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57

ALLISON

T he water laps around us, but it’s not what’s drowning me.

It’s him.

My husband.

His presence.

His intensity.

The way his raw, unfiltered need coils around me like a riptide, pulling me under.

Connor stares at me, dripping wet, jaw clenched, lashes beaded with water. His mouth is parted like he’s on the edge of saying something that will either break me or brand me.

His grip on my hips tightens, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he’s still holding on.

Still afraid I’ll vanish.

But I won’t. I never will.

He doesn’t speak.

Just breathes.

His chest rising and falling like he’s trying to survive something inside himself.

“Say it,” I whisper, voice barely above the splash of the water.

His jaw flexes. “Say what?”

“Whatever’s in your head right now.”

His fingers trail up my spine, slow and reverent, dragging a shiver from the base of my neck to the back of my skull.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

His hand slides to my throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding, claiming. His thumb brushes over my pulse like he’s syncing his heart to mine.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he murmurs, voice hoarse.

My breath stutters. “Good.”

His fingers press tighter. Just a fraction. Enough to make my knees weak beneath the water.

“No, Allie. You don’t get it.” His voice drops lower. Rougher. Unsteady. “Every second. Every breath. Every goddamn thought—it’s you. I can’t turn it off. I don’t want to. But it’s… fuck… It’s insane. ”

My heart hammers.

“I don’t want you to stop,” I say, and I mean it. “Obsess over me. Drown in me. Burn for me.”

He looks like I just handed him a loaded weapon with my name carved into it.

“You say that now,” he rasps, like he doesn’t trust it. Like part of him still thinks I’ll run.

I lift my chin, staring straight into the storm. “I’ll say it again tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day after that.”

His control snaps.

He crashes into me like a wave—mouth on mine, tongue claiming, breath ragged. He kisses me like he’s possessed, like he’s been waiting for permission to fall apart.

And now I’ve given it to him.

My nails dig into his back, dragging him closer, anchoring us in a kiss that could reduce the whole world to ash.

But he’s still holding back.

I feel it in the way his hands tremble.

In the way his body tenses.

I bite his lip, pulling, challenging. “Stop holding back.”

He growls—a deep, feral sound that vibrates through my whole body—and then he does exactly what I asked.

He unleashes.

Hands in my hair, down my back, gripping and tugging and marking every inch of me like he owns it. Like I’m his breath, his blood, his fucking religion.

“Fucking menace,” he growls against my lips. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

I smirk, gasping. “Good.”

He lifts me with a low grunt and slams me back against the jacuzzi wall. Water splashes out around us, but we don’t stop. We can’t.

We’re wildfire and gasoline.

I wrap my legs around his waist, clutching him like I need him to hold me together.

Because I do.

I need his chaos. His obsession. His darkness.

I want all of it.