Page 22 of The Forbidden Summer (Pathfinders Lake #2)

Waylon

My God, that boy is going to be the death of me.

The sun is high, warm enough to make the dock feel like it might melt under us. Van lay there like he belongs to it—arms behind his head, droplets of lake water tracing slow paths down his chest, catching the light. He looks like something pulled out of a dream I hadn’t dared to name.

A sandwich dangles almost forgotten in my hand. I couldn’t remember making it. Maybe I just needed something to do besides stare.

“You should eat,” I murmur, like I’m afraid that if I disturb the silence, he’ll vanish.

Van cracks one eye open, smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and reaches for it. “Then give it to me.”

I kneel beside him. “No,” I protest, already tearing off a piece. “Let me.”

I hold it to his lips, and he opens his mouth without a word. His lips brush my fingers as he takes the bite, slow and deliberate. When his tongue grazes the tip of my index finger, I feel it everywhere, like electric heat.

He chews, swallows, and looks up at me with those ridiculous eyes. Seductive eyes. Bright hazel with long dark lashes. They remind me of the lake, way out deep, where the water’s a grayish green color.

“That all you’re giving me?” he asks, looking disappointed.

My breath catches. I don’t move. I can’t.

“Not even close,” I rasp.

His smile turns wicked, slow, and knowing, like he can read every thought I’m trying to keep locked behind my teeth.

He reaches up lazily, trailing wet fingers along my forearm. “You’re looking at me like I’m something you can’t touch.”

I swallow hard. “You’re wet.”

Van laughs, low and soft. “All over. Not just my skin.”

I shiver, despite the heat, picturing the last time I saw his perfect dick wet for me.

I should say something smart or pull away before I do something I can’t take back. But his hand slides down, catching mine, and tugs gently until I’m hovering over him.

He’s still stretched out on the dock, all golden skin and lake water eyes that don’t blink, don't look away.

“Père,” he whispers, like he’s asking me something. Or maybe daring me .

Before I can stop myself, I lean down and lick a crumb from his lip.

Just close enough to feel his breath on mine. Just enough to fall into the gravity of him.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” I whisper.

His fingers curl into the front of my shirt. “Then don’t. Just… be here.”

I kiss him like the world’s stopped spinning, like the sun might burn us up right here on the dock, and I wouldn’t care. He tastes like lake water and bread and something sweet.

Van sighs into my mouth, like I’m exactly what he’s been waiting for.

His hands slide under my shirt, palms warm and flat against my stomach. I shiver, not from his cold hands, but from the spark that lights up where he touches me. Everything inside me tightens and pulls toward him.

“You okay?” Van murmurs, his lips brushing mine.

I nod, because yeah, I’m not just okay. I’m gone. “Yeah,” I whisper. “More than.”

I kiss him again, deeper this time, and he opens for me. He pulls me closer, until I’m half on top of him, sun hot on my back. His skin is damp, smooth beneath my hands, and I can feel the strength in him, the tension, the want.

Van makes a low sound—hungry, open—and my whole body responds like it’s been tuned to him all along.

His mouth leaves mine, trailing across my jaw, down my neck. Each brush of his lips makes me feel like I’m unraveling in the best possible way. I thread my fingers through his wet hair and hold on.

“I’ve wanted this,” he murmurs against my skin, voice barely there. “For so long. ”

He spreads his legs and I press my thigh against his dick, hard now beneath his wet shorts. Van writhes against me, chasing his pleasure.

“Me too,” I breathe, and the truth of it feels like a wave crashing through me. I’ve wanted him in every quiet glance, every charged silence, every moment I pretended not to.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes full of heat, but also something softer. Something that could wreck me if I let it.

“Then don’t stop,” he dares.

“Van,” I hedge, glancing around. But we’re surrounded by nothing other than the lake, smooth and glassy and empty.

“There’s no one here but us, Cap.”

Only a handful of people have cabins on this lake, and most of them remain vacant throughout the year. Occasionally, we’d hear a boat go by and someone shout, but for the most part, it’s just us.

I lean back in, kissing him like I’m tasting sunlight—slow, savoring, like I’ve got all the time in the world and no intention of rushing through any of it. His lips are soft, eager, and the way he kisses me back makes my knees weak even though I’m already on the ground.

Van’s fingers slide up my spine, dragging warmth across my skin like a secret. I press into him, letting my weight settle, our bodies lining up in ways that make my breath catch.

He tilts his head, deepens the kiss, his mouth hot and open. He tastes like sweet summer, and I want to drown in it.

The hand at my back dips lower, fingertips pressing just above my waistband, and my whole body tightens. I slide my fingers along the side of his face, over his jaw, down his throat. His pulse jumps under my touch .

Van pulls his mouth from mine, just for a second, his lips brushing against my cheek as he exhales. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Not if I die first. But I smile, dragging my mouth down the side of his neck, slow enough to make him squirm. “Not planning on it,” I murmur. “Just soft torture.”

He laughs, a breathy sound that turns into a sigh when I let my hands roam, mapping the curve of his ribs, the line of his waist. His hips shift under me, his breath growing heavier, eyes dark with heat.

The world fades. No lake, no dock, just skin and sunlight and the way he says my name like it’s the only word he knows.

“Père,” he whispers, fingers curling into my back. “Don’t stop.”

Not a chance of that happening.

His hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt again, this time with more urgency, and I let him lift it over my head.

The air hits my skin, warm from the sun and even warmer from the heat radiating between us.

Van runs his palms across my chest, slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize the way I feel.

I lean down and kiss him again, deeper this time, pouring everything I’ve been holding back into it—every glance, every almost, every second I’ve wanted this and told myself I couldn’t.

I have years to make up for.

His legs move under mine, opening just enough to draw me in. Our hips press together, and we both gasp at the contact that feels raw, electric, and grounding. His fingers dig into my back, anchoring me, and I press into him like I want to live in the space between our bodies.

Van’s lips find my jaw, then my ear, then lower. Every kiss leaves a trail of fire, every breath he takes against my skin sends another wave crashing through me.

“I’ve wanted this,” he says again, voice rougher now, “wanted you —like this.”

I press my forehead to his. “You have me,” I whisper. “You always have.”

His hands slide down to my waist, and he tugs at my belt, slow, asking without asking. I nod, no hesitation left in me now.

Clothes come off in pieces, carefully, teasing. The sun beams down. The dock creaks beneath us, and the lake laps gently against the wood, but all I feel is him. His skin against mine, the heat of him, the way he holds my gaze like I’m something precious.

He pulls me down again, mouths me slow and deep, and it’s like the world falls away entirely.

No past. No fear. Just this.

Just him.

My precious boy in my arms, sunbaked and bare, wanting me back.

Van thrusts against me, his dick hard and aching, like mine. Spitting in my hand, I reach between us and grip us both in my fist. With long, slow strokes, I drive Van wild, his eyes rolling back in his head before closing altogether.

The little mewling sounds he makes against my mouth, my neck, fan the flames burning in my stomach.

“More, Cap,” he begs, moving his hips faster. Van’s practically fucking my fist and I’m ready to blow from the surrealness of this moment.

When he finally crests, he cries my name before going limp in my arms, a rush of hot cum flooding my fist. I spread his cum down my shaft and slide against his still-hard dick, looking over his blissed out face as I fall over the edge with him.

“Love you, Van baby,” I rasp hoarsely against his lips before taking possession of his mouth. He kisses me back with all the love and desire pent up in his body and heart.

“Love you too, Père.”

Van sighs and closes his eyes again. He doesn’t complain about my weight on him or the sticky mess between us, just savors the moment, holding onto it for dear life, like I am.

Eventually, I roll off him, the wood of the dock cool against my back as I catch my breath. For a long second, neither of us says anything, just the sound of the lake lapping at the posts beneath us, our hearts slowly returning to earth.

The sun is lower now, golden and soft, painting everything in amber light. I turn my head and look at him. Van’s eyes are closed, lips parted just slightly, like he’s still floating somewhere between here and whatever place we just took each other to.

I push to my feet, muscles warm and loose, and reach down toward him.

“Come on,” I say, a lazy grin tugging at my mouth. “Let’s take another dip to wash off. Then we’ll see about dinner.”

Van cracks one eye open, his mouth curling into a sleepy, satisfied smile. “You trying to say I’m a mess?”

“I’m saying we’re both a little sticky,” I tease.

He laughs, takes my hand, and lets me pull him up. Van doesn’t let go right away. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and for a second, we just stand there, bare skin, soft air, everything quiet but full.

Then, without a word, he runs and cannonballs off the end of the dock, a flash of limbs and sunlight before the splash .

His laughter echoes across the lake, and I dive in right after him.

Later, when the sun’s down and the lake’s gone still, Van’s curled next to me on the porch swing, warm from the shower, hair damp against my shoulder. He’s talking about something—some memory from college, a story about a road trip with a girl—but my mind drifts.

I’m trying to memorize the feel of him against me. The way his laugh rumbles through my chest when he tells a joke only he finds funny. The way he smells like soap and night air and lake water.

Because summer’s not endless. And neither is this.

And it hits me like a cold plunge, sharp and cold, robbing me of breath.

How am I going to survive when summer ends and Van leaves?

I don’t say it out loud. I just smile at the right parts and squeeze his hand when he leans into me, like maybe I can hold him here just a little longer.

But the truth presses at the edge of every moment now. Like an hourglass running out of sand.

When he goes… who do I become without him?

Van falls quiet mid-sentence. I feel him shift beside me, just slightly. He doesn’t pull away, but he stops leaning so hard into the story he was telling, like he can feel I’m somewhere else.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a beat, his voice soft.

“I’m always quiet,” I answer, too quick, too easy.

He turns his head to look at me. I don’t meet his eyes.

“Yeah, but this feels like the kind of quiet that hurts. ”

I swallow because my throat’s tight. I didn’t expect him to notice, not like this.

“It’s nothing,” I say, because the truth feels too raw, too close to breaking open.

Van doesn’t push. He never does. But his fingers lace through mine, and he just holds my hand.

We sit like that for a while, letting the placidness settle back in—not heavy, but waiting. Like the lake when a storm’s building just below the surface.

And I want to say it. I want to say, What happens when you go? I want to ask if this is real enough to survive September, or if I’m going to have to pack up my heart with the rest of the summer things and store it in some dusty corner of the shed where I won’t have to look at it until next year.

But instead, I just lean my head against his shoulder and whisper, “Don’t forget me.”

Van doesn’t answer right away. He just pulls my hand up to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. Soft. Like a promise.

“I couldn’t if I tried.”