“That’s it?”Callaway strips off his shirt.Like he’s been waiting for the cue.
“You joining me?”I ask, lifting a brow, pretending like I don’t notice the way his eyes crawl over me.Like he doesn’t look like sin carved out of gold.
Callaway grins, wolfish and eager.“You want me wet, sunshine?Just say the word.”
Monty groans.“Jesus Christ.”
Callaway steps closer, his voice low and rough.“I’d fuck you against the wall right now if I didn’t think you’d kill me for ruining the grout.”
Heat pools in my gut.A breath catches.My knees wobble in the water.
“You’re not helping your case,” I say, breathless.
“I wasn’t trying to,” he growls.“You stripped in front of us like it was nothing—bra, panties, that fucking body—and you think I’m not gonna get hard?I’ve been rock fucking hard since you bent over to take your clothes off, and if I touch you, Ves, I’m not stopping.Not until you’re coming with both our names in your mouth.So think about what you want, because when we enter that pool, I want to know your boundaries, little minx.”
Monty moves then.Fast.Controlled.Controlled for him.He doesn’t speak—he never does unless it matters.
But his eyes?They promise things.
Things I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask for.
But maybe tonight, I will.
ChapterThirty-Nine
Callaway
Honestly, I should’ve walked away the moment she started undressing.Should’ve offered to fetch the swimsuit she swears is buried in a pile of laundry or one of those unopened boxes in her office.Should’ve done the decent thing.
But I didn’t.
I fucking watched.
Watched her pull her sweater over her head like she hadn’t just set the room on fire.The fabric dragged over her bra—plain black, soft cotton, and sinful—before she let it fall to the side like it meant nothing.Like she hadn’t just bared herself in front of two men already too close to breaking.
Then she went for her leggings.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and shimmied out of them slow—fucking slow—like she’d been sent here to ruin us.The cotton hugged her thighs, clung to the curve of her ass as she bent to tug them down.And Jesus, when she turned just enough to give us the full view, I nearly lost it.She stepped out of them, graceful and cruel, like peeling off a performance costume before taking the stage.
Panties and a bra.That’s all she wore now.Black lace, thin and soaked from the heat in the room—not water.The bra clung to her tits like sin, the fabric sheer enough to tease the curve of her nipples, already hard and begging for attention.
And those panties?Fuck.Cut high, riding her hips like a promise, barely covering her pussy, clinging to the line of her ass like they were painted on.Every inch of her looked touchable.Biteable.Fuckable.She didn’t just undress—she performed, and she knew it.She stripped like she wanted us hard.Like she wanted us ruined.
I should have left, but I didn’t and now ...she’s in the pool.After a long speech where she held her ground and told us we’re equals.
Honestly, I don’t just want to applaud the speech, I think I fell in love with her a little more and worse ...I’ve never wanted to worship anything more.
And fuck, I’m so hard right now.
My sweats are unforgiving.They press against me with no mercy, dick throbbing, already leaking at the tip.And Monty—God help me—he stands there watching her like he’s cataloging her for when he’d be alone later.Watching like he’s starving.
I get it.
I am too.
But you know what ...there’s nothing like the present, right?
I peel off my shirt first.Slow.Let it slide over my abs.I see her watching me from the water.Her lips part slightly—just enough.A quick breath.A little twitch in her fingers like she wants to reach for me.
