Page 69 of Every Shattered Note
And it still doesn’t feel close enough.
It’s not soft.
It’s not slow.
It’s a low-grade fever that’s been simmering since the night I met her, finally breaking through the skin.Her hands are on my chest.Then in my hair.Then pulling me closer like she can’t get close enough.
I walk her backward without breaking the kiss, her back hitting the cool wall behind her.She gasps, and I take the sound into my mouth like it’s mine.
“You taste like mango,” I murmur against her lips.
She smirks.“You taste like a bad decision.”
“Yeah?”I press into her, letting her feel every inch of what she’s doing to me.“Then we’re even.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt.“Dex ...”
“Tell me to stop,” I say, my forehead resting against hers.My voice is low, frayed with restraint.“Just say the word.”
She doesn’t.
Instead, she kisses me again—this time with fire.No hesitation, no pause.Her mouth opens to mine, hungry, reckless.And fuck, I lose the thread of thought.I grip her hips, walk her backward until her spine brushes the wall.She gasps, but it’s a not protest.It’s permission.
I lift her with one arm.Her legs wrap around my waist without thinking, like this has always been waiting.
She pulls at my hair, desperate and unguarded, her mouth still on mine, her breath filling every part of me that’s been too hollow for too long.My free hand slides up her thigh—wet skin, slick from the ocean or from want, I don’t even know anymore.The gauzy tunic rides high, forgotten, and her swimsuit’s in my way.
She arches against me, needing more.Needing everything.
My fingers tease the edge of the fabric, tracing along her hip, down until I find the place she’s burning for me.Her breath catches.My name slips from her mouth like a broken vow.
“Dex—”
“I’ve got you, Aly,” I whisper, not breaking the kiss.“Just let me.”
Her hand fists in my shirt, dragging me closer, lips parted like she can’t decide whether to kiss me or confess something bigger.
She breathes my name—not a whisper, but a surrender—a plea that finds its way through me.
I don’t wait for another sign.
One hand stays at her back, keeping her pinned between me and the wall, while the other slides beneath the hem of her tunic.The fabric clings to her thighs, damp and warm from the sun and the pool, but it’s her swimsuit I want gone.
She gasps when I find the edge of it.When I hook my fingers under the elastic and pull it aside—not rushed, not rough, but with purpose.Like I’ve been dying to get to this exact place.This exact moment.
And I have.
She’s slick.Hot.Fucking unreal.
I drag my fingers through her slowly, savoring every reaction—how her mouth parts, how her head drops back against the wall, how her hips chase my hand like she’s been waiting forever for this.My mouth finds her neck, tasting salt and sun and something sweeter that’s all her.
“Dex ...”It’s more breath than voice, like she’s unraveling in my hands.
My thumb circles gently, slowly, because this moment deserves more than a rush.It deserves worship.She shudders against me, forehead pressed to mine, her lips parted like she’s trying to remember how to breathe.
“You’re killing me,” she breathes, voice barely there.
I press deeper, tasting the way she clings to the edge of control.I can feel how close she is, how her body coils tighter each time I move.I kiss her again, and this one feels like everything I’ve held back since the second I saw her on that terrace.
