I gave her a slow smile, even though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “Tell that to the part of me that thinks about you watching me, Doc.”
Her breath caught. There it was.
“You matter to me,” I said, voice low. “What you think… it matters. It really fucking matters both on and off the field, Sloane.”
The silence thickened between us, steam curling around our shoulders. Her throat worked as she swallowed, eyes flicking down toward the bubbles. She was so fucking beautiful and strong and brilliant. I traced the curve of her neck, wishing more than hell I could lick my way down it and settle between her breasts for a solid hour.
My skin was way too tight on my body being next to her like this, in her suit, where she was all soft.
“You’re not just some player on the team,” she whispered. “Not to me and that terrifies me, Oliver.”
I leaned in an inch, chest twisting with how goddamn honest she sounded. “Then we’re even.”
She didn’t speak again, but her legs shifted beneath the water. Her foot brushed mine again, slower this time. Purposeful.
I reached under the surface and found her ankle, curling my fingers gently around it.
She stilled.
“Let me?” I asked.
She nodded once, and I lifted her foot into my lap, water dripping down her calf. I began massaging the arch, thumb pressing slow, firm circles into her skin.
Her head tipped back on a moan that hit me straight in the gut. “Jesus, Oliver.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She laughed breathlessly, and I watched her—really watched her—as I worked my fingers up her foot, across the ball, then along the curve of her ankle. Her skin was smooth, soft, and perfect. Her calf tensed under my grip, her toes curling once, and it wasn’t about relaxing anymore.
It was about touch.
Connection.
Trust.
I ran my finger over her toe with the toe ring, and my fingers twitched with need. I traced the toe ring once, then twice, my mouth practically watering with need and lust.
Her gaze locked with mine again, and neither of us said a word. I moved my hand up her shin, my other hand sliding to her knee. She didn’t flinch. If anything, she leaned into my touch.
I kept my voice low, reverent. “Don’t be afraid with me, please. I’ll take care of you.”
Her breath came out shaky. Her lips parted. “Okay,” she whispered.
I kept my hands on her—one resting against her knee, the other sliding a little higher along the back of her calf. Her skin was slick from the water, smooth under my palm. The tension in her body didn’t feel like fear anymore. It was something else…something hungrier.
She exhaled through her nose, shifting her hips slightly, her foot still propped across my lap. Her eyes darted to my mouth,then back up. She caught herself doing it, and her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away this time.
“If you keep looking at me like that,” I murmured, “I’m gonna stop pretending I’m polite.”
Her brows arched, but she didn’t challenge me.
“You’re in charge, honey. You say stop, I stop,” I said, sliding my hand slowly up her leg, fingers brushing beneath the hem of her suit.
“I won’t,” she said, barely audible.
I swallowed hard and leaned forward, my other hand skimming the water until it found her hip. I slid my fingers along her waist, the heat of her skin rising off the space between us.
“I’ve been thinking about your book,” I whispered. “Chapter twenty-seven.”
