I would’ve—
A hand grips me by the elbow and hauls me to the surface. I cough and splutter, unable to get the air in my lungs fast enough.
My blurry vision is half camouflaged by my hair, but I manage to focus on the man who’s gripping me by the waist. With one hand and bold strokes, he swims us in the direction of the shore.
His clothes are soaked, his hair sticks to his forehead, and a muscle clenches in his jaw.
It’s unfair that he looks drop-dead gorgeous. That he drips with feral masculinity without having to do anything.
It shouldn’t be allowed, not when I’m trying my hardest to make him cut ties with me.
Once we’re in shallow water that reaches our knees, I try to pull free. Not only does he not release me, but he also stops in the middle of the water and slams me against his front.
The breath is knocked out of my lungs as I stare up at his raging eyes. “Creighton…”
“Shut the fuck up, Annika. I’m so close to being completely unhinged. Don’t test me.”
“What’s wrong with you now?”
“What’s wrong with me? I don’t know. You tell me. Since you thought it was a brilliant idea to jump into deep waters.”
A map of shivers covers my skin, and it has nothing to do with the air and is more related to the lash of his voice, the worry in it, the care that he probably doesn’t want to show it.
My voice softens. “I didn’t know it was that deep.”
“Did I or did I not tell you to stop?”
“Well—”
“Answer the fucking question.”
“You did,” I whisper out of habit, then glare. “But you were blocking me. I had nowhere to go.”
“And you never will.” His lips slam against mine, and for a second, I’m stunned.
For a second, I think I’m back in that cruel dream’s clutches and imagining Creighton’s full lips on mine.
That thought is soon dispersed when he thrusts his tongue inside. One hand fists in my wet hair and the other shoves me against him by the waist.
Creighton doesn’t just kiss me, he ravages and devours me. It’s a clash of teeth, lips, and tongues. It’s an animalistic claiming meant to remind me that I’ve always belonged to him.
I plant both palms on his chest, trying to push him away, trying with everything in me to put an end to this madness.
But he delves deeper, kissing me harder, feasting on me in ways I thought would never be possible again.
And I just can’t fight him.
Physically, emotionally, or mentally.
Still, I manage to pull back, breathing heavily. “Don’t…Creighton…”
“Don’t what?” His grip tightens on my hair and his other hand cups my breast through the transparent dress and pinches an achingly hard nipple. “Touch you? Own you like you’re mine?”
A zap of pleasure starts where he’s touching me and ends between my thighs.
It’s been so long. And no matter how much I’ve touched myself, no matter how many times I imagined his face and his ruthless touch, nothing could bring me the unbound ecstasy only he can trigger.
“Just stop whatever you’re doing.” I dig my fingers in his hoodie. “Let me go home.”