Chapter Eleven #2
Her stare goes flat.
“You almost got dead.”
She kicks a slow rhythm, chin tipped up in that defiant way that usually makes me want to argue her into a corner and then kiss her senseless.
“You’re impossible.” She drags a hand through her wet hair and breaks eye contact.
A moment passes.
“The beach cleanup trended, for what it’s worth. We hit number four on YouTube.” Her gaze drops to the shimmering depths. “Blaze kept the camera rolling even after you went down.”
“I know,” I whisper. “I watched the replay.”
Her head snaps up, her expression a messy cocktail of terror, relief, and something softer (something she’s hell-bent on burying). But it sinks into my chest, like a jagged hook finding bone.
“Cole,” she says, her voice turning careful. “Are you actually okay?”
“I’m good. I promise.”
She gives me a long, shaky exhale that ripples the surface. “Great. Then I’m finishing my laps. Go get some sleep.”
“Ivy, wait.” I exhale. “I owe you.”
She stills, staying afloat but refusing to meet my gaze.
“The doctor laid it out for me,” I force out. “Seconds. He said I was seconds away. Everything compounded: the cut on my palm, the shellfish, the heat, the waves. My body was about to pull the plug.”
I hook a finger under her chin, lift it, and force her eyes to meet mine.
“You saw it first. You ran.”
A single tear breaks loose, making a slow path down her flushed cheek. She doesn’t stop it. Her throat moves as she swallows hard. “Glad you’re okay, Hartwell.”
She wheels around and strikes out for the shallow end, her strokes jagged and frantic, as if she’s wanting to outswim the very air between us.
I move. Pure instinct.
Muscle and need drive me forward, closing the space. She reaches the steps, the water sluicing off every soft, wet inch of her. I snatch her wrist.
She stops.
“I didn’t mean—” I start, huffing out a rough, frustrated breath. “Look, I’m trying to say thank you without screwing it up. Give me a chance.”
“If you’re passing out gratitude, start with Sienna,” she says, that clipped, defensive rhythm back in her voice. “She’s the one who knew what she was doing.”
“CPR wouldn’t have saved me,” I say, squeezing her palm. “You did.”
“Just doing my job, Cole.”
“Saving my life isn’t in your job description. I saw the video. Your face. You thought I was gone. I watched you hold my hand… like you are now.”
I track the line of her trembling arm down to where our hands are welded together. Her fingers aren’t simply touching mine. They’re laced through them, deep and tight, her palm fused to my own.
I don’t say another word. She wants to retreat—into reasons, arguments, something safe. There’s nothing safe about us.
I tug.
And then—
She’s against me, every soft, damp inch of her molded to my rough edges. Her breath catches as I slide my free hand to the small of her back, the wet spandex of her suit slick under my touch.
I grant her a beat to protest. To hide behind the rivalry.
She comes closer, her gaze dropping to my mouth.
Fuck it. I’m done pretending.
My mouth crashes into hers, and every thought I’ve ever buried, every look I’ve stolen, and every damn second we’ve wasted lying to ourselves explodes.
Her lips part on a stunned breath, and I take it.
No hesitation, no finesse, just my tongue against hers, fierce and fiery, demanding everything at once. She tastes like salt and chlorine and I’m already addicted. She doesn’t pull back, she presses into me as hungry as I am, maybe more.
I’m on fire with how she melts into me, how she clutches my hair like she has to pull me closer.
Water laps at our hips as I back her toward the pool stairs, my body guiding hers. The blue swirls around us, warm and thick. The cold stone supports her back as I press her down, pinning her between me and the step, our heads barely hovering above the surface.
She meets my eyes, breathless and waiting for my next move.
So am I.
My hands roam up her hips and over the curve of her ribcage, then higher. My palm covers her breast through the spandex as my thumb strums her nipple.
Ivy jerks as though I’ve electrified her. Her waist arches up, her center pressing right against my growing hardness.
She moans low, a shuddering sound that vibrates against my lips. My cock twitches in response, demanding more.
I work my way down her inner thigh, caressing her slow as hell, earning her squirm. I trace back up, my fingers skimming the fabric over her most sensitive skin, teasing, taunting, until I find the spot that wrenches a whimper.
And fuck—
“Give me that sound again,” I pant between kisses.
She doesn’t just give it to me; she lights up my brain. Then, taking what she wants, her leg locks around my waist, yanking me flush against her, forcing my fingers to press harder over her clit.
Ivy’s legs tighten around me, a shudder ripping through her and I feel it everywhere. Spine. Nerves. Dick.
“Shit.” My mouth presses into her neck. “You feel so good. I wasn’t ready for… tell me to stop.”
She meets my eyes. “Don’t you dare.”
I laugh, low, against her lips. “Do you always get this turned on in public pools?”
“N-no.” She stutters as I start to rub faster, her voice breaking. “M-maybe? Ask me later.”
She brushes her palm against my length, then reaches down and helps herself, wrapping her fingers around my cock with a sinful grip. The squeeze that follows sends my soul straight out of my body.
“Christ, Ivy.”
Her lips brush against my ear. “Do you always get so hard this fast?”
“No. That’s all you.”
She pushes me back, breaking the spell.
“Room. Now. Or I swear to God, we’re doing this in the pool.”
“On your feet, Stopwatch,” I say, grinning as I vault up the stairs, water slapping off my legs.
She climbs out, droplets clinging, curves glistening. She throws me a look that could melt steel.
“Don’t call me that.”
“Make me.”
I close the distance in two strides, pull her against me, and kiss her like I’m branding her. Our mouths collide—teeth and groans and sexual frustration—and fuck if I care who’s watching. All that matters is the way she clings to me.
Our lips never separate for more than a jagged breath. I’m pushing her against every wall on the way, my hands territorial and greedy. My cock’s so strained, it’s a miracle I’m not limping. I need to plunge deep inside her and stay there until the sun comes up.
CRACK.
I kick open the door and honestly… I’m not sure how the hell we made it back.
We stumble into the room, clothes coming off like it’s a race. The door clicks and my boxers are gone. She peels her dripping swimsuit off her legs, and the sight of her completely bare makes my head spin. I step into her, crowding her space until her thighs hit the edge of the mattress.
She lands with a sharp inhale, me on top of her, our damp skin meeting in a chilly embrace. She shivers, goosebumps rippling across her arms, as her nipples pebble tight.
“Cold?”
She rolls her eyes. “Terribly. I thought you were going to bring the heat.”
“Careful what you ask for.”
I pin her arms over her head (so I have room to play), lower my lips, and blow hot air over her breasts, watching goosebumps erupt into trembles, enjoying her writhing beneath me. I slowly circle one nipple with my tongue before sucking it hungrily into my mouth.
Holy hell. She’s heaven beneath my lips. I’m so hard it hurts, my pulse throbbing in my cock as I lick, tease, and torment that sensitive peak. Her breath hitches every time, and I’ve decided I’m doing this forever.
“I can’t believe I’m letting you touch my boobs,” she pants, her fingers digging into my shoulders.
“Technically,” I mutter against her skin, sucking more fiercely, “I’ve already touched them.”
“Yeah, but that was an accident,” she pants. “This is me… willingly letting you.”
Willingly. That’s the only invitation I need.
My hand, lightly tracing her body, seeks out the paradise between her legs. Ivy lets out a broken whimper the second I find her, my thumb circling her swollen nub. I stay there, watching her eyes squeeze shut and her face glow with pleasure.
I rub her again, with more intent, loving the way she bites her lip.
“Ivy, goddammit, look at you,” I rasp. “How are you so fucking beautiful?”
Ivy breathes out slowly. “You don’t mean that. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“No. I mean it. You don’t get to argue with what I’m looking at.” I kiss her neck, her shoulder, then between her breasts. “I like this. I like you. And fuck, I love these.” I lightly drag my fingertips over her waist, her thighs. “Jesus Christ, your body is incredible.”
She opens one eye. “You sure talk a lot during sex.”
“Right, sorry. Listen, if I pass out from kissing every single curve you’ve got, smack me awake. Or let me die of happiness. I don’t give a shit.”
“Shhh,” she says, huffing. “And it’s way too soon for that joke, Hartwell.”
I laugh and kiss the hollow of her throat. “Noted.”
My laughter cuts off against her skin, my tongue grazing over one stiff peak, then the other, before I drive my middle finger deep inside her.
“Shit!” she gasps, hips bucking off the mattress. “Keep doing that. Oh God, thh-that feels good.”
“I’ll do any damn thing you need,” I groan against her skin.
I shove in a second finger, her tight, wet heat clenching around me so good I almost lose it. No chance in hell I’m stopping. My thumb finds that swollen nub, stroking hard at the same time.
“You want to fuck my fingers, Ivy? Move those gorgeous hips like you mean it.”
She does—rolling, grinding, chasing that friction like it’s oxygen—and fuck, I’m done. I need to be inside her more than my next heartbeat, and that realization slams into me like a goddamn tidal wave.
I almost didn’t get a next breath today, and here I am, ready to give them all up simply to feel her break around me.