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Her elbows slide behind her, pulling the top half of her body out of the water. It’s instinctive to drop my gaze below her collarbone. Her nipples are puckered against the thin fabric of her swimsuit.
It’s not cold in here.
Giving in to my wife’s magnetic pull, I remove my suit like a serpent shedding its skin and dive into the water. With just a few strokes, I’m close enough to pin her to the tiles.
Up close, I notice her chest is heaving, her hot breath puffing against my nose faster than my heart can beat. I reach up and tuck a wet, loose strand back behind her ear. She leans her cheek against my wrist, briefly closing her eyes.
“I’ve never seen you so angry.”
“I’ve never seen another man ogle my wife.”
The soft moan that escapes her parted lips fascinates me. I want to catch it, magnify it, and play it louder than the Kind of Blue album in my car. I settle for rubbing my thumb across her plump lower lip. Still scarred and torn from trying to resist my spanking.
“You like seeing me this angry.” My hand lowers to the swell of her tits, catching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger. Another soft moan. Fuck. I hate how my resolve falters every time I see her. “It turns you on.”
“I—” She starts, arching her back to close the gap between us.
I squeeze her nipple harder. “Say it.”
With a hiss of air, she says, “Nobody’s ever done that for me before.”
“Drowned a man for creeping on you?”
There’s something she wants to say; the air is thick with whatever it is. Instead, she crushes her lips against mine, snaking her hands around my shoulder blades and pulling herself onto my lap.
Her actions stupefy me for half a second before the longing tumbles out of my core and floods into the rest of my body. I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her impossibly close, and cup the back of her head in my palm in case she changes her mind. Our tongues fight for dominance, swishing and swirling with one another until the desire to taste other parts of her becomes too strong. I want to crawl inside her and sample the darkness that lives there. Instead, my lips find the curve of her neck, salty from the chlorine, then graze along her chest until they reach her nipples. A groan rattles in her chest, vibrating against my cheek, and it makes me suck harder, flick my tongue faster. Her fingernails carve trails over my back, marking me as hers.
I need to mark her as mine, too. I pull away and wrap my hand around her throat. She leans into it, pinning me with a challenging gaze, just like she did the night she tore my apartment to shreds, and it makes me just as wild as it did them. I drop my hand from her tit and dip under the surface, pulling the thin fabric of her swimsuit aside to find the folds of her pussy. Against my hand, her throat bobs, and she trembles a little. I run a gentle finger through her wetness, trailing the path to her entrance before thrusting my digit into it.
She stops breathing. Her eyes flicker like a starry night but never leave mine. I fight through her tightness to find the front wall of her cave and curl my finger forward against it like I’m beckoning her pleasure out of her.
Coaxing the scream I demand from her.
She squeezes her eyes shut and throws her head against my fingers around the base of her neck. Grinding against my hand, harder, faster, with every furious pump against her G-spot. My lips graze the shell of her ear. “Let me hear you, songbird.”
My nose navigates across the shelf of her cheekbone, down to her lips.
They are clamped shut.
I tilt my head up, drinking her in. Assessing the crazed desperation in her eyes and the pursed mouth that’s trying to fight against it.
The blood in my veins turns to ice.
It takes every block of self-control I’ve built over my forty-one years on this planet to pull away from her.
“Wait,” she pants, voice strangled. But I’m already on the other side of the pool, climbing the ladder. “Where are you going?”
My jaw grinds, and curling my hands into fists makes my knuckles pop. I stride to the elevator, painfully aware of my throbbing boner leading the way.
“Donnacha,” she cries from behind me.
I turn around, just long enough to pin her with a dark, angry stare. “If I don’t get to hear your voice, you don’t get to come.”
As the doors close, I slam my fist against the button panel.
What I said was a half-truth. I’m not leaving her there because she won’t give me what I want.
I’m leaving her there because I know how far I’d go to get it.
