“You don’t.” His thumb traces the line of my cheekbone, slow enough to make my knees feel unreliable. “It’s been wrecking me. I’ve wanted you since the second you swam out to us, and every day since has cost me. Walking past you and not touching you. Watching you smile at us and not taking more. Sleeping under the same roof and hearing your door close at night and making myself stay on my side of it.” His eyes hold mine, far too full. “And the worst part is it’s not just want. It’s that I already care about you more than I should.”
I can’t swallow properly or find my voice. My hands lift of their own accord and settle flat on his chest, where bare, damp skin meets my palms, and his heart is steady against them.
My hands stay on his chest, and the strength of him under my palms is incredible. The heat of his skin and the rise and fall of his breath captivate me.
“North,” I whisper, and his name comes out like a confession. Becauseimpossibleisn’t the word for this after what he just gave me.
His gaze settles on mine. “Don’t fight your own body on my account.”
His other hand slides to the back of my neck, firm and sure. My eyes close for one second, then open again, and the ache in me is so deep now that it feels almost like grief turned into want.
“Your body’s been honest with me for a while,” he says, close enough that every word brushes my skin. “I want the rest of you to be honest too.”
I break a little at that because I’m so tired of holding myself back. So tired of pretending I don’t want this, don’t want him, don’t want the kind of taking he’s promising me with every look and every touch and every quiet, devastating word.
His mouth lowers to my ear, and the heat of his breath sends a sharp, trembling throb through my body. “Let me ruin you, Adelaide.”
The moan that leaves me is helpless and soft and humiliatingly needy, and his fingers tighten once at the back of my neck like he felt every inch of it.
I turn fully toward him until there’s almost nothing left between our mouths.
“You have no idea,” I whisper, voice shaking, “how long I’ve been trying not to beg for you.”
His eyes darken. “Then stop trying.”
My breath catches.
He stays there, waiting, giving me the choice even now, even with both of us burning.
“Tell me yes,” he says.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Please, yes.”
He kisses me.
Not tentative. Not gentle in the way men are when they’re still deciding. North kisses me like he’s done waiting, the decision was made a long time ago, and this is just the moment he’s finally allowing himself to act on it.
The hand at the back of my neck tightens just enough to hold me exactly where he wants me. His other arm wraps around my waist and drags me flush against him, and the full, hard line of his erection finds me all at once. Every inch of that controlled patience he’s been wearing for days is still there, but now it’s turned dangerous.
A purr peals past my lips, sounding embarrassingly needy, and he answers with a low, approving hum that I feel through his chest under my hands. His mouth works mine open slowly, thoroughly, like he intends to leave no part of me untouched. When his tongue slides against mine, my whole body burns and chills in the same breath. My fingers dig into his skin, and I stop knowing where the boat ends and I begin.
He breaks the kiss just enough for me to draw in air.
“I will never get enough of you,” he says, voice rougher now.
“Me neither,” I whisper, barely getting those words out.
His mouth brushes mine again, not a kiss, just a smirk. “I know.”
The arrogance of that should annoy me. Instead, it ignites a fire inside me. “You’re smug right now,” I answer.
“Very.”
“Well—”
“Come here,” he commands, quickly taking my mouth again before I can answer, deeper this time, one hand still firm at my neck, the other sliding up my spine until I arch into him exactly the way he wants. His kiss is all control, carnal hunger, and the quiet threat of how much worse he could make this if he let himself.
My head goes light at the thought of what he could do to me.
