He inhales. A slow, deliberate breath that feels like it drags me under with him. And then, just like that, he pulls back. Not far, not enough to break the tether strung between us, but enough for the moment to crack and splinter.
“Let’s get you out,” he says finally, his voice back to neutral like nothing happened. Like I didn’t almost burn alive in his arms.
I don’t move. Not right away. Disappointment hits me so hard it almost steals my breath. But I nod, because what else can I do? He lifts me with that effortless strength, guiding me until my feet hit solid ground.
The cold air bites instantly, my clothes clinging wet and heavy, every nerve screaming with too much sensation. A violent shiver racks through me.
He steps back slightly, eyes scanning me, his brows still furrowed. His sharp features are shadowed under the dim lights of the balcony, his usually composed face lined with something I can’t quite place.
“Wait here,” he says, voice firm but soft. “I’ll get you a towel.”
I nod, still catching my breath, reeling from everything that just happened.
I lift a hand to my ear, fingers grazing over my hearing aid, for a second, panic flutters in my chest. But then—it’s fine. I can still hear. The sounds around me are a little muffled, but not silent. I’m surprised it didn’t slip out when I fell into the pool.
“It’s waterproof,” he reminds me as he turns, like he already knew what I was thinking.
I glance up at him, meeting his gaze.
Then, just as I think he’s going to walk away, he doesn’t.
Instead, he turns back to me. My breath catches
Two steps. That’s all he takes—two slow, deliberate steps before he’s in front of me again.
I don’t move. I can’t.
The air between us tightens, coiled and electric, humming with something I can’t name but feel everywhere in my body.
His gaze lowers, and his fingers graze my skin before he tilts my chin up, just enough to make me meet his eyes. His touch is steady, commanding, yet impossibly gentle. Heat seeps from his skin into mine, and my pulse skitters like it’s trying to break free.
His voice drops, husky and low,
“Why do you smell like that?”
The question throws me, but not nearly as much as what comes next. He leans in—closer and closer until his nose brushes just above the curve of my neck.
I freeze. My whole body goes rigid, but inside, I’m shaking with a need I don't understand.
The moment his breath fans across my skin, I forget how to think. How to breathe. How to exist. Then his voice comes again, low and rough, vibrating through me.
“You smell so fucking good.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment. It sounds like an accusation, like it’s my fault for tempting him, for making him lose control. His arms tighten around my waist, fingers pressing firmly against me, like he’s holding me in place. Like he’s afraid to let go.
My head feels light.
Just when I start to process what all this is, his tongue flicks against my skin. Just a quick, wet taste where his breath had been seconds ago.
Warm and Slow.
The sensation sends a violent shudder through me, my skin tightening like it’s been set on fire.
He’s tasting me.
His mouth lingers, his lips hot and slow as they press against my neck. Time blurs. Seconds feel like forever. My heart’s pounding so hard I swear he can hear it, feel it against his chest. My fingers curl into his arms like I’m drowning and holding on to him for dear life.
Then he sucks.
