“Can I swim with you, baby?” I asked softly. “Can I step into your water the right way, slow and steady, until you trust me with the deep parts?” My eyes stayed on hers, warm and certain. “Let me take you so far in comfort you can’t tell if you floating in that pool . . . or floating in me.”
Her breath hitched, and her freckles flared, answering me before her lips could.
“Yes.”
That one word hit me like a blessing, a permission, like peace finally saying my name. I laced my fingers with hers, stood her up gently, and kissed her forehead slowly, right where her worries liked to sit.
“Good,” I whispered. “Come on, Connie.”
I led her to the bathroom where her swimsuit was waiting, already folded like I’d been expecting her.
“Get dressed for me,” I said softly. “I’ll be out back in the water, waiting on you.” I paused at the doorway, glanced over my shoulder, and added my hood intellectual sweetness. “Don’t rush, love. I’m not going anywhere.”
I walked over to kiss her again, slowly and intentionally, telling her nervous system it could unclench. Then I stepped away before my self-control started negotiating. I learned a long time ago that patience was a form of protection too.
Outside, the night was warm and quiet, the sky wearing that deep, velvet blue as if it knew something good was aboutto happen. I strung the fairy lights up one by one, watching them blink to life like yeses in the dark. The Bluetooth speaker hummed low, old R&B threaded with bass.
This was my element. Water. Rhythm. Safety. And her. My favorite new variable.
I eased into the pool, letting it hold me the way it always had: chlorine and calm. The water slid over my shoulders like a reset button. I leaned back, eyes on the sliding doors, waiting the way a man waited when he already knew what he wanted and had the discipline not to rush it.
Minutes later, Solè stepped out like she’d been penned by soft light. The fairy lights honored her skin. That swimsuit was modest and still dangerous, not vulgar . . . just undeniable.
My mouth went dry, my body responding before my mind could catch up. That was Solè. She just existed, and my spirit snapped to attention like roll call. I waded to her slowly and controlled because big-dog energy wasn’t loud. It was law.
She stood on the edge, looking uneasy, like the water was an old memory with teeth. I lifted her chin with two gentle fingers, asking permission without pressing.
“Eyes on me, baby.”
When she looked up, I pulled my discipline tight. Tonight wasn’t about desire. It was about trust, teaching her body what her mind already knew.
“Do you trust me, Connie?” I asked, voice soft and certain. “I don’t play about you, not in this water, not in this life. In my hands, you’re safe.”
“I trust you,” she said with a tremble in her voice but not in her gaze. “I’m ready.”
Readylanded like a blessing.
I stepped close and eased her in, hands at her waist, steadying her like a new chapter held open because fear hadhistory, but with me, it wasn’t getting the last word. The second the water touched her thighs, her body tensed.
“Relax, love,” I whispered.
She nodded, but when I eased my hand back—wrong move. She clutched me like I was the only sturdy thing in a shaky world. That grip wasn’t just fear; it was faith, her silent way of saying,don’t play with my safety.I smiled, bent down, and kissed her softly, no hunger or hurry, just a receipt:I got you.Her shoulders melted, like her body finally believed it didn’t have to fight gravity to survive.
“The first lesson we’re going to do is float,” I told her. “Don’t fret. I’m going to hold you up. You’ll be in my arms the entire time, right where you belong.” My voice stayed calm, but my heart was loud. “No need to panic. I’m right here, Connie. I got you. You hear me?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I placed my left hand under her legs like I was lifting precious cargo, and my right at her back, and I eased her into position, letting the water take what it could while I kept the rest. Her hair drifted around her head, soft and dark, and for a second, she looked like peace itself.
“Lay back and relax, baby,” I said. “Close your eyes, and think about the last time you felt safe. Hold that memory. Don’t chase anything else. Just that.” I watched her throat move as she swallowed. “Say, ‘yes, daddy’, when you got it.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said, and that tone. . . Whew.
It wasn’t just flirtation. It was trust with a little heat in it, a dangerous combination.
“Mmm,” I murmured, barely holding my composure. “You trying to make your lesson harder for me, huh?” I let my voice soften again. “Talk to me, baby. What’s the memory?”
“I’m in my classroom,” she said quietly, “in your arms as you hug me . . . while you comfort me.”
