Page 88 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

Off with my shirt. My bra right behind it, because I don’t do things by half, and anyway, if I’m sitting here half-dressed at the dock, I might as well go all in.

He makes a sound, almost a growl, and that’s all the warning I get before his hand is at the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss that’s all heat and teeth and a month of unsaid things.

I kiss him back, because I want to see if he tastes the way he looks. Like dark, dangerous promises, spicy and sweet at the same time.

He does.

His hand cradles my jaw and I let him, because it’s easier than thinking. I can feel my skin, tight and electric. I can smell him. Clean sweat, the faint clove smoke, beer, and summer air.

I shiver even though the night’s thick and warm.

He breaks first, which surprises me. He does this little thing, forehead pressed to mine, eye contact like we’re already naked and he has nothing left to hide.

Then I’m laughing, because this is completely ridiculous. Sitting on a dock, shirtless, my bra somewhere in the reeds, drinking cheap beer with a man who once played stadiums but now can’t look at me without wanting to burn the whole town down.

I snort. “We’re idiots.”

He doesn’t argue. “That’s what makes it fun.”

“Should we go for a swim?” I ask, surprising myself.

He considers, head canted, smirk going lopsided. “You’re not afraid?”

“Of what?”

He jerks his chin at the glass black water. “What’s under there.”

I toss my hair. “Pretty sure nothing lurking in that lake is scarier than you.”

I steal a breath, push to my feet, and dash down the dock while kicking off the remainder of my clothing. Without looking back, I launch myself off the edge.

The water shocks me cold. Icy fingers wrapping around my skin, knocking the wind out of me. I surface in a gasp, hair plastered to my forehead.

A splash behind me, and he’s in, too. He catches me, arms curling around my waist like a lifeline. And then, without hesitation, he tilts my face up and kisses me again.

It’s messy and beautiful: water dripping, limbs tangled, the world stripped down to two heartbeats syncing. When we finally break apart, my lungs burn, my pulse races, and a smile so big it aches spreads across my face.

His hands slide up my body. My skin is slick and icy and alive; I’m more nerve ending than person now. I clutch at his shoulder, hard, and he grins against my cheek.

I hook my knee up around his thigh and find that I am, in fact, very ready for him to ruin me.

He kisses down to my neck as I link my hands behind his neck. We’re two slippery bodies thrashing against a current set only to each other’s pulse.

The lake’s chill is bracing, but everywhere his skin meets mine it scorches.

I tilt my head, let him taste the tender triangle by my jaw, and he groans, deep and hollow.

“Fuck,” he hisses, the word feathering across my shoulder. “Willow, you feel so fucking good.”

He nips my collarbone, tongues the water droplets there, and I almost combust. My fingers are in his hair, yanking.

I want his mouth everywhere, want to map every tattoo with my tongue, want to claw him open and see what comes out.

I feel his rock-hard cock twitching between my thighs, grinding against my pubic bone. I wrap my legs around his waist, pull him tighter, until all the space between us evaporates.

His hands grip my ass, kneading, lifting me, and he bites at my lip, his other hand tangling in my hair. I moan, loud and animal, echoing over the flat water and the black hush of the woods.

I know this is a bad idea. I should be self-conscious with Xander, but he seems enthralled by my curves.