Honestly, the people who have the opportunity to enjoy this any time of day and don’t take advantage of it are insane. Sometimes we get so weighed down or wrapped up in the dumbest parts and problems of life and miss out on so much of the best of it. These moments of simple fun can do so much to offset the hardships we all endure on a daily basis. I’m glad Asher brought those reasons to smile back for me. A meme, a sunset, a dumb joke. They aren’t a waste of time. They’re balance to the stress, the heaviness that the rest of my life holds. They’re the lungful of undiluted oxygen I need to tackle whatever comes next.
“It’s breathtaking,” I tell him, my jaw still slackened. “I’ve lived here my entire life, and then I see a view like this and am struck dumb like it’s the first time all over again.”
He nods understandingly, his eyes never leaving my face. “I know what you mean.” I don’t miss the fact that he hasn’t taken in the view of the setting sun once yet.
I peel my eyes away from the sunset over the gulf to meet his gaze again and actually blush again at the intensity in those soft, clear brown eyes. The flecks of amber look metallic in the perfect light of golden hour, and the burn in them is stronger than I’ve ever seen before.
I duck my head and gesture toward the pool. “So, um, I guess we swim now?” I suggest weakly.
He clears his throat, takes my hand again, and we walk over to some lounge chairs by the pool. I can’t actually believe that no one else is out here right now, this seems like the perfect time of day to enjoy this insane view, and the temperature has finally come down from somewhere around Satan’s asshole into a more tolerable range. Even fall in Florida is usually brutal.
He releases my hand to kick off his flip-flops and tosses me a towel. I drop it onto the lounge chair I’ve claimed for myself, a couple over from his, and use my feet to toe off my black canvas Toms, one heel at a time, then begin undressing. I keep my eyes on the lounge chair as we both peel off our extra layers, not sure I’m ready to see what he’s been hiding under those tees, and those damn sweaters that fit him so well. Once both my shirt and shorts are off, neatly folded, placed underneath my hoodie on the chair, and I have discreetly verified that my keys, phone and spare underwear are all still present in the shorts, I turn to face him.
His eyes instantly drop to take in my form in my black one-piece, a classy wonder that does miracles for my waist and chest that I found at—you guessed it—Nordstrom a few years back.
I see his chest rise and fall heavily as he keeps looking, his eyes moving farther and farther down. A warm flush rushes through my abdomen, followed by a distinct slickness between my thighs and I try not to visibly shift or rub my legs together, just stand there and let him look. He’s been recalibrating me to compliments, the way he sees me, just like he promised, but it still isn’t natural for me yet.
But this is also my chance to finally see all those tattoos he’s got on his right arm, and yep, they go all the way up to his shoulder. He must have at least fifty of them, they all seem to be completely different from one another. The only thing they have in common, as far as I can tell, is that they’re all black outlines, a few filled in here and there. The left arm is just starting the collection, but there’s plenty to look at on that one, too.
His frame is on the thinner side, but he’s obviously got muscle packed onto it, with several abs visible, a slight indentation on each hip bone, and—my favorite—defined arms that I’m pretty sure I’m already drooling over.
He swallows heavily and my attention is brought back to his face abruptly.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Just, fucking wow, Ellie.”
My stomach tightens and dips, and it’s all I can do not to squeeze my thighs together for some sort of relief from what he’s doing to me. It’s a new feeling, and it’s a heady one.
Instead, I tuck the hair that’s fallen to cover the right half of my face behind my ear before I remember to throw it all up in a tight bun since we’re going swimming and, you know, blonde hair, chlorine, they don’t mix well. My hair was actuallygreenevery summer growing up here.
“I’m gonna just jump in before I forget what the fuck we had planned tonight, yeah?” He still sounds like he’s having trouble controlling his vocal cords and it’s my turn to smirk.
“I’m right behind you.”
I watch as he walks away, enjoying the view of his defined back. He cannonballs straight into the deep end, which does look pretty fun—he’s such a dork—and pops right back up, shaking his head side to side to clear his eyes and nose of the chlorinated water that surely just went in places you never want it to go.
I decide to take this a little more delicately, being the first time he’s seeing me so…on display, I don’t need to run and jump and make all of my wobbly bits…wobble even more.
I tiptoe over to the stairs in the shallow end and rapidly descend them, willing myself to get the shock over quickly. But I am pleasantly surprised to find the pool warm, and realize that of course a building like this is going to have their pool heated. It’s been ages since I’ve gotten to go swimming, and the memories my mind dredged up were of my childhood friends’ pools which always seemed to be freezing year round, despite how hot it gets here eight or nine months of the year.
Asher paddles over to meet me just around the time I can no longer stand easily, and I lift my legs and start to tread water, keeping myself in place to face him.
“This was a great fucking idea,” he whispers, getting closer still.
“Mmm,” is all I can manage to say. My mind is fully preoccupied with the way his hair looks, wet and slicked back, darker brown than usual, and the way those droplets are running down his cheekbones and across his collarbone, pooling in the little hollow there at the base of his throat, before rejoining the body of water that starts at his chest. I want to lick each and every drop from his chest, his neck, his face. I have this inexplicable urge totastehim, to find out if his skin tastes like that salt and woodsy scent I’ve come to love so damn much.
In the next second, he moves so suddenly, I actually squeal when I feel his hands grab behind my knees and pull me closer to him through the water. My legs spread around him instinctively and bend automatically, my knees settling on the juncture of his hips, so my shins are pressed against the tops of his thighs as he holds me up, still floating himself.
My laugh stops suddenly, face falling when I feel how our bodies are pressed close together, our stomachs meshing, chests almost touching, and hips within grinding distance of one another. I’m particularly aware of that part. There’s a charge between us, as unmistakable as a magnetic field. I can only hold myself that inch or two away from him for so much longer.
Asher slides his hands up from behind my knees, up, up, up over the stretch of my thighs, the curve of my hips, and trails those fingertips over my waist. The barest hint of a smirk ghosts across his lips, his eyes aflame as he watches me.
We’re uncharacteristically silent, both of us entranced in the other’s nearness, letting our exploring hands do all the talking our mouths aren’t.
He traces the outline of my curves underneath the water, running his fingers up and down along my sides, intently watching the progress of his hands as he goes, causing me to shiver and inadvertently rock my hips into his, eating up that remaining space. His hands slide to grip my thighs, just below my ass, and he holds me even tighter to him.
Those melted brown eyes lock onto mine, watching my every reaction to his touch, and I know that I can’t hold myself back from this man any longer. I have to know what it would be like to give into this pull between us.
“You’re torturing me here,” he whispers.
