Ritual - Palm South University

“Whoa.”

Kade grimaces. “I know. Family drama is super fun, right?”

I squeeze his hand.

“Anyway, my brothers’ dad just got into some trouble this summer, and they called me and asked me to help.” He shakes his head, eyes lost somewhere in a memory. “It was the first time I’d seen them in years.”

“That must have been hard.”

He shrugs. “It was. But our mom was the glue that held us together. Once she passed… we all kind of fell apart.”

The waiter brings our desserts then — a key lime pie, a cheesecake, and apple pie a la mode — but when I try to slip my hand out of Kade’s to make room for the dishes, he holds fast to me, his eyes begging me not to let go.

So I don’t.

We hold hands through dessert, turning the subject to lighter topics and feeding each other sweets and finishing off the last of our wine.

Kade is a little too buzzed to drive at the end of the night, so we take a cab, and when we make it back to the sorority house, he walks me to the door with his hands in his pockets.

“I had a great time tonight, Jess,” he says softly when I slide my hands around his neck. His wrap around my waist in the next breath, and he lowers his lips slowly and carefully, the kiss sweet and a little too PG-13 for my liking.

“Well, the night’s not over, is it?” I husk, running my hands down his chest and over his abdomen.

Before I can trace the outline of the thick cock I know his pants are hiding, he grabs my wrists, stopping me short.

I pout, which earns me a chuckle before Kade kisses me again, a little more passionately this time, which only fuels my desire to get him naked — and fast.

His lips move from my mouth to my jaw, to my neck, and I let my head fall back to allow him better access. When he kisses his way up to the shell of my ear, his breath eliciting chills over every inch of me, I practically pant in anticipation.

That is, until he whispers, “I don’t fuck on the first date.”

He pulls back with a sexy, knowing smirk, kissing my knuckles on each hand before releasing me.

“Gotta get to at least number three for that,” he adds on a wink. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I’m still standing there in shock, mouth open, violet vulva throbbing in my pants. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

Kade chuckles, rolling his lips together before he walks off the sorority front porch backward. “Goodnight, gorgeous.”

I flick him off, which makes him laugh harder, and then he turns and leaves me there with a wine buzz and no orgasm.

That motherfucker.

But then, I smile.

I really have taught him well.SHE CAME.

My heart that’s been racing since I called Cassie earlier this week — with no reply — heaves a sigh of relief at the sight of her walking down the dock. Her short red hair is curled around her face, and she’s bundled in a pair of leggings, an oversized KKB sweatshirt, and simple black boots. We rarely get weather cold enough to wear a sweater in South Florida, but tonight, the breeze is blowing in from the north, and we’re on the water, which puts us perfectly in the sixty to sixty-five-degree range.

Perfect cuddle weather, I think.

If she’ll let me get close to her, that is.

I jump off the boat and onto the dock, shoving my hands in my pockets as she walks the rest of the way. She stops a few feet in front of me, crossing her arms and looking over the boat before her green eyes find mine.

“Thank you for meeting me.”

She nods, looking down at her shoes.

I want to pull her into me. I want to drop to my knees and beg for her forgiveness right here and now. But I rented the boat for a reason, and I’ve got way more in store for this girl than just a boy begging for forgiveness on a boat dock.

I reach out my hand for hers, and when she hesitantly takes it, I help her onto the boat before climbing on myself. It’s nothing fancy, a little twenty-five-foot deck boat that would be perfect for a trip to the sandbar with a group of friends. But tonight, it’ll take us to Boca Chita Key.

Cassie takes a seat at the back of the boat, and the fact that she’s letting me take her off the mainland tells me more than any words do that I still have a fighting chance here. If I were past the point of no-return, she would have fought me on the shore — or not shown up at all.

So, I put on a little music, deciding on one of her favorite artists — Jack Johnson — and we cruise out into Biscayne Bay, quiet but for the boat, the water, and the melody of “Monsoon.”