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“I was going to get some lunch,” I manage, doing my best to speak normally, and not as if I’m being slowly strangled with lust. “Just a short break.”
“You should come out and go for a swim with me.” She says it as if the idea just occurred to her. “Someone can bring lunch out to the pool. It’s beautiful outside, and you haven’t enjoyed any of it yet.”
Oh god. The idea of that is impossible—unmanageable. “I have quite a lot of work to do,” I tell her, trying to sound apologetic instead of desperate to get back to my office, where—
Where, what? Where you can watch her from the window again? Because that’s what’s going to happen—another ten minutes with your cock in your hand and another ruined suit, not spreadsheets.
“What’s the point of being don if you can’t take part of the afternoon off?” Gianna asks teasingly. “Surely you’re not going to work yourself to death like—”
She breaks off abruptly, her face turning pale as she realizes what she’s said in a moment of humor, and all the tension between us drains away. I can almostfeelthe sudden chill in the air; the heaviness and guilt wash over me, covering me like a thick blanket as I look at her suddenly somber face, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.
She wants company. A distraction. And you’re refusing her because you’re so worried you can’t keep your cock in your pants.
“I can take the afternoon off,” I tell her, feeling suddenly as if I want nothing more than to see the light return to her face. “Lunch out by the pool sounds nice, actually.”
I’ve never felt so torn in two different directions in my life. I should tell her no, avoid the temptation, keep the distance between us that’s beginning to feel more and more necessary. But the smile on her face when I say I’ll join her outside is impossible to ignore. I find myself promising that I’ll meet her outside in fifteen minutes, after I’ve had a chance to change.
I already know this is a terrible idea, that it’s going to be practically impossible to hide my arousal, which I can’t imagine how I’m going to keep tamped down. It’s hard enough to keep her out of my head when she’s not in front of me, barely dressed, but this—
Gianna is already out by the pool when I go out to join her, lunch set up on a low table and a carafe of some sort of drink in the center of it. She’s wearing a thin dress over her bathing suit, which gives me a moment’s relief from trying not to look at every inch of exposed skin—but it’s filmy enough that the light filters through it and highlights every bare curve. It’s somehow even more arousing than just the bikini—or I’m already so far gone that anything she wore would turn me on.
“I thought you might go back to work instead,” Gianna teases, nudging a plate towards me. There are lettuce cups with what looks like chicken salad in them, and she reaches for the carafe, pouring me a drink. It looks like lemonade at first, but when I reach for it and take a sip, I realize it’s alcoholic.
“Now you’re convincing me to drink in the middle of the day?” I wince as I hear myself—I didn’t mean for it to sound so flirtatious, but I feel as if Gianna has me more and more off-balance with every day that passes. “A glass of wine with dinner was one thing, but I don’t know if you should be drinking this. Not at—”
She fixes me with a narrow look. “Are you going to saynot at my age?” she asks, uncrossing her legs under the table, and I feel my mouth go dry despite the drink. “I’m in my own home, and it’s just a glass. It’sfine. Or are you always planning on telling me what to do?”
My cock lurches, hardening in my swim trunks, even as I tell myself that I’m imagining the seductive note in her voice at the end. I’m imagining it, because,god, there’s nothing more right now that I want than to tell her what to do. To instruct her, bit by bit, in every step of what I want her to do to me—and how to receive what I want to do to her in return.
Gianna picks at her food, something I’ve noticed her doing with each meal over the past few days. She’s barely eaten at any meal, and I file that away as something to mention to her.That would definitely fall under ‘telling her what to do,’I think as I reach for my own food, and my cock twitches restlessly against my thigh, a steady throb of frustrated arousal. I don’t want to rush her engagement and marriage—especially not out of my own lack of self-control—but the sooner she’s safely married off, the sooner this constant, low-grade feeling of frustration can fade away.
“You need to eat more,” I chide her gently as she finishes the glass of spiked lemonade, looking at her almost untouched salad. “Especially if you do want to drink.”
Gianna looks up at me sharply, and I expect a retort from her, but her teeth just sink into her lower lip as she looks at me from under long lashes. It almost looks as if she shivers, and then I see her slow exhale as she nods. “I’ll try to eat more,” she says softly. “If that’s what you want.”
Fuck. There’s something happening here, something that I don’t want to examine too closely, because of how easily it could spin out of control for both of us—how smoothly it would feed into my desires…and possibly, it seems, hers as well.
Desires that, if I’m right, I don’t even think she knows she has.
She gets up after a moment, walking towards one of the lounge chairs as she reaches for the hem of the filmy dress she has on over her swimsuit, and I can’t tear my eyes away from her. Her back is to me, and so I give myself one moment of watching her, my body throbbing with need as I watch the thin material slide up over her perfect ass, the royal blue fabric of her suit caught between the full, curved cheeks, over the small of her back and the curve of her narrow waist, higher until I have a torturous, mouth-watering view of her from behind.
Once again, I can so easily imagine telling her to lay down on that chair on her stomach, spreading her legs and nudging that thin scrap of fabric aside to nuzzle between her thighs from behind, licking her until she panted and begged to come, drenching my face with her orgasm and then sliding my cock into her hot, tight—
“Are you coming?” Gianna asks, and I blink at her, my mouth almost dropping open in shock before my brain clears just enough to realize that she’s asking me if I’m getting in the pool with her.
“In a minute.” I reach for the glass of lemonade and drain it, knowing full well that if I stood up right now, Gianna would have a clear view of exactly how turned on I am. Thankfully, she walks to the pool without a backward glance, walking down the stairs and into the water, her every step only making it harder and harder for me to focus—both literally and figuratively.
She sinks below the water, the glimmer of sunlight over her as she swims to the other end. I take that opportunity to get up and walk to the edge, pushing down on my aching cock with the heel of my hand while she can’t see. At least underneath the water, she won’t be able to see the state I’m in.
Gianna surfaces after a moment, just in time for me to get waist-deep. The waterisrefreshing—everything else aside, her idea to spend the afternoon out here has merit. The sun is bright and warm, and we have the place all to ourselves. The solitude of it is a relaxing luxury, something that I didn’t have back in New York—my apartment building had a rooftop pool with every comfort and convenience a wealthy resident could ask for, but I certainly didn’t have it all to myself.
She dips under the water again before I can say anything, and a moment later, resurfaces in front of me, so close that I can’t move for a second. She’s nearly touching me, her skin slick with water beading over it, her dark hair clinging to her shoulders wetly, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone more beautiful.
“You finally decided to join me.” She looks up at me teasingly, her hands coming up to touch my chest, and I suck in a breath, hoping that she can’t see my reaction. It’s that brief moment in the church all over again, when she touched my hand and made me feel more than the simple touch should ever have been able to manage, except now we’re alone, and in a place where, if I wanted to touch her, there would be no one to tell me otherwise.
Except for her, when she inevitably comes to her senses.
“Gianna.” I reach for her wrists, gently encircling them with my fingers and moving her hands away from where they’re brushing against my skin. I know I should say something else, something to make her understand how inappropriate this is, but I don’t know what to say.
