jump straight into dangerous territory.
“Yeah,” he says softly, water moving in small waves around us as he holds me there. “I was hoping you’d feel that.”
My heart thuds so loudly I’m half afraid he can hear it. “Cam, we’re supposed to be swimming.”
He leans in, his mouth brushing the corner of mine without quite kissing me. “You have no idea what it’s doing to me seeing you in this swimsuit.”
My fingers curl against his shoulders. “It’s just a swimsuit, it’s not even that revealing.”
“On you, it’s not just a swimsuit,” he says, tone shifting. “On you, I can imagine every inch of your skin underneath it.”
The words sizzle through me, hot enough to wipe out any lingering cold from the water. My breath stutters, and I instinctivelypress closer, which only makes him hiss quietly in response. His forehead drops to mine, eyes locked like he’s daring me to look away.
Everything about the moment—the cool water around us, the heat between us, the honesty in his touch—builds into something so much bigger. Something that feels like it’s been waiting for the right moment to come undone.
Because with him, I feel peace. I trust him, I can be myself with him. And it’s becoming harder to say that I don’t want us to go back to what we were before all this.
His hands tighten on me, fingers flexing against my thighs as the water swirls around us. I can feel every steady breath he takes, every small shift of his body as he holds me, every inch of the hard length pressed against the inside of my thigh.
It’s intoxicating.
Too much and not enough at the same time.
“Cam, is it crazy that sometimes I feel like I can’t get close enough to you?” My voice barely makes it past the sound of the falls. It comes out breathless, needy, and embarrassingly honest.
He lifts my chin with his thumb, eyes dropping to my mouth. “No, that’s how I feel I’m with you.”
Something in the way he says it steals the strength from my bones. There’s heat in it, sure, but there’s something else too—something that sees me in a way I’m not used to being seen.
His nose brushes mine. The tiniest touch. A soft, deliberate tease. “Tell me what’s going on in that head,” he says, breath warm in the cool night air. “Because you’re looking at me like you’re trying really hard not to do something.”
My fingers slide into his damp hair before I can think better of it. His lashes lower, like the touch hits deeper than I meant it to.
“I’m not used to feeling this,” I say quietly.
His breath warms my cheek. “Feeling what?”
I swallow, the words catching. “Wanting you this much.”
His hands tighten on me—just enough to steady, not enough to cage. His voice drops, low and sure.
“Katie,” he says, eyes locked on mine, “I’ve wanted you in every damn way a man can want a woman since that first night.”
Heat floods through me, sharp and dizzying. He drags his hand up my spine and when he reaches the strap of my swimsuit, his thumb slips beneath it, brushing the warm skin there.
A tremor runs straight through me, and his mouth curves like he feels every bit of it.
