The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 357

Petty could taste the salty tang of the sea the moment it hit her tongue. She scrunched her nose in distaste, but the man ignored her hesitation, deepening the kiss like he was chasing down every bit of her resistance.

He was completely drenched, water streaming off him and soaking her clothes until she was just as wet as he was. With a steady, fierce grip, he pressed her down onto the yacht’s deck, his hands firm on her shoulders so she couldn’t squirm away. His thigh wedged between her legs, keeping her from kicking out.

After a while, he finally lifted his head to look at her. Her lips were swollen from his kisses, and something stormy brewed in his dark eyes, like thunderclouds gathering.

“Weren’t you worried I’d drown out there?” he asked, his voice rough and—strangely—tinged with something softer underneath the anger. Maybe it was the seawater, but his tone felt less icy than usual, almost hurt.

Petty didn’t catch that subtle shift in him. She just gave a small, regretful sigh. “That really would’ve been a shame.”

She knew, deep down, he’d never let a little trick like that finish him. If something so simple could take Franco down, he wouldn’t be Franco.

Hearing her say she almost wished him dead, Franco didn’t get angry. He actually grinned, tilting her chin up, his low voice rumbling with unexpected laughter. “Petty … I regret it.”

Before she could react, he grabbed her tight, and the next thing she knew, they were both in the sea.

The sunlight above was golden and warm, and the seawater didn’t feel that cold at first. But once submerged, the blue turned to dark navy below them, endless and deep, like looking down into a midnight abyss.

Instinct took over. Petty thrashed, desperate to find something solid. A moment ago, she’d been out for revenge, acting on impulse. Now that he’d pulled her into the water, she refused to just give in.

After what felt like forever, he finally let her go and pulled her back up onto the boat. He carried her over to the captain’s seat, sat down with her on his lap, and reached for a fresh blanket from the storage shelf, wrapping it snugly around her.

The yacht’s engine roared to life. Franco spun the wheel, sending up a sharp spray of seawater that sparkled in the sun. As droplets splashed onto the deck, he glanced down at Petty and gently tucked her head into his chest.

Once they reached the dock, Petty shoved Franco away and slapped him, then stormed off toward the villa without looking back.

Franco watched her go, his lips pressed together, saying nothing as she disappeared inside, the blanket still wrapped tight around her shoulders.

The layout here reminded her of Misty Vale. Petty headed straight upstairs, but this second floor was nothing like she remembered. Back in Misty Vale, there were two bedrooms—one hers, one Franco’s. Here, though, there was only one. It was like someone had knocked down the wall between the rooms, turning it into one big suite.