Time seems to fade away without any progress. He doesn’t say much, just watches the water, looking at me from time to time to give me a small smile.

Maybe I didn’t make it clear how attracted to him I am. The warm watercolor tattoos all over his arms are begging to be touched, and after half of my second beer, there is literally nothing between me and what I’m about to do.

I lean toward him, brush my fingers over his bare arms, and lean my mouth next to his ear. “Logan,” I whisper.

His jaw tenses, his muscles flexing as he waits for my next words. His eyes stay trained on the water.

“I want you to kiss me,” I say as I let my hand drift from his arm to his chest, then his stomach. Beneath my hands, I feel the growl rumble in his chest.

“You’ve had too much to drink,” he says as he sits up and my hand drifts from his body to the sand. “You don’t want that.”

I let out a loud exhale. “Yes, I do.”

“I should get you home. It’s getting late.” He shifts like he’s about to stand, and I move with desperation. I grab his face and pull his lips against mine. His body is tense against mine, and after a moment, I pull my lips away, but he keeps his lips within an inch. Whatever his struggle is, I want to break away the barrier keeping him from me.

“You don’t want me?” I breathe.

“Of course I do,” he answers as his hand snakes around my waist and pulls my body closer. I can feel the crack in the barrier. I can see the light seeping through.

So I lean my body against his, my breasts against his chest as we’re about to topple together into the sand. I push my lips toward his ear as I grab his hand and pull it toward my stomach as I whisper, “Please, Logan.”

And it’s just enough to break his resistance. He presses my body against the sand, letting his lips explore mine. His movements are all gentle and soft as his lips move along my jaw, back to my ear, and down my neck.

I let out a gasp as his hand moves to my thigh and under my dress to squeeze the flesh of my ass in his firm grasp. I feel as if I’m drowning in his touch, and I don’t want him to stop. Every time his crawling touch stops, I feel my heart beg for more.

There’s a hunger inside of me that is unleashed, and I wish so badly that he would kiss me harder and be a little more rough. It’s as if I can feel his restraint. Like he thinks he can break me if he’s too wild. And the wild is all I want.

I press my hips up to him, and the hardness beneath his jeans presses up against that spot between my legs. It’s too much to bear. My hand shakes as I think about ripping the fabric between us away. Am I ready for that? The way he’s making me feel right now, I am.