I don’t care what he says. “Not happening,” I shoot back defiantly.
The stalemate we’ve reached is eventually clear to him. Sighing, he turns away from me.
“Just … climb on,” he says dryly.
Smooth skin and ink meet my eyes when they settle on his back. Then, when I don’t immediately respond to his demand, he glances at me from over his shoulder.
“I’ll take you across so you can see there’s nothing to be afraid of,” he explains.
“You mean, aside from putting my life in your hands?”
He smirks at that, and I breathe deep when he holds his hand out for me to take. “It’ll be fine.”
I hold his gaze for a moment. Then, despite every silent alarm within me sounding off a red alert, I give in, slipping my palm into his, letting him guide me closer. He pulls me onto his back and both my arms lock around his neck. Next, he reaches back to bring my legs around his waist, and I don’t miss that one of his hands lingers on my thigh longer than necessary.
“I have you,” he promises, glancing back again. “Just don’t let go.”
A nervous laugh slips out. “Trust me. No chance of that happening.”
He chuckles quietly and then I’m at his mercy. He moves us through the water slowly. I feel every muscle in his body as it tenses and releases—his shoulders beneath my arms, his hips between my legs. I hardly notice I’m chin-deep in cool water until West reaches the other side, bracing the edge.
I feel vulnerable, aware that the darker turquoise on this end means the bottom of the pool is so much further down.
“I’m not gonna let you drown,” West promises. Probably because my grip around his neck has tightened.
I don’t speak, fighting memories of that night I nearly drowned in the lake. The night Hunter saved my life.
“Here,” West speaks up. “Hold the ledge.”
“What? No!” I protest.
“Stop freaking out,” he scolds me, clearly amused. “I won’t let you go.”
With one quick maneuver, he takes matters into his own hands and slips from beneath my arms, guiding me toward the ledge. He moves behind me, where he braces his hands at either side, caging me in. I stare at his fingers gripping the edge of the tile as his arms frame mine, pinning me lightly in place
“Told you you wouldn’t die,” he teases, but his voice sounds different. It’s raspy and too close, right near my ear.
“There’s still time for that,” I shoot back, trying to keep my head clear of him, but it doesn’t work.
I feel him everywhere, his chest to my back, the slow movements of his legs as we tread water.
One of his hands disappears from the ledge and the next thing I feel is his touch on my waist. Then, a warm breath against my shoulder. I haven’t yet decided if he’s trying to get to me, or if our current circumstances are just working in his favor.
The solitude.
The lack of clothing.
Whatever the case, I’m suddenly not thinking so much about not being able to touch the bottom of the pool. Because I’m thinking about how badly I want to touch him.
“Want me to take you back across?” he offers.
“I’m not in a rush,” is the unbelievable answer that falls from my mouth, which makes zero sense. I even surprise myself, considering how terrified I was just a few minutes ago.
But, then again, it does make sense. Because I’ve been craving the closeness, having West’s undivided attention.
He seems caught off guard by the response, too, which is the reason I come up with for why he hasn’t spoken yet. His grip tightens on my waist and my eyes fall closed. The rim of my ear warms when his lips press against it and … I lean into him.
“You don’t want to go back,” he rasps, making me come undone. “So, tell me what you do want.”
There are words on the tip of my tongue, words I don’t have the courage to say out loud. But as if he hears that little voice inside my head, the one I’m trying to ignore and silence, his palm moves lower, resting at the base of my stomach.
My breaths are deeper now, louder as I let my head fall back against the firmness of his shoulder. Smooth fingertips trace the elastic at the apex of my thigh, like he’s contemplating his next move, unsure how far he’s willing to go. I know I should be the one to stop this, I know I should revoke the unspoken permission I’ve given him to touch me like this, but … I don’t.
Instead, as his hand slips inside my bathing suit, I say absolutely nothing at all. Well, nothing that discourages him, anyway.
Only a whimpered, “…Shit.”
My voice is quivering as his exploration begins. Heat from his mouth moves over my skin and drives me insane. A kiss is placed just beneath my ear, sucking first, then tracing slow, silken circles with the tip of his tongue.
“Shit.” The word falls from my mouth again, but this time it’s strained as he teases me with the tip of one finger. Then, finally, he slips it inside.
And then another.
I’ve completely given in. Completely. And he knows it. I push my hips back, pressing against him, in awe of how aroused he is from touching me.
“You’re making it very, very tough to hate you tonight,” I admit.
I didn’t mean to whisper this loud enough to be heard, but I’m out of my head and can’t stop myself.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, Southside?” he asks gruffly, breathing the words into my ear while still touching me beneath the water. “If you had to choose between killing me and fucking me, you’d be on your back every time,” he explains, then a short, deep laugh vibrates within his chest. “And that goes both ways.”
A chill shoots down my spine when he admits that,
