Page 172 of Without a Trace
The kayak rocked beneath us, rain pouring over our skin, and I was already grinding down against him—desperate, shameless.
His fingers skimmed under my shirt, dragging it up inch by inch. When it caught at my ribs, I yanked it over my head and tossed it behind me into the sea.
Alden groaned, his hands slid to my ass, gripping, guiding.
I unfastened my shorts and wriggled them down, baring everything. The air was cool on my thighs, but the heat between us burned.
He touched me—rougher this time. No patience. Just want.
I gasped.
He grinned. “That good?”
I rocked against him in answer.
“We’ll tip it,” he warned, voice rough.
“Then stop teasing.”
I slid down onto him right there in the middle of the dark sea, the kayak swaying dangerously as I fucked him slow and reckless.
Water sloshed beneath us. Rain kept falling, cool against flushed skin.
Every movement made the kayak groan. Every shift brought us closer to tipping.
Which only made it hotter.
He gripped the sides like he was holding onto sanity itself, biting down on a groan when I rolled my hips just right.
“This is insane,” he panted.
“Uh-huh,” I said, breathless, “and you love it.”
Riding him with quiet fury, chasing heat, chasing oblivion. Our bodies were slick, grinding together, the world shrinking down to skin and water and the way his eyes never left mine.
His head fell back. “Scarlett—fuck—”
“Don’t stop,” I gasped.
The kayak tipped—just enough to send water spilling in.
We laughed, breathless.
I held onto his shoulders, biting my lip as the pleasure wound tight. He gripped my hips, letting me take over—desperate to keep balance, more desperate not to stop.
“Harder,” I whispered.
His fingers dug in.
I moved faster, wetter, more frantic. Each roll of my hips pushed us closer to the edge of sanity.
My breath caught. “Alden—”
“I’ve got you,” he growled. “Let go.”
I shattered.
My cry caught against his throat as I clung to him, trembling, wrecked.
