Page 70 of A Bittersweet Summer

The press of her lips against mine opens the floodgates to everything I’ve been suppressing all day. Her sharp intake of breath, the feel of her smooth skin beneath the water. I’m a man starved.

My knuckles turn white where I grip the dock, turning my head to get a better angle.

When her lips part, I run my tongue along the seam, groaning as our tongues tangle, and I pull her closer.

That damn string bikini would be so easy to remove. One simple tug, and it would be gone—lost beneath the water where nobody can see.

Cass’s hand reaches behind her to hold on to the floating dock. She tips her chin back, basking in the sun as I trail hot kisses down her neck. She’s panting and desperate, those toned legs wrapping around me and pulling me closer.

The pressure against my cock has me unwinding my arm from her waist, placing my hand on the side of her throat.

“Damnnit, Cassidy,” I whisper, trailing kisses up her jaw. Her breasts press against me, and I groan. I can’t do what needs to be done floating behind this dock.

“We should leave,” I practically growl. “Rosemary should be at my Mom’s house.” I place another kiss on the side of her mouth. “She’ll be gone all night.”

Cass catches my lips with hers, a soft whimper escaping. “Yeah,” she says, her voice breathless. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nineteen

Cassidy

As soon as I’m in the truck, changed into an oversized concert t-shirt and a pair of cut-off denim shorts, my body is in overdrive.

The air between us feels charged and static, like a storm approaching on the horizon.

Wes grips the wheel of his truck with one hand, his other moving to rest on my thigh. I can feel the weight of it in my bones. My breath comes out heavy, and I squeeze my eyes shut when my head tips to the back of the seat.

I might just jump out of my skin if we don’t get there any faster.

“Thanks for the date,” I say, watching the trees fly by as Wes spirals down the back roads toward the farm.

His hand rises a few inches, creeping closer to where I desperately want him. “Not over yet.”

I grip the door, staring as he rises higher, the movement so slow, I start to wriggle in the seat, trying to encourage him.

“Impatient,” he scolds, and I can’t bring myself to care.

He grips the wheel harder, his finger dipping under the cut-off part of my shorts, teasing in slow circles. Out, in, out.

I take a shuddering breath. “I’m clean, by the way.” I catch his gaze, hot and hungry—wholly black in the evening light. “And I have an IUD.”

“I’m clean, too,” he says, his grip tightening on my thigh.

My fingers wrap around his, holding him against my heated flesh. “Great,” I say, voice breathless. “So we can get right to it.”

“Shit, Cass.” He rolls his tongue along his cheek, glancing out the side window. I swear he hits the gas harder.

When he pulls onto the gravel driveway, passing my house at thirty miles an hour, I point to the sign. “That says five miles an hour,” I tease. “Don’t you think—”

“Hung that sign, myself,” he mutters. “It’s within my rights to ignore it.”

When he parks, Wes leaps out of the truck, rounding to my side to pull my door open.

His hand finds mine, and I’m forced to remember the first time I felt his fingers thread through mine. We’d been at Lennon’s party—pretending. There’s no pretending here.

Mud runs his way up from the barn, tongue lolling out of his mouth. He runs up to Wes, his tail wagging. “Later,” Wes promises before bending down to grab a stick from the grass. He tosses it down the hill, and Mud takes off after it.

“Get inside, Miss Summers,” he says, his tone dark. I swallow, nodding on my way up the steps.