Rory turned back just in time to catch sight of Jasper's face—flushed, tense, every line of it pulled taut by restraint. The heat in his eyes told her everything he wasn't saying out loud. She drew in a steadying breath, grounding herself, then stepped closer and rose onto her toes.
She kissed him.
The moment her lips brushed his, Jasper went utterly still, as if struck by lightning. For a heartbeat, he didn't move at all. Then something in him snapped loose. His hands slid to her waist and tightened, fingers digging in as he kissed her back with fierce, unguarded longing. The restraint he'd been clinging to trembled violently, barely holding.
His palms traced her back, her sides—warm, possessive—yet even then, he stopped himself short, breath uneven, body rigid with the effort not to lose control.
The position was awkward, water sloshing softly around them, porcelain pressing cold against her skin. Rory shifted and gave him a gentle push against the chest.
