“Liking someone and loving them are different things,” she answers, but she lets him roll them over, allows herself to press down into the sand. “I think it’s rare to feel both at the same time.”

An admission she does, for him, even if it’s not in so many words. Every press of his mouth pulls a soft sound from her and she hooks one leg over his hip, her foot wrapping around the back of his thigh as her hands slide down his back. Her body arches, pressing toward him, his mouth, his touch, everything.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever liked someone, loved them, and wanted them,” she says as her nails drag lightly up over his shoulders.