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I damn near came right then and there.
Yep.
That was where I was at.
Boob brushes were doing it for me.
Like we were fumbling, uncertain teenagers.
Fenway froze for a moment, waiting for my eye contact. I didn’t want to give it to him, knowing what he would find on my face. Parted lips, wide, hooded eyes.
Undeniable attraction.
But my head lifted; my gaze found his.
Having what he wanted, his hands pressed harder into my wet suit, into my skin beneath, pulling, lifting me out of the water.
I wasn’t heavy, but nor was I a waif, either, and I found myself duly impressed by his upper body strength as he kept pulling me up even when he didn’t have the assistance of the weightlessness of water to aid him, as he pulled me clear out of the water, higher, until he was lowering me down, allowing instinct to make me spread my legs to the outsides of his, to have my lap drop down onto his.
A choked whimper escaped my lips as my cleft pressed against his hard cock, making a shudder work through me.
My body settled, his hands slid down my sides, curving outward to the flare of my hips, then drifting downward, sinking into the bare flesh of my ass.
I didn’t think.
I didn’t want to think.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, sealing my lips over his—hard, hungry, demanding.
He gave it right back to me, lips bruising, tongue claiming, teeth nipping.
My hips rocked against his, stoking the desire inside, driving my body upward.
On a low growl, Fenway’s lips ripped from mine as his hand left my ass, curling into the hair at the nape of my neck instead, twisting, pulling, arching me backward as his lips met my neck, my throat, down between the V of my breasts, then up again, making my nipples harden, making my hips do another greedy rock against his cock.
Fenway’s other hand moved between us, grabbing the strap of my swimsuit, dragging it downward, exposing one breast, then the other.
Using his hand in my hair, he arched me back further, jutting my breasts toward him. Bending he sucked one into my mouth, working it with his tongue until I was writhing against him wildly. He released me, but only to go across my chest, sinking his teeth into my other nipple, making the pre-orgasm tightening start between my legs.
Close.
So close.
I just needed to reach into his pants, to free him, to pull my swimsuit to the side, and have him slip inside me. Deep, from the feel of it, overtaking me completely.
God, yes.
I needed that.
I needed it more than I was sure I ever needed any man before.
My nails clawed across his shoulders, holding on as I circled my hips against him.
Now.
I needed him inside me now.
Right that second.
But, no.
No, I added to my brain, hazy and slow with the fog of need swirling around it.
No, I couldn’t have him right now.
We had no protection.
And I never took that risk.
If we paused to work out that situation, the moment would be gone. I would think it through. I would realize exactly how stupid it was.
Seeming to sense a shift, Fenway’s arm anchored around my waist, turning, shifting, laying me flat on the warm cement, my legs dangling in the water.
“I can’t fuck you,” he told me, running his tongue between my breasts as he lowered himself into the water. “But I can taste you,” he added, arms hooking under my legs, yanking them up.
His hand moved between my thighs, pulling my suit to the side.
Before I could even muster an objection—and, surely, I was going to object, right?—his mouth was on me, sucking for a second before his tongue was working my clit—fast, relentless, never giving my body a chance to lose the orgasm that was building at the base of my spine, a deep fist of tension.
And then just like that, his tongue swiped, and I crashed through my orgasm, crying out loud enough to alert anyone in the house—or in the neighbors’ houses—letting them know exactly what was happening out on the patio.
But I didn’t care.
I couldn’t have cared.
Not with the pleasure exploding through my system, working its tendrils through every inch of my body, overtaking me entirely, leaving me shuddering in the wake.
My swimsuit moved back into place.
Fenway released my legs.
And then he was pulling himself out of the water, his wet body sliding over mine, pressing into me for one glorious moment.
He paused, waiting for my eyelids to flutter open.
And I saw complete and utter triumph staring back at me.
“Good luck trying to convince me—or yourself—that you don’t want me now,” he told me in that deep, sexy, alpha voice he used far too rarely, considering it was the hottest thing I was sure I’d ever heard. “Darling,” he added with a smirk, like he knew exactly what he was doing, how I was trying to separate the two men I had come to know as Fenway Arlington.
