Easton stopped when I did. For a second, we stood there with the lake beside us and the party far enough away to pretend we were the only two people stupid enough to ruin ourselves that night.
I turned to face him. “Remember the rules.”
His eyes held mine. “No names.”
“No lights.”
“No getting me naked.”
“No asking why.”
I nodded once. “Good boy.”
A low sound left him, almost a laugh and almost something rougher. “Careful with that shit.”
I smiled because hearing my own attitude thrown back at me should not have done what it did. “Are you warning me now?”
“No.” He stepped into me, one hand finding my waist while the other slid to the back of my neck with a steadiness that made my knees threaten to embarrass us both. “I’m making sure you know I listened.”
I lifted my chin. “Then prove it.”
He kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss only a confident man could give, delivered like a statement instead of a tentative question. His mouth was firm and warm, tasting of lake water, cheap beer, and the clean, sharp edge of him. He didn’t rush or grope. He kissed me like he had all night and intended to spend it learning the exact flavor of my mouth, the soft give of my lower lip, and the way my breath hitched when his tongue slid against mine.
His hand stayed at the back of my neck, holding me steady while his thumb stroked the sensitive skin behind my ear. The other was a hot brand on my waist, his fingers spread wide and possessive without being cruel. He backed me up until my shoulders met the rough, weathered wood of the dock post. The solid pressure against my spine and the unyielding heat of him against my front left me caged, and a wild, reckless part of me loved it.
He broke the kiss, his breath coming in a controlled rush against my lips. His eyes were black in the shadows, but I felt the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch.
“You set a lot of rules,” he said, his voice a low, rough scrape.
“You agreed to them.”
“I did.” He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear. “But you didn’t say I couldn’t touch you everywhere.”
Before I could answer, his hand slid from my waist, down over the curve of my hip, and around to the front of my thigh. His touch was deliberate and unhurried as he traced the high-cut line of my bikini bottom, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Easy,” he murmured, his lips trailing down my neck. “I’m just looking.”
He wasn’t just looking.
His fingers found the tiny gold ring at my hip. He hooked one finger into it and slowly pulled the thin fabric aside.
The night air was cool against my pussy, and a shocked gasp tore from my throat.
“So pretty. I fucking love that,” he said, his voice thick with approval.
He didn’t go inside. He traced one maddening finger through my slit, gathering wetness before bringing it to his lips without breaking eye contact and sucking it clean. A dark, hungry sound rumbled in his chest.
“Fuck, Aura. You taste like trouble.”
My name.
He had broken the first rule.
It shouldn’t have made my stomach flip or sent a fresh pulse of wetness between my thighs, but it did.
