There are bruises still, yellow-green fingerprints on my ribs, a fading mark on my hip. But they're old enough now that they don't scream "abuse victim" quite so loudly. They just look like I bruise easily.
I look at myself in the full-length mirror and try to see what Richard might see. Try to find the beauty he seems to think is there. I see curves. Stomach rolls, thick thighs, full hips. I see breasts that are probably too large, an ass that's definitely too big. I see all the things Nathan criticized, all the reasons he said he had to look elsewhere.
But I also see... potential? Maybe? I see a woman who survived hell and came out the other side. A woman who's still standing, still fighting, still brave enough to put on a bikini and get in a pool with a man who makes her feel things she shouldn't feel.
That woman deserves a chance. Deserves to stop hiding.
I wrap a towel around myself, not covering the suit, just loosely around my shoulders, and head back to the pool.
Chapter 6 - Richard
I'm in the pool, trying to focus on the rhythm of my breathing, the water’s coolness, anything except the fact that Belle is in the changing room right now potentially putting on a swimsuit.
Potentially putting on very little clothing.
*Control yourself,* I think viciously. *You're forty-five years old, not some hormone-addled teenager.*
But my body doesn't seem to care about age or appropriateness or the thousand reasons why I shouldn't be thinking about Belle in a swimsuit. My cock is already semi-hard just from the imagination, from the brief flash of awareness I saw in her eyes when she looked at me shirtless in the gym.
She'd stared. Actually stared, lips parted, before catching herself. I'd had to turn away, grab the towel, do anything to hide my body's immediate response to being looked at like that by her.
The door to the women's changing room opens, and I force myself to take another lap, to keep my back turned, to give her privacy as she approaches the pool.
"This is incredible," Belle's voice echoes slightly in the glass-enclosed space. "I've never seen anything like it."
I turn around to respond, and every thought in my head evaporates.
Fuck.
Belle is standing at the edge of the pool, towel draped loosely around her shoulders, and she's wearing a burgundy bikini that should be illegal. High-waisted bottoms that hug her curves perfectly, emphasizing the soft swell of her hips, the thickness ofher thighs. And the top… Christ, the top is doing things to her breasts that make my mouth water.
She's gorgeous. Soft and curvy and exactly what I've been fantasizing about for two years, and now she's here, in my pool, wearing next to nothing.
Her breasts are full, straining slightly against the fabric of the bikini top, and I watch them move as she breathes. Watch them jiggle slightly as she walks to one of the pool chairs to put down her towel.
Then she turns around.
Her ass is right there, perfectly framed by those high-waisted bottoms, round and full and I want to grab it with both hands, want to pull her against me and let her feel exactly what she's doing to me.
But I can't. I won't. I'm not a depraved man who takes advantage of vulnerable women in his care.
Even if my cock is rapidly hardening in my swim shorts, even if every instinct I have is screaming at me to get out of this pool and press her against the nearest surface.
I force myself to turn away, to dive under the water, to use the cold shock to hopefully calm down. When I surface, Belle is descending the steps into the pool, her movements slow.
"Oh!" She gasps as the water reaches her waist. "This feels amazing."
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "I can adjust the temperature if you'd like. There's a control panel—"
"No, it's perfect." She smiles, and that smile goes straight to my cock. "Really perfect. I haven't been swimming in... God, I can't even remember how long."
She walks deeper into the pool, the water rising to just below her breasts, and I have to actively stop myself from groaning out loud. Because the water is making her skin glisten, making that burgundy fabric cling even more closely to her curves. And her breasts are jiggling with each movement, creating ripples in the water that draw my eye like a magnet.
How can I be this affected? I've been with beautiful women, experienced women, women who knew exactly what they were doing. I've had lovers who were probably more skilled in bed, more age-appropriate.
But none of them have ever made me feel like this… Speechless, desperate, barely hanging onto my control by my fingernails.
Belle moves closer, seemingly unaware of the effect she's having on me. The water laps at her cleavage, and I watch a droplet slide down into the valley between her breasts and want to follow it with my finger.
