Miranda knows her worth and she’s not going to placate or make me feel better when we both know I screwed up.
“Don’t do it again” are the words that come drifting toward me, even as her hands stroke my neck. It’s not a threat, but it’s enough to let me know she means business.
My fingers drift along the smooth skin of her legs, the calloused pads on the bottoms making her shiver. I kiss her thigh, shifting so I can kiss the skin of her knee. Her calf. Higher again, inching back up the way I came, drinking in the smell of her skin.
I leave one of my giant hands spread on the inside of her thigh, below the hem of her denim shorts, her intake of breath a good indication that if she was mad before, she isn’t any longer.
“You smell good.”
“You’ve mentioned that before.” Her tone is teasing and I look up, into her face. “But do go on—what else do you like?”
Cheeky little shit. “You have the softest skin.” I could touch it for days. “And I like this spot right here.” My thumb strokes along the sensitive area inside her thigh, the skin a little lighter there where the sun doesn’t reach.
Trail the thumb farther, inside her shorts.
Suddenly wish she was naked. “Do you want to go swimming?”
Miranda laughs. “I don’t have a suit.”
“So?”
We stare at each other then, she to gauge my sincerity, me to gauge if she wants to get naked.
Her eyes scan the hedgerow of tall cypress trees planted at the back of the property, running along the perimeter, as if determining how private the place actually is. I am separated from the house behind mine by their hedgerow, their fence, and their pool house.
“I’ve had my mouth on your pussy,” I blurt out. “It’s not like you have to be modest.”
Miranda stares at me, wide-eyed, as if she can’t believe the words that just came out of said mouth. If we’re being honest, I can’t believe it either. I’ve never said shit like that to a woman before and immediately regret it.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She moves to get off the chair and I go back on my haunches, still kneeling next to her as she says, “No. You’re absolutely right and it is really hot out.”
Without another word, she reaches for the hem of her tucked-in shirt, pulling it free from the shorts, and yanks it up over her head, tossing it to the deck chair.
Looks down at me. “Well? Let’s go. Get naked.”
I scramble to stand, like an amateur, the dick inside my pants twitching. Down, boy, down. Relax.
Except—it’s been a long time since anyone stripped naked in front of me (strip clubs do not count) and watching Miranda peel one layer after another from her body has me gawking like a teenage boy.
She’s facing the water, so I can’t see her boobs, but her hands are obviously working the front snap of her jean shorts, those same hands pushing them down around her waist. Hips, legs, until they’re pooled on the ground.
Stepping out of them, she’s in only a thong and a bra. Hands reach around, deftly working the clasp quicker than I ever could. Tosses it to the side. Tugs at her lavender panties, bending slightly at the waist, and I…
Frantically begin stripping like a bad scene in a movie where the kid cannot get naked fast enough, desperate to catch up.
Miranda takes one, two, ten steps and leaps into the pool, the giant splash behind her flying through the air and wetting my feet.
I’m a few seconds behind, managing to make it in the water before she surfaces—I don’t need to be caught with my pants down around my ankles and my dick in my hand, relieved when I’m sinking into the lukewarm water beside her.
When my head pops up, I get splashed in the face, wiping a hand up and over my forehead, flipping my hair back.
Miranda splashes me again, flirtatiously, the sun catching the beads of glistening water on her shoulders and hair.
“You’re so dead,” I threaten, walking toward her, making my way through the chest deep shallow end.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she taunts just before disappearing below the surface. I watch as she strokes to the other side, hits the wall, and swims back toward me with a single breath. Pops up in front of me, dark nipples skimming the top. “The water feels so good.”
She’s close and moves closer, arms wrapping around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist—I’m surprised by her unabashed affection, but not put off by it and I weave my arms around her bottom, cupping her ass. Hoist her up.
Kiss her mouth.
“Aren’t you worried about shrinkage?”
I pull back and look at her. “Shrinkage?” I drop her, letting her sink under, and she rises, sputtering.
“You brat!” Splash. “You dropped me!”
“My dick does not shrink in cold water!” The temperature of the pool is a blissful eighty-five degrees: not too warm, not too cool, definitely not cold enough to shrink my cock.
“Are you sure?” One of her eyebrows is raised arrogantly.
“See for yourself,” I tease, not thinking she’s actually going to dunk beneath the water and tread in front of my dick, eyes wide open, bubbles hitting the surface and popping.
I watch, spellbound as her hand reaches forward, wraps around my somewhat flaccid cock and tugs gently.
Miranda reemerges. “Big deal. You’re a shower AND a grower.”
That’s a good thing—everyone knows that.
She wraps around me again and this time, I don’t dump her back into the water, instead walking us toward the edge of the pool where a bench is built into the side. It’s not nearly as deep, but we can bob here, kissing without me nearly drowning us both.
“It’s so nice that you’re tall,” she tells me, kissing the underside of my chin. Neck. Collarbone. Wet lips, wet skin. “I
