She kissed him back like he was the only cure for the fever he was stirring up, legs parted around his thigh and holding tight to Booker from neck to knee, feeling the pulse in his fingers around her breast. Everywhere their bodies touched felt like a live wire, and she writhed between him and the rough edge of the pool wall, biting gently at his lips and letting out a soft groan as she locked her ankles around his leg.

"Don't be sorry now, Book," she managed through soft pants. "Don't be sorry."