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“And?”
“And my bra costs $70. I'm not going to ruin it with chlorine.”
“No one is forcing you to wear a bra,” he says. I fold my arms over my chest. “Oh, come on,” he continues. “I'm only kidding. There's a few swimsuits in the bedroom that she never… that have never been worn. You can have one. You can keep it here if you want.”
What's he doing in some random house with some random woman's unworn swimsuits? It's weird, but it's better than nothing. If I get naked with him, I might not be able to put my clothes back on.
I nod, fine, and he returns with a bag of unworn lingerie, tags still attached. There's a navy bikini. It's not my size, but I can make it work.
“Who did you buy the lingerie for?” I ask.
“You think you're the first girl I brought here?” He tries to say it with a smile, but his big, coffee colored eyes betray him. He's still hurt over another woman. It shouldn't bother me—I am engaged to Ryan—but it does.
I ask him to turn around and I change on the concrete. He's a perfect gentleman, and he doesn't turn around to catch a glimpse.
Too bad.
I slide into the pool, and, finally, he looks at me.
“It looks good on you,” he says.
“But it would look better on your floor?” I offer.
“I already told you. When I want to fuck you, I'll ask nicely.”
Does he really think I'd fuck him standing up, in some pool at his friend's house? Does he think just because he's handsome and funny and interesting that I'll betray Ryan? Does he really think he has my attention?
Does that mean he doesn't want to fuck me?
“I like you, Alyssa,” he says.
“Why?” I ask.
“Because you correct my grammar.”
“Is that all it takes?”
“It helps that you have great tits.” He smirks. “And you get the cutest look when you're trying to pretend like you aren't nervous.” He moves closer to me. “You looked so lonely the other night. And I'm lonely all the time.”
“I'm engaged,” I say.
He slides his hands over his hips. Over the waist of his boxers. Is he waiting for my reaction? Is he waiting for me to untie my bikini and pull his boxers to his knees and wrap my legs around his hips like I'm some easy whore?
“I don't care,” he says. “I like you, and I'll be your friend, but I want more than friendship.”
My pulse races. My lungs empty. I can't remember the last time it was this hard to breathe.
I reach for his waist, my fingers sliding over his wet skin. Jesus, his body feels so good, and he shudders gently as my fingers slide around his waist.
The Lycra of my bikini bottom presses into his cotton boxers. We move closer, my crotch pressed into his, my stomach pressed into his, my chest pressed into his. He's taller than I am, and instead of making me raise onto my tip toes, he slides his hands under my ass and brings me towards him. Why did I ask for this stupid bikini? His hands could be on my bare skin.
My lips press into his. They're soft and wet with a hint of chlorine. He sucks on my lower lip and opens his mouth, just a bit, waiting for my move. His hands press into my ass, pulling our bodies together, pressing my crotch into his. He's hard. We could…
I slip my tongue into his mouth and my hand… Oh, God, what is my hand doing?
I jump back and say, “I'm sorry.”
“Don't be.”
