“I’ll watch,” I say, sitting on the edge, dangling my feet in the water.
“Suit yourself.”
Damien swims laps, powerful strokes that eat up the length of the pool. I stare, enjoying the play of muscle across his back and shoulders. The strength in his legs as they kick.
When he taps the edge near me, immediately turning underwater and pushing away from the wall with his feet, light marks show across his hips. More scars, though they’re not as pronounced as the ones above his elbow.
The next time he returns, he stays, treading water, then crossing his arms over the edge. Another light stripe mars his shoulder.
I dangle my legs in the water, then trace it with my fingertip. “Your dad?”
“Probably.” His voice has gone rough, and when I move to trace a scar near his neck, he catches my wrist. “Enough. You’re making this weird.”
He tugs me forward and I yelp, hitting the water in a graceless splash. The shock of cold after the balmy air makes me gasp, then I’m sputtering, trying to find my footing. He drags off the sodden towel, then holds me upright until I can stand, water lapping above my shoulders.
I flick wet hair out of my eyes. “Are these glasses even waterproof?”
“Better be. Pretty sure the manufacturer’s heard of rain.”
The moment of vulnerability is gone, and I push away from him, floating on my back. Damien swims lazy circles around me, occasionally ducking under to grab my ankle, making me shriek.
When he surfaces, water streaming down his grinning face, I splash him. He retaliates, and soon we’re engaged in a full water fight, childish and chaotic.
For several minutes, I forget the denial, the power games. It’s just fun, the two of us laughing like normal people instead of a sociopath and his obsession.
He catches me mid-splash, arms banding around my waist, pulling me flush against him. His cock is hard again, pressing against my stomach underwater. The playfulness drains from his expression, replaced by that hungry intensity.
“Time to get out,” he murmurs against my ear.
He lifts me from the water, setting me on the pool’s edge. The tile is warm against my bare arse—still tender from spanking—and when I pull away, his hands clamp on my thighs, spreading them wide.
“Lie back.”
I set my chin.
“You want to come, don’t you?” His breath feels cool as it puffs over my wet skin, sending a shiver up my inner thigh. “You’re the stubbornest girl in the world, and you win. Now just relax and let me take care of you.”
His mouth finds me before I can respond, tongue parting my folds, licking through my arousal, groaning appreciatively as he works. “Even chlorine scented, you taste good.”
His tongue circles my clit, then flattens, dragging upwards, not playing. My back arches off the tile, hands finding his wet hair, gripping tight.
Spurred by hours of denial, the orgasm builds, my body so desperate for release, I don’t care any longer.
He already told me I won.
“Please,” I whimper, voice so husky I barely recognise it as my own. “Please, please…”
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them perfectly while his tongue maintains its relentless rhythm. The pressure builds and builds, coiling tighter in my core.
“That’s it,” he growls, dragging my neck low for a kiss that tastes of the pool and me.
He stands abruptly, water streaming down his body, his cock jutting forward, thick and flushed.
My throat lets out an aggrieved rumble. “I asked nicely.”
But he’s just repositioning himself, dragging me onto my hands and knees, completely exposed. His hands grip my hips, and his cock pushes slowly inside, stretching me, making me feel every thick inch.
“Fuck, you feel incredible.” His voice is strained, fingers digging into my hips and arse.
