Page 33 of Almost Enough

“Please don’t stop,” I whisper.

His fingers resume their steady pressure, working deeper now. I sigh, letting my head fall forward again as he kneads the tension from my muscles. Without thinking, I shift backward.

That’s when I feel it. Something hard and unmistakable presses firm and hot against the small of my back.

I go still. Completely, breathlessly still.

Every nerve in my body lights up, screaming to attention. My skin buzzes where his hands still rest on my shoulders, where his thigh brushes mine beneath the water. But none of it compares to the way his body is betraying him now, loud and honest and completely at odds with the walls he’s so carefully built between us.

Beau stills, too. His breath stutters, a sharp inhale that ghosts against the shell of my ear.

“Shit,” he mutters, starting to shift away. “Sorry⁠—”

But the second he moves, the friction is worse. Better. A jolt of awareness zips straight down my spine, heat pooling low in my stomach.

My instinct is to say something snarky. Instead, I lean back. Just a hair. Just enough to feel him twitch, to feel the way his grip tightens reflexively on my shoulders.

“Red,” he warns, voice like gravel.

He’s not pulling me closer, but he’s not letting go, either. He just holds me there, and I realize…he’s fighting himself. Not me.

“Beau,” I breathe, his name barely more than a tremble as it slips from my lips.

His thumbs trace a slow, steady path across my shoulders, and the drag of his touch makes me shiver, even with the water burning hot around us.

“We shouldn’t,” he says, voice low, like he’s already breaking his own rule by saying it out loud.

“Why not?”

The question floats between us, too soft to be a challenge, too honest to ignore.

His hands slide down the length of my arms—rough palms, careful fingers—and I swear he brands me with them. “Because I’m not built for this.”

“For what?”

He swallows hard. “Talking. Feelings.” His tone dips, almost a confession.

The ache in my chest blooms. I twist in the water until I’m facing him fully. The water swirls around us, but he stays completely frozen.

God, his eyes. They’re darker than ever. Pupils blown wide.

“Good thing I talk enough for both of us,” I whisper.

His mouth twitches, but it’s not amusement I see. It’s longing. Restraint.

Then his gaze drops to my lips, and everything inside me goes quiet.

“Red,” he says again. Like that nickname on his tongue might be the only thing tethering him to whatever control he has.

I move before I can talk myself out of it.

The water laps around us, sloshing softly as I slide forward and swing one leg over his lap. And then I’m there, straddling him, my thighs caging his hips, chest inches from his.

His hands snap to my waist, fingers digging into my skin as if he doesn’t trust himself not to lose control.

God, I want him to lose control.

His thick, rigid length presses up against me, perfectly placed between us, separated by nothing but wet fabric and a threadbare amount of willpower. I gasp, and it earns me a low groan from deep in his throat.