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When he opens his mouth, probably because he's about to argue again, I don't give him the chance.

I move in slowly enough that he sees it happening, slowly enough that he could turn his face, shove me off, or swim for the other side of the pool if he really wanted to.

But he doesn't.

He just stands there with his hand still locked around my arm, chest rising too fast, pupils blown wide, lips parted on a breath that sounds almost angry.

Then my mouth brushes the corner of his, just once and barely there, more a test than a kiss.

A shudder runs through him, rough enough that I feel it before I hear the sound that catches in his throat, and his grip tightens instead of letting go.

I smile against the edge of his mouth. "Just a taste, little mouse. I want to see if your mouth tastes as sweet as it looks."

"In your dreams," he manages, but the line breaks on a shudder, and the second it does his whole face tightens like he knows exactly what he just gave me.

My hand slips from his hip, gliding over the side of him until my fingertips find the line of his ribs under the water, then lower, tracing the flat of his stomach slow enough that he feels every inch of it.

"D-don't," he breathes. "P-please."

"Ever been kissed by a guy, little mouse?"

His green eyes blink wide and startled, the flush already high on his face climbing deeper. And for one brutal second he looks so young, so thrown, so obviously out of his depth that the want turns possessive, hard enough to make my grip tighten before I can stop it.

His silence tells me enough, but I'm greedy now, and I want to hear it. I tilt my head, still watching him. "Ever been kissed at all?"

His mouth parts, then shuts again. He licks his lips without seeming to realize he's doing it before he gets out, "That's n-none of your business."

Oh, fuck me.

The answer is all over him. In the way his chest keeps rising too fast. The way his body can't seem to decide whether it wants to shove me off or stay right where it is. The way he keeps looking at my mouth like he hates himself for it.

No one's had this.

No one's had him like this.

And if he keeps looking at me that way, I'm about to be the first.

I grin, unable to help it. "That's what I thought."

His face burns hotter. "Sh-shut up."

"Make me."

Then I kiss him without warning, not giving him one more second to hide behind the fight, my mouth on his as one hand locks at his waist under the water and the other slides to the back of his neck.

By now we've drifted into the shallower end without either of us noticing.

For one suspended second, he goes so still it feels like impact, and then I drag my mouth over his again, slower this time, giving him one last chance to pull away.

He doesn't. He just stands there with his breath caught high in his throat and lets me drag my tongue along the seam of his mouth, making a strangled, furious sound against me that gives him away before he can stop it.

I take the opening and kiss him deeper. This time he breaks with a low, angry sound and shoves right back into it, kissing me hard enough to make my grip tighten, like he hates me for making him want this and intends to punish me for it with his mouth.

There's nothing careful about him now, nothing soft, and that alone hits harder than it should, because Rowan doesn't kiss like someone surrendering. He kisses like he's still fighting, like he wants to bite and bruise and make me pay for every second of this. His lips are hot and slick against mine, the water rocking around us, his hand landing against my chest like he needs to hold onto something.

I give him exactly one second of that before I take control again, angling my head and kissing him slower, filthier, letting my mouth work over his in a way that makes the fight harder to hold onto. I catch his lower lip between mine and suck just enough to drag another sound out of him, then lick into his mouth when he parts for it, swallowing the breath he loses and feeling the exact second his body jolts.

He snarls against my mouth and shoves at my shoulder.