"The pool," I say, my voice rough.
"What about it?"
"I want to swim."
I step back, unhook my bra, and let it fall. Then my underwear. Standing naked in front of him, exposed in every way, and the look on his face makes me feel powerful instead of vulnerable.
I turn and dive in.
The water is perfect—warm enough to be comfortable but cool enough to shock my overheated skin. I surface in the middle of the pool, slicking my hair back, and find him standing at the edge.
Watching me with eyes so hungry, I’m almost scared.
"Scared of water?" I challenge.
He strips. Fast and efficient, no show about it, until he's as naked as I am. And Christ, he's beautiful. All lean muscle andcontrolled power, his body as carefully maintained as everything else in his life.
Then he's in the water, moving toward me with purpose.
I back up until my shoulders hit the tiled edge, trapped. He cages me in with his arms on either side of my head, his body not quite touching mine but close enough that I can feel the heat of him through the water.
Maybe challenging Dante Vitale was a mistake?? Shit.
"H-Hi," I say, aiming for sarcasm but landing on breathless.
"Hi." His knee slides between my thighs under the water. "Still think you're not my toy?"
"I'm not—" The words cut off as his thigh presses up, creating friction exactly where I need it.
"No?" He leans in, his mouth at my ear. "Then why are you here? Why did you follow me up here? Why are you naked in my pool, looking at me like you want me to devour you?"
"I don't?—"
"Liar." His hand slides down my stomach, between my legs, and I'm mortified by how ready I am for him. "You do want me to take you… hard, fast, brutal.
"Dante—"
"We're going to do this," he says, his fingers working me with maddening precision. "But first, you need a word. Something you can say if you want me to stop. Because once we start, I'm not going to be gentle, Bianca, I’m going to lose control and you’re going to take every minute of it."
My brain struggles to form coherent thoughts and fails spectacularly. "A-A word?"
“A safe word.” His thumb circles, the pressure a maddening, perfect promise against my clit, making me gasp. “Something you wouldn’t normally say. So I know when to stop.”
I try to think. My brain is just fog and steam. I try to focus on anything other than the slow, torturous circles he’s tracing, the way his other hand is splayed possessively on my hip, pinning me to the cold tile.
“Checkmate,” I finally manage, the word a choked-out thing.
He pauses. The absence of his touch is its own kind of agony. “Checkmate?”
“Because you think you’ve already won.” I force myself to look him in the eye, to meet that dark, hungry gaze despite the heat flooding my cheeks. “But the game isn’t over.”
A slow, devastating smile spreads across his face. My stomach clenches. Goodness. “Perfect.” Then his fingers slide inside me, two of them, a smooth, claiming invasion that makes my eyes roll back, and I stop thinking entirely.
“Oh!” I gasp.
He works me with a brutal, knowing rhythm, his fingers curling just right, his thumb resuming its relentless, circling torment. I’m clinging to his shoulders, my nails digging into the hard muscle there, my head thrown back against the tiles. The water streams over my throat, my breasts, and I’m panting, each breath a ragged, desperate sound swallowed by the wave of the water.
“That’s it,” he rasps against my ear, his voice rough with want. “Let me hear you. Let me feel how fucking wet you are for me, Bianca.” His teeth graze my earlobe, and a violent shiver racks my body. His fingers plunge deeper, faster. Oh god. I can feel the coil in my belly winding tighter, a spring about to snap. My hips buck against his hand, seeking more, seeking the finish line.
