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He dives into the pool from the top of the grassy slope, his body a work of divine purity: of perfect lines and lean aerodynamics. Full of grace and elegance, he sweeps himself across the surface before plunging deep and submerging himself completely. There’s barely a splash. And then, after a moment’s stillness, he bursts out, an eruption, his soaked blond head spraying glittering, shimmering, wet beads in my direction.
Rory fires a self-satisfied grin at me as he swims toward me. “You look good wet,” he murmurs, coming to a stop in front of me. “I can’t tell what I like better: a naked saint or a wet saint.” His skin shimmers under the moonlight. It feels as though there’s a spotlight shining down on us, or maybe it’s just the weight of Finlay’s gaze — because I’m far too aware of him alone on the bank, watching us drift in the water together.
I turn my head in Finlay’s direction but Rory’s wet hand firmly guides my cheek back to face him. “No,” Rory reproves. “Not yet.”
I swallow, clinging to that word “yet” with all the desperation in my soul. I meet Rory’s gray eyes, silvery from the light of the moon, and focus on the brush of his fingers against the skin of my cheek.
Why would I even begin to look at Finlay when Rory’s right here? From his broad, muscled shoulders to the smooth planes of his chest, his body is incredible to behold. And it’s all mine. He’s giving it to me to watch, to study, as a gift.
He swims around me, idly splashing the water before dipping under the surface again. When he reappears, he’s wearing a bright, boyish grin. Clutched in his fist are his black boxer-briefs, which he tosses across the stony bank, onto his neat pile of folded clothes.
My eyes instantly drop downward. It’s too dark to make anything out but my heart flutters as though it contains a storm of wings. Playing in the water, swimming around… It’s no longer fun or playing pretend. With both of us naked in the water, the world has intensified.
“Bold decision,” I remark, trying to keep my breathing under control. Already, there’s a tremor in my voice that hadn’t been there before.
He swims toward a large boulder in the distance, its hard, slanting angles illuminated by the force of the moon. Rory relaxes against it, propping himself with his elbows, his head and neck reclining as though the hard rock were the plushest cushion on the comfiest armchair. Water from further downstream flows past, Rory’s body enveloped by a slow-moving current.
This feels strange. All of us here, chilling out. We could be mistaken for normal teenagers, skinny-dipping in a loch because hey,you only live once. But that’s not why we’re here. Something has drawn us to this water, something powerful and important and embedded in this earth.
I’m anyone’s for power.
I’m anyone’s for powerfulmen, and right now, Rory’s giving the impression he’s ruler of the universe. Naked and wet, he resembles some kind of primal king, a wild Pan-like figure used to getting his way. A kind master, a cruel god, of the world around him. He watches me with half-lidded eyes, lounging against the rock as though this were his private spa, an indoor heated pool instead of melted ice water out in the open.
“No, little saint. It became bold the moment you got naked.”
Got nakedis a quaint way to sayfollowed my order, as though I’m in the habit of casually shedding my clothes when confronted by the great outdoors.
His gaze shifts behind me, beyond me, to Finlay on the sand. Rory pushes away from his position by the rock, slicing through the surface like the surest creature of the sea and emerging in front of me with a smirk and a spray of water. Now that he’s close to me, I marvel at him — the drips of water from his pouty lips, the aristocratic cheekbones and long, soaked hair. The very image of him is one of heartache, because he looks too perfect for this world, a perfection, an ideal of boyish, arrogant male beauty that can only ever be captured temporarily.
“Kiss me,” I say, the words spilling from my lips like water. It’s an order, but nothing like the way Rory speaks. Where he’s cold and curt and effortlessly worshiped, I’m tentative and soft and wholly uncertain. It’s as though the quieter my words, the more deniability I have that I ever spoke them in the first place.
Rory’s eyes glitter with amusement. “Really, little saint? I heard no magic word.”
God, he’s infuriating. He’s infuriating and he’smine, and I hate and I love him for it.
I don’t give him a magic word. I want a fraction of the upper hand he uses so casually against me, and he isn’t password-protected. And so I swim toward him, gliding through water that seeps like chilled fingers into my soul, and take his conceited mouth for myself.
Our kiss is hot and furious. His lips sear against my frozen mouth, burning me up inside. When I wrap my arms around him, holding him, this ephemeral spirit, all of a sudden I’m aware of everything. The water sluicing down Rory’s naked back from his drenched hair. The slickness of his mouth against me, and I moan softly when his tongue teases mine. The softness of my breasts against the flat planes of his chest. The hardness of his erection against the supple expanse of my stomach.
Instead of coolness from the water, I’m now unbearably hot, full of molten warmth I can’t keep under control. I’m boiling up, radiating heat and desperate, trembling energy in water that should so easily douse fire.
My nails dig into Rory’s biceps and he yanks me closer with hands tight on my backside. Together we’re unspeakably wet, dripping and kissing and stroking each other’s soaked bodies. The more Rory’s erection digs into me, the more turned on I get. I could do anything here. Tonight there’s magic, a freeing of inhibitions, and I don’t know if it’s due to rituals and pagan mysteries, or the fact we’re tremendously horny teens with hormones crashing through us, but when Rory next grinds into me, my body shudders and I feel my legs spread for him.
I wrap my legs around his waist, and the sensation of skin on skin — this amount of skin — is glorious. It’s almost too much. Rory hoists me up steadily with one arm, and my legs circle around him, clenching and never letting go. In fascination, he toys with the tight beads of my nipples.
“You’re exquisite,” he murmurs, and his head dips to kiss the swell of my breasts, as though staking claim to them.
His mouth returns to mine, with so much ferocity andlifethat I grow dizzy. My body grinds against the tautness of stomach, a mess of untouched nerves seeking pleasure, while his cock bobs below me, just painfully out of reach. Rory holds me aloft, as though determined to keep me away from his length. It’s like he wants to keep some semblance of stoicism and respectability and not just fuck me into next Tuesday, when I really, really want him to just throw me down into the water and have his wicked way with me.
I groan into his mouth, arching my back and thrusting my breasts into him. I don’t know what’s become of me. I get naked with a boy and suddenly I’m this wild, feral predator of a girl. Rory kisses and kisses me, sending my head tilting and my thoughts flying until all I know is a desire for more.
“Fuck me,” I whisper against Rory’s mouth, and only then does he pause. He pulls away slowly, his eyes sliding down the curves of my body like he’s drinking me in, before returning to my face.
“I don’t have protection.”
“I don’t care.”
What?What? But the words are out there, a breathless, desperate whisper as I rock against Rory for some kind of ease in the inferno of pressure he’s built inside me.
