“My makeup is probably looking pretty scary,” I say, half-laughing, suddenly self-conscious.
“You look beautiful,” he says, simple and sure, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
My heart stutters.
“Are you happy?” he asks, quieter now, thumb brushing my cheek.
“Yes,” I whisper. I bite my lip.
Being wrapped around him like this does something dangerous to me—his body so strong, so solid, hands firm on my ass holding me up, the heat of him cutting through the cool water. I can feel every ridge of muscle, the steady thump of his heart against mine.
He clears his throat, glances over at the others still splashing. “This is Tucker, Jonny, Jake and Bryan. They all helped me build the pool this week.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Layla.”
“Nice to meet you Layla,” Jonny says, and they all nod in unison—friendly, a little sheepish, like they know exactly how huge this is.
“I wanted to get it done before I leave for Texas. That way you’d have somewhere new to write as well as cool off while I’m gone. And this ranch has needed a pool for a very long time. I think we can all agree to that.”
His family agrees and murmurs, nods, smiles everywhere.
We all hang out there for a while, talking, drinking from the cooler, floating on loungers, laughter echoing under thestars, until one by one everyone drifts inside. Goodnights called, doors clicking shut. Until it’s just me and Cole. Sitting on the stairs in the pool, water lapping at our waists, legs dangling in the glow.
I pounce on him as soon as we are alone. I’m on him. I’ve been holding onto this sexual tensionallnight, every stolen glance, every brush of his wet hand while we were surrounded by people. Soaked from head to toe, I’m kissing him hard, hungry. He’s sitting on the top stairs so just his legs are in the water. I straddle him, hands fisting his wet shirt.
“Wanna break the pool in?” I whisper against his mouth, voice breathy.
“You know I do,” he groans, low and rough, hands already sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my soaked shirt. “Been thinkin’ about gettin’ my hands on you like this all damn night.”
Then he’s taking my shirt off, peeling the clinging fabric away slowly, like he’s savoring it, then my bra, nipples pebbling instantly in the night air. He groans deep in his throat, eyes darkening as he looks at me.
“Fuck, Layla… look at you.” His voice is gravel, hands cupping my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples until I arch into him.
“These curves of yours—they drive me fuckin’ wild. Every time you walk by in those little shorts, swayin’ your hips… you have no idea what you do to me.”
Shorts come off easy after that, sliding down my thighs into the water. His hand slips down into my panties, fingers finding my clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that make me gasp. Not one but two of his fingers slide into me, thick, curling just right and I let out a loud moan.
He covers my mouth with his palm. “Quiet now,” he says, voice low command, eyes locked on mine. “Don’t want the whole house hearin’ how wet you are for me.”
He fingers me harder, perfect motions, thumb rubbing my clit in tight circles while his fingers stroke deep inside, hitting that spot over and over until my thighs shake.
“You feel that?” he growls against my ear, free hand gripping my hip, holding me exactly where he wants me. “That’s all for me. This tight little pussy clenchin’ around my fingers like it never wants to let go. You know what you do to me, Layla? You make me so hard I can barely think straight. Been achin’ for this all night, watchin’ you in those shorts, laughin’, gettin’ wet just from lookin’ at me.”
“I want you,” I say, breathless, hips rocking against his hand. “I want to make you feel good.” My hand reaches down, grabbing his length through his pants, he’s rock-hard, throbbing, straining against the fabric.
“No,” he grabs my wrist, gentle but firm, pinning it behind my back with one hand while the other keeps working me.
“This is just for you tonight. I want to watch you come apart on my fingers, want to feel you soak my hand, hear you try to stay quiet while you fall apart for me. You’re gonna come hard, Layla. Right here. Right now.”
His voice drops lower, commanding. “Look at me. Eyes on mine when you come. Don’t you dare close ‘em.”
Oh my god. This man can’t get any sexier, can he? He’s hard as a rock, throbbing against my thigh, but he only wants me to cum. Just me.
And I do, I cum so hard, back arching, thighs clamping around his hand, a choked cry muffled against his shoulder as waves crash through me. My whole body shakes, pulsing around his fingers, soaking them just like he wanted.
We fall back into the water together after I catch my breath, him pulling me close again, my legs still loosely wrapped around his waist, both of us floating in the shallow end now, the underwater lights casting soft, rippling patterns across our skin. The night air feels cooler against my wet shoulders, but his body heat keeps me anchored, safe. My head rests on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow from the frantic thump it was minutes ago.
I’m quiet for a long minute, just breathing him in, chlorine, sweat, that faint pine-and-leather scent that’s pure Cole. My emotions are wrecked in the best, most terrifying way. This man just built me a pool because I teased about wanting one. He fingered me senseless on the steps like my pleasure was the only thing that mattered tonight. And now he’s holding me like I’m something precious, not temporary. Not a city girl passing through.
