I stare at him, and everything inside me shifts. The rage doesn’t vanish, but it changes shape. It turns molten.
My heartbeat slows into something heavier. Deeper.
Jake stares back, soaked and furious and alive, like he’s fighting himself and losing.
And then, without planning it, without permission, I surge forward and press my mouth to his.
11
JAKE
Collision
The kiss is a collision.
Her mouth crashes into mine, and God—it feels good.
My hands, which were gripping her shoulders in panic seconds ago, slide up to her jaw. I’m still shaking, the adrenaline from pulling her out of the water mutating into something darker. Hotter.
My brain is a static-filled mess ofscared, confused, angry, turned on.I’m angry that she scared me. I’m terrified of how much I cared. And I’m so goddamn turned on that I can’t think straight.
Her lips are warm and soft and demanding, and she tastes like chlorine and breath and something sweet.
I groan into her mouth, the sound vibrating through both of us, and I kiss her back with everything I have.
I’m not being careful. I’m not being responsible.
Her body presses against mine, slick and warm from the water. Her skin slides beneath my hands, and I realize with a sharp, electric jolt how little separates us.
She’s wearing a simple white bra and matching briefs, both soaked through, the fabric clinging to her like it was made for this moment. Every curve is outlined. Every breath she takes presses her closer.
I’m still in my T-shirt. My sweatpants are heavy with water, dragging against my legs. Her hands clutch the fabric at my waist, fingers curling like she needs something solid to hold onto.
Her mouth opens under mine and my tongue brushes hers.
My heart pounds so hard it hurts.
My hands slide up her back, water dripping from her skin as my fingers trace the curve of her spine. She arches into me, and the movement is instinctive, unconscious.
I break the kiss for a second, just long enough to breathe.
Her lips are swollen. Her eyes dark and wide and searching.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice rough and wrecked.
Her hands tighten on me. “I don’t know.”
That should be my cue to stop.
Instead, I kiss her again.
Because I don’t know either.
We stumble backward until her shoulders hit the wall beside the pool.
The concrete is cold and damp, but neither of us cares. I cage her there with my body, one hand planted flat beside her head, the other still tangled in her hair.
Water drips from my clothes, pooling at our feet.
