Chapter 18
“There’s no way.” I teased, trying not to look too obvious as I fiddled with the buttons on my shirt. She could have asked me to fly a plane to Mars, and I would have.
I was so fucked.
But I couldn’t let her win that easily. Rolling my eyes, I shook my head at her. “No way.”
“I get it.” She shrugged. The water level was doing dangerous things for her… or me. I didn’t realize how buoyant a woman could be.
Holy shit.
I was going to have to get into the pool just to hide my growing erection from prying eyes.
Mostly just hers.
“I wonder if what all the Hollywood movies portray are true.” She mused before me, taking a few steps backwards.
“What’s that?”
“Young, hot, uninhibited groups of co-eds love to play chicken.” The grin she wore across her face was shit-eating. “If you’re not going to get in, I’ll find another partner to help me.” She ran her fingers through her tangled locks. “Surely, someone will let me sit on their shoulders.”
“Fuck you, Haddock.” I managed through gritted teeth, slowly continuing my inconspicuous button-work.
She winked.
The little temptress.
And then ducked under the water, just out of my view. With a scowl that no one saw, and a sigh that no one heard, I pulled my shirt over my head and slipped into the pool.
She surfaced right in front of me, slick hair, dark lashes, lips parted with a grin that sent blood rocketing to all the wrong places. I laughed, breathless, and reached instinctively — one hand to her waist, steadying myself — steadying her. Warm skin, water-slick. She didn’t flinch.
In fact, she leaned into it.
Then — God help me — her knee bumped my thigh. She moved closer casually, like it didn’t mean anything.
“You look like a drowned rat,” she teased, and my breath caught when she twirled a lock of my hair around her finger.
“I am a drowned rat.”
“Still pretty cute, though,” she said, a little too quiet. A little too close.
My grip on her tightened, just slightly. Just enough for her to notice. But she didn’t back away.
We were chest to chest now, the water lifting her just enough that her leg slid along mine — then over it. I swallowed hard. I could feel her breasts pressed against me, the hardened peaks of her nipples tantalizing against my skin.
“Juniper.”
“Mhm?”
Her arms had looped around my neck without either of us agreeing to it. Her hips nudged into mine, just for balance.
Just… for balance.
Except then she did it again.
And again.
It wasn’t on purpose. Not at first. It was water.
Motion.
Chemistry.
Right?
But then—
“Oh, fuck,” I muttered, eyes slamming shut. Because there it was: that perfect, dangerous friction. A sweet, aching drag through my wet swim shorts as she shifted against me again.
She froze.
I felt her go still in my arms, felt her register it — the same heat, the same throb, the same possibility — and instead of pulling away, she pressed in.
Slow. Subtle. But unmistakable.
“What’s wrong, cowboy?”
A shiver ran down my spine. I buried my face against her shoulder, breath hot, everything in me wound tight and thrumming.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered, and in return… she locked her legs around my hips.
My grip on her waist faltered, fingers curling like I could stop her from doing it — but I didn’t stop her.
Couldn’t.
Not when her thighs gripped my waist, not when her hips rocked the barest inch forward and I felt everything. Felt her heat through her suit. Felt the ache behind my shorts swell into something goddamn dangerous.
She didn’t mean to.
That’s what I told myself.
Except her lips were at my ear now, wet, heavy breath curling down my neck, and she wasn’t moving away. Not at all. Her chest pressed to mine, flush and warm, and I could feel the beat of her heart thudding in time with mine. I could feel the drag of her breasts through the waterlogged fabric.
I was frozen, statuesque, stupid. I wanted to move, to feel her skin beneath mine. But I didn’t want to risk losing this moment.
She pulled back just enough to look at me.
Just enough to shift again.
Slower this time.
More deliberate.
A roll of her hips, languid and teasing, like she was trying to play it off as nothing. Like we weren’t sliding together in the middle of a pool party, hidden only by the shadows at the edge of the water and the dull thump of a DJ remix no one was dancing to.
My jaw clenched.
“Juniper,” I said again, lower this time. A warning. A plea.
Her hands were on my shoulders now. Then my chest. Then curling behind my neck again as she leaned in — like it was nothing. Like we were just talking.
No one would know any different.
She rocked forward once more.
Fuck.
A groan clawed up my throat, but I swallowed it down hard, squeezing her hips in my hands to anchor myself, to ground myself.
It didn’t help.
Not when she whispered, voice almost smug, “Still think it’s a bad idea?”
I was hard. There was no hiding it. And when she rolled forward again — when she did it on purpose — a sharp, choked sound escaped me.
Her grin was lazy, wicked, flushed all the way to her collarbone. “Guess that answers that.” She crooned, but she couldn’t disguise the gentlest of whimpers that escaped, too.
“I’m going to hell,” I muttered.
She arched a brow. “For dry-humping me in a pool?”
“No,” I said, pulling her just the tiniest bit closer. “For wanting to do it again.”
Her thighs squeezed around my hips in response, and my hands stayed locked on her waist like they were the only thing keeping me from floating off into the goddamn stratosphere.
She shifted again. A roll of her hips, slower now. Intimate. Intentional. And there was no pretending it was an accident anymore.
I choked on a breath. Tried to speak. Couldn’t.
She did it again.
And again.
And fuck — I was gone.
My fingers dug in, teeth clenched so hard I was afraid they’d crack. “Juniper,” I groaned, fingers trembling against her hips. My eyes snapped shut, head tipping back, jaw locked so tight it trembled. I didn’t move — not one inch — but she did. Over and over, soft and sinful and perfect.
One of her hands curled around the back of my neck. Her lips brushed my cheek. “Still doing okay, cowboy?” she whispered, all sweet concern, like she wasn’t ruining me.
“No,” I breathed. “No, not at all.”
She smiled against my jaw and rolled her hips one more time. “Good,” she moaned into my ear, pressing her warm heat against me again.
“You’ve got—” I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. “You’ve got to stop, baby.” I hissed as she bore down again, the sweet pressure of her movements tearing pet names out of me I’d never used.
She sped up, one hand lacing into my hair, fingernails grazing my scalp. The other… fuck.
She found my hand with her other, and tugged it upwards, pressing her breast into my palm.
“Touch me,” she purred as I rutted up into her, completely helpless.
“Yes,” she whispered as my hips, my cock, stuttered an uneasy rhythm up into her.
“Come for me.” Her lips brushed the shell of my ear as I kneaded her breast in my hand.
Fuck.
I saw stars. I swore — low and shattered — gripped her harder than I should’ve, and—
It was over. Heat. Pressure. Release. That dark pulse of pleasure, sharp and humiliating, cresting low in my gut and broke open through me. I dug my teeth into her shoulder, swallowing down the moans she was still dragging out of me.
My dick twitched against her heat, warm and welcoming and fuck. How good would she feel?
I don’t know how long we stayed like that. Frozen and tangled up in each other.
As my breathing settled, as my lust-crazed stupor wore off — I realized…
I came in my goddamn swim trunks.
No warning. No control.
I was still breathing hard, still frozen, still blinking through the aftershocks as she stared down at me.
Juniper’s mouth parted. “Did you just…”
I dropped my head onto her shoulder with a groan. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
She let out the softest laugh. “You absolutely did.”
“I hate myself.”
“You shouldn’t.” Her voice was smug, warm. “It’s flattering.”
“Juniper.”
“What?”
“You’re not allowed to be proud of that.”
“Oh, I am. Maybe even a little turned on.”
She pulled back, still straddling my lap in the dim edge of the pool, water curling around us like we hadn’t just committed absolute war crimes against basic decency.
Her grin was sharp. “I ruined Ansel Barlowe in a pair of vintage bikini bottoms.”
I dragged a hand over my face.
She leaned in. “Just imagine what I could do with a bed.”