But now?

Here.

With only the boy I adored and no one to tell us to stop—I couldn’t give a damn about the consequences.

My lips burned for his; I wanted nothing more than to spread my legs and let him see.

See me.

See what he did to me.

See just how much I wanted him to touch me, stroke me, claim me.

Just the thought of having his eyes on that part of my body drove tingles and throbs through my belly.

Arthur shifted closer, his dark hair mingling with my red curls on the sand. The icing-sugar granules were cool on my back and soft—so soft.

I’d deliberately worn a skirt, and with my heart rehomed permanently in my lungs, I grabbed his wrist and guided his hand over my thigh and beneath the daisy-print material.

His face tightened, eyes burning feverously.

A moan fell from my lips as every emotion and hyperaware sensation of that night exploded inside me.

I launched myself at Arthur.

With a grunt, he caught me, his mouth opened in shock as my hands sank into his hair, tilting his head to the perfect angle. I stole his protests—not that he was protesting—and kissed him hard.

I wasn’t aware of us moving or falling to the sand below. All I focused on was his delicious taste, intoxicating smell, and the slipperiness of his tongue as he kissed me furiously back.

“Cleo… wait.”

My teeth ground in frustration; my knees trembled as he tried to tug his wrist away.

“I can’t. You’re too—”

“If you say I’m too young one more time, Arthur Killian, I’ll punch you.”

He laughed, his arm relaxing enough for me to drag his fingers closer to where I wanted him.

“You were so hesitant about touching me. So afraid,” I panted between kisses.

“You were so damn forward,” he groaned as my fingers gripped around his cock. His loud groan echoed over the beach. I stroked him through his jeans, needing skin, needing nothing between us.

Our lips never unfused as we kissed and fumbled and rolled around in the sand.

One moment I was on top, tugging at his buckle and zipper.

The next he was on top, undoing my jeans and wrenching them down my legs.

Then we were side by side, kissing breathlessly, legs twining together, hips pulsing—bodies possessed with consuming one another.

Underwear was our nemesis. We couldn’t strip fast enough.

Sand got everywhere, but we were both past caring.

“Touch me, Art. Just once. Then I’ll stop hounding you.” I nipped at his bottom lip as his head flopped forward in defeat.

“Just once?”

I’d won. Happiness and a small douse of nervousness fluttered in my heart. “Just once.”

I froze as his hand moved upward on its own accord. I breathed hard and harsh then cried out as he finally, finally touched me where I’d been burning for months.

“Shit, Cleo. Where the fuck are your panties?”

I snickered, eyes rolling into the back of my head as his fingers traced my wetness. “I don’t need them around you. They just get drenched anyway.”

“Fuck.” His lips found mine and his precious self-control snapped.

I screamed into his mouth as his long, strong finger went where nothing had before. Pressing up inside me, stretching strangely, erotically, and so scrumptiously I would never be the same.

“Art. God, more!”

My back bowed as two fingers entered me, hooking up and stroking my G-spot. He wasn’t shy like he’d been that day. He was the one in control and I unraveled under his expert touch.

The past and present flickered fast, merging into one.

My hands felt empty as Art kissed me and continued to ease his finger in and out. It felt incredible but slowly my body became unsatisfied. It wanted more. It wanted to stretch and reach for a goal I had no words for.

I wanted to feel him.

He stiffened as my fingers found the treasure of my quest. His erection burned through his jeans, leaping against the material at the faintest touch.

“Shit, Cleo. Stop.” His finger froze inside me.

I moaned in frustration. “I’m not going to stop and neither are you. Stop overthinking this, Art. Age doesn’t matter. Family doesn’t matter. Rules don’t matter. Only you and I matter. And this… It feels right. Better than right. Meant to be.”

He lost the ability to retaliate as my hands cupped him harder.

The present dragged me back as Arthur spread my legs, settling his lean hips between them. My fingernails dug into his back as he slid inside me. His mouth held mine captive as he sank deeper and deeper. The softness of the sand below cushioned every inch, while the hardness of Arthur above pebbled my nipples and scrambled my mind.

“Fuck, I’ve wanted to sink inside you since that day. I was such an idiot to say no. To put us through that frustration.” His lips fought with mine, stealing my reply.

He let his weight smother me. His mouth hot and wet, his hands disappearing into my hair. Fisting the strands, he kept my head back and throat exposed as he thrust.

His head lowered, lips sucking hard on my neck. He grunted with every deep plunge of his cock.

I cried out as my common sense rapidly slipped into lust-haze bliss.

His touch in my hair bruised, his teeth hurt my tender throat, and his hips drove hard and arrogantly possessive into me, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

Not a single thing.

The pleasure was rapturous. A gift only given with full trust, implicit connection, and sexual electricity.