Chapter 31 Bellamy
THIRTY-ONE
BELLAMY
The cold water hits me, shocking but refreshing, before it rushes away. Hands find me before I can fully surface, pulling me sideways through the waves, his grip firm on my arm as he steers us toward the shelter of the rocks.
“Hey—” I start, half-laughing, half-breathless as adrenaline zings through my veins.
“Shh,” Cruz murmurs, a grin teasing at the corners of his lips. “We’re hiding.”
We slip into a narrow cut between the rocks, the water calmer here, cradling us away from the open drop where the others are still surfacing. The space is tight, the smooth stone pressing against my back, and I can feel the warmth radiating from him.
“Why are we hiding?” I ask, amusement bubbling up inside me.
“So I can do this.”
He kisses me like it’s been building up for ages—one hand curling around my jaw, tilting my face to his exactly how he wants it. His lips are warm against the lingering chill of the water, and he doesn’t rush; he just holds me there, steady, until the world outside fades away.
My hands find him automatically, sliding up his shoulders, fingers curling into the back of his neck as I pull him closer.
My legs come up around his waist without thinking, locking him in as his grip tightens in response, one hand braced against the rock beside my head, the other pressing into my hip.
I pull back, gasping for breath, warmth flooding through my body. “Jesus, Cruz.”
He trails his lips down the line of my throat, pausing to nip at my collarbone, and I shiver, the cool air mixing with the warmth of his mouth.
“I—I’m confused,” I admit, licking my lips, still tasting the saltwater and something else—something wild that I can’t name yet.
“We can’t have that.” His voice is low, almost playful as he draws my face toward his again, leaning in until his mouth just barely grazes the corner of mine—soft, unhurried, like a question he already knows the answer to.
“I wasn’t sure,” I breathe out, flicking my tongue against his bottom lip, daring him to take the next step. “About where you were at. With me.” If you wanted it—wanted me.
I don’t say that last part, keeping it tucked behind my teeth.
He chuckles, low, the sound moving through his chest and into mine where we’re pressed together. He drops his mouth to that spot just below my ear, and I feel the warmth of his breath before his lips even land. “And now?”
Water slides from his hair down the line of his jaw. I watch a drop trace the curve of his throat and disappear.
I tilt my neck to the side. “Still confused.”
His teeth close gently on my earlobe and I feel it everywhere—down my spine, behind my knees. My legs tighten around his waist without deciding to. “Still?”
“A little clearer,” I manage.
He drags his mouth along my jaw, open and slow, each kiss deliberate, unhurried, like he has nowhere else to be. When he catches my bottom lip between his teeth the gasp leaves me before I can stop it—sharp and involuntary—and then his tongue moves over it, soft, and the contrast nearly undoes me.
“Getting there,” I breathe.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and the expression on his face—patient, certain, a little wicked—does more damage than his hands have.
He brushes my hair back slowly, fingertips trailing from my temple down my cheek, across my lips, down the column of my throat, following the edge of my bikini like he’s memorizing the border of something.
His mouth follows. The salt on his lips.
The warmth of his tongue just beneath the fabric.
I sink my fingers into his hair and pull.
His mouth finds mine again and something shifts in him—the teasing drops away and what’s underneath is heavier, more focused, the kind of attention that makes it hard to remember what I was uncertain about in the first place.
My back presses into the rock. The water moves around us in slow pulses, cold against my legs, warm where our bodies meet.
A wave shoves us closer. Then a hand closes around my wrist—not Cruz’s—and pulls.
“Hey,” Cruz snaps, his hand slipping from my waist as Rafe drags me out of the narrow cove and back into open water.
The cold hits me all at once—the sun-warmed surface giving way to something deeper underneath, and then Rafe’s grip, dry heat against my wrist despite the water, pulling me forward through the chop.
“Are you serious?” Cruz calls after us.
Rafe doesn’t answer. Just swims, his body cutting through the water with an ease that makes me feel the effort of my own movement by comparison—the drag of my legs, the resistance of the current, the way I have to grab onto his shoulder just to keep up.
“How are you going to win if you can’t hold onto her?”
“I didn’t know we were playing a game,” I say, breathless.
He turns in the water, slow, and suddenly I’m facing him, his arm hooking around my back, pulling me flush against him. The cold of the ocean and the warmth of his chest. The salt on his skin where my cheek nearly grazes his jaw.
“Come on, baby.” His voice is lighter than I’ve ever heard it—easy, unguarded, like something he forgot to keep back. “You know what you are by now.”
I blink at him. “That is absolutely not something I expected to hear from you. Cruz? Maybe. Gage? Definitely. You? Not even close.”
“So I surprised you, that’s what I’m hearing,” he says around a laugh. Not a smirk. Not a half-breath. A real laugh, his chest moving against mine with it, his grip tightening reflexively at my back.
I grab the front of his shirt and kiss him before I’ve decided to.
He makes a sound low in his throat—surprised, then not—his hand sliding up my spine, pressing me closer until there’s no water between us, just warmth and salt and the slow pull of the current trying to take us somewhere else.
“Yeah,” Cruz calls from behind us, voice edged. “Just so you know, this is bullshit, and I call foul!”
I smile into the kiss. Rafe doesn’t let me drift far. He angles us toward another cut in the rocks, smaller than the one Cruz pulled me into, just enough space to break the current, the water going still around us, the noise of the open drop muffled to almost nothing.
My back meets the stone—sun-warmed, rough, the heat of it a shock against skin that’s been cold this whole time. His hand presses flat against my waist and I feel every point of contact separately: palm, fingers, the heel of his hand.
“You’re trouble,” he says.
I tip my chin up. “You just figured that out?”
His mouth curves, but his eyes don’t move off mine. “I figured it out a while ago.” His thumb drags slow along my side, tracing the edge of my ribs. “I just didn’t realize how bad it was going to get.”
“Bad for who?”
“Everyone.”
That should feel heavier. It should echo something Bishop said. But it doesn’t land the same way—because Rafe doesn’t sound like he’s warning me. He sounds like it’s his favorite thing.
“You say that like you’re not part of the problem.”
“Baby, I am the problem,” he says, and then his mouth is on mine.
It’s different than Cruz. Still deliberate and focused—but warmer underneath, like he’s claiming me instead of asking permission.
Salt on his lips. The faint chill of the water still on his skin and the heat underneath that.
His arm locks around my waist and I feel the shift in his breathing when I press closer, the way it catches, just slightly, when I drag my fingers up the back of his neck and hold on.
Rafe’s mouth drags along the side of my neck, slower now, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath catch—his hand sliding along my wet skin like he’s deciding something.
I don’t mean to look. But once I do, I can’t stop.
Gage is a few feet out, watching me and not pretending to hide it. Water runs down the center of his chest. His jaw is set, expression steady, but his eyes are dark in a way that pulls heat straight through me.
Cruz surfaces from the water close, pushing his hair back with one hand, water sheeting off his shoulders. His eyes move from me to Rafe and back—slow, deliberate, like he’s reading something. Then his mouth curves.
“Good luck, man,” he says to Gage. “Rafe’s a thief. He never learned how to share.”
Gage looks at me, a slow exhale leaves him, his chest rising and falling with it. “That so?”
Rafe lifts his head just enough to look at both of them, his grip tightening at my hip, fingers pressing in. “Fuck off.”
Cruz huffs a quiet laugh and moves closer, the water shifting warm against my legs with the displacement of his body.
Gage does too.
Now they’re both there—close enough that I can feel the heat coming off them despite the cold, close enough that the current moving between all of us feels like something else entirely.
Gage’s gaze flicks back to mine. “But she doesn’t want us to. Do you, Bell?”
My pulse spikes. Every instinct says answer him. Pick a side. Shut it down before it becomes something you can’t walk back from.
The water moves slow around my waist. Rafe’s thumb is still tracing that line along my ribs.
Then a splash—cold spray catching my shoulder—and Bishop cuts through the water toward us like he’s ending a meeting.
“Thought we were cliff jumping,” Bishop says. Dark eyes moving over all three of us like he’s taking inventory. “Not passing Bellamy around.”
The words drag a nail down the moment.
Gage’s jaw tightens. “Watch it.”
I laugh softly, still catching my breath as I glance over Rafe’s shoulder. Not even Bishop’s barbs can bring me down right now.
Gage is treading water a few feet away, one brow lifted, mouth curved like he’s enjoying this far too much.
“You guys done hiding over here?” he asks. “Or do I need to start keeping score?”
Rafe turns just enough to look at him, his arm still tight around me. “Are you and Cruz teaming up on me now?”
“Hell yeah we are,” Cruz says, splashing water at Rafe. “Didn’t you just say it was a game?”
Rafe loosens his hold just enough for me to move, but his hand lingers at my waist like he’s not fully ready to let go.
Cruz closes the distance next, not touching me this time, but close enough that I feel the shift in the air between all three of them.
“Are you done, Bell?”
I push off Rafe before anyone else can answer, water sliding down my arms as I swim toward the rocks.
“I’m not done,” I say. “Are you?”
My gaze flicks between all of them, one by one.
Rafe’s mouth curves first, something sharp and satisfied in it. “Not even close.”
Gage exhales a quiet laugh, already moving. “Yeah, we’re not done.”
Cruz drags a hand through his hair, water slicking it back as he watches me for a second longer than he should. “I’m just getting started.”
It all sounds like a challenge—or maybe a promise.
Bishop just shakes his head once, but he’s already turning toward the climb.
That’s good enough for me.
We move together this time, all climbing the rocks back up to the top. My muscles burn more now, the earlier jumps catching up to me, but it only makes everything feel sharper, more immediate.
Alive.
By the time we reach the top, my pulse races, skin buzzing with adrenaline, the wind a cool caress as the sun sinks lower over the shimmering water, painting everything in hues of gold and orange.
“Together?” I ask, glancing sideways at them, searching their faces for a sign.
Rafe nods, slipping into place beside me with that familiar intensity, his presence grounding. Gage settles on my other side, easy and warm, the kind of comfort I’ve always relied on. “Let’s go,” he says, his voice steady as rock.
Cruz moves in without a word, close enough that I can feel his heat radiating against me, a silent promise of camaraderie. Bishop stands at the edge, framing the scene with his steady, watchful gaze.
I push aside any anxious thoughts. This moment isn’t for overthinking; it’s for living.
Our footfalls pound against the rocky ground, the rush of wind amplifying as the edge draws nearer.
And then, we leap.
The drop hits harder this time—not because it’s higher, but because it’s us, all of us, together.
The wind tears past, the ocean rising to meet us in one endless, dark rush. For a split second, everything synchs up—movement, breath, bodies, timing.
It’s perfect.