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“Miss Eleanor Lark,” I say, stalking closer, “you should know by now that I don’t take well to being ordered around.”
She freezes. “Oh shit.”
“‘Oh shit,’ indeed.”
There’s a frozen moment when we hold still like we’re hunter and prey. Then with another yelping laugh she turns and sprints along the shore, flitting in and out of the rolling waves and kicking up arcs of spray, her fingers fumbling with her dress to hike it up and free her legs.
I give her a second’s head start before I dart after her.
There’s no hope for her to outpace me. Not with my longer legs and that dress tangling her up and weighing her down.
I let her stay ahead of me anyway.
I can’t believe I’m enjoying this.
I’m fucking laughing, unrestrained, until I’m winded whenever she glances over her shoulder to see how close I am, yelps, then sprints faster with laughter trailing behind her.
The back of her dress is scooped enough for the delicate lines of her shoulder blades to entice me, the channel of her spine glittering with kicked-up spray like clear pearls. Her hair comes looser from its pins until it’s a banner, begging me to reach out and wrap that sunset gold in my fingers.
I’m almost on her.
Ready to catch her.
When her foot catches on something, and this time her yelp isn’t so playful.
It’s panicked as she goes tumbling forward, her arms flailing out.
I’m there in a heartbeat, one last lunge of speed.
Diving, I catch Elle around the waist and pull her up—but her momentum has us both, and I can only twist, using my body as a cushion for her as we spill down on the sand.
I land on my back hard, but not painfully, the damp sand absorbing much of the blow.
Elle comes crashing down on top of me, her elbow catching a glancing blow against my ribs before she goes sprawling.
We’re soaked in an instant—lying in the waves, with the water rushing up to our waists and then receding.
All I can feel is her.
She molds wetly to me like we’re melting into each other. Dissolving in the water, caramelizing in the heat of our flesh, and as she inhales sharply and pushes herself up with her hands braced against my chest, I know she feels it too.
Her skin is spangled in diamonds—wet spray drenching everywhere, turning her into a pale sugar jewel. Her soaked dress looks clinging and completely transparent now, offering me a mouthwatering view of everything I’ve been craving since I found out what she tastes like, what she feels like, what I’ve been struggling to pretend means nothing all fucking night.
Her mouth glistens as her lips part.
Her eyes are golden witchfire.
And her flesh is so damn soft in my hands, where I instinctively gripped her hips—and now I have zero intention of letting go.
I try to be practical.
Try to rein myself in, when there’s nothing stopping my cock from taking what’s mine.
“You all right?” I manage. The words scorch my breath into sparks.
“Uh-huh,” she answers—dazed, raspy.
There’s a trembling silence.
