The beach house is silent, the kind of silence that presses against your skin. You move down the hallway, your bare feet whispering against the wood, and stop outside the guest room door. A faint strip of light spills across the floor.

You knock gently.

“Yeah?” Conrad’s voice comes from inside, low, guarded.

You push the door open. He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, hair mussed, a book lying open in his hands though his eyes clearly haven’t touched the page in a while. When his gaze meets yours, the air shifts.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His mouth curves slightly, like he’d been waiting for you. “Me neither.”

He slides over, wordlessly making space. You cross the room and sit beside him, the mattress dipping under your weight. His shoulder brushes yours, warm and solid, and suddenly the quiet isn’t awkward—it’s electric.

Your fingers graze the blanket, close to his. He notices. He always notices. His hand shifts, close enough that your pinky touches his. The smallest contact, but it feels like a spark. He looks at you then, really looks, eyes dark in the dim glow, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You know this is complicated,” he murmurs, his voice steady but heavy.

You shake your head. “I don’t care.”

The words hang in the air between you, and then Conrad exhales, like something in him finally gives. He leans in slowly, as if giving you every chance to pull away—but you don’t. Your lips meet his, tentative at first, testing, before he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding gently to your cheek.

The guest room feels smaller, warmer, the rest of the house forgotten. It’s just you and him now, every unsaid word melting into the kiss you’d both been circling around for far too long. His hand comes up to your jaw, guiding you closer, while the other slides to your waist, tugging you against him.

The book falls to the floor, forgotten, as you climb onto the bed with him. His body shifts under yours, strong and warm, his hands roaming—over your back, your hips, pulling you into his lap. The kiss turns hungry, teeth grazing your lip, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“God…” he breathes against your mouth, like he’s been holding back for too long. His lips trail down your jaw, your throat, his breath hot against your skin.

You tilt your head, giving him more, your pulse racing. His hands slip beneath your shirt, fingertips brushing your skin, sparking heat wherever he touches. When you gasp softly, his mouth curves into a half-smile against your neck, like he’s memorizing the sound.

The guest room feels too small for the way he presses against you, the way his body fits with yours. Every barrier between you is thinning, fading, until there’s nothing but the heat of him, the weight of his hands, and the unmistakable pull that you both stopped fighting the second you stepped into that room.