Chapter 6 - Richard
I'm in the pool, trying to focus on the rhythm of my breathing, the water’s coolness, anything except the fact that Belle is in the changing room right now potentially putting on a swimsuit.
Potentially putting on very little clothing.
*Control yourself,* I think viciously. *You're forty-five years old, not some hormone-addled teenager.*
But my body doesn't seem to care about age or appropriateness or the thousand reasons why I shouldn't be thinking about Belle in a swimsuit. My cock is already semi-hard just from the imagination, from the brief flash of awareness I saw in her eyes when she looked at me shirtless in the gym.
She'd stared. Actually stared, lips parted, before catching herself. I'd had to turn away, grab the towel, do anything to hide my body's immediate response to being looked at like that by her.
The door to the women's changing room opens, and I force myself to take another lap, to keep my back turned, to give her privacy as she approaches the pool.
"This is incredible," Belle's voice echoes slightly in the glass-enclosed space. "I've never seen anything like it."
I turn around to respond, and every thought in my head evaporates.
Fuck.
Belle is standing at the edge of the pool, towel draped loosely around her shoulders, and she's wearing a burgundy bikini that should be illegal.
High-waisted bottoms that hug her curves perfectly, emphasizing the soft swell of her hips, the thickness of her thighs.
And the top… Christ, the top is doing things to her breasts that make my mouth water.
She's gorgeous. Soft and curvy and exactly what I've been fantasizing about for two years, and now she's here, in my pool, wearing next to nothing.
Her breasts are full, straining slightly against the fabric of the bikini top, and I watch them move as she breathes. Watch them jiggle slightly as she walks to one of the pool chairs to put down her towel.
Then she turns around.
Her ass is right there, perfectly framed by those high-waisted bottoms, round and full and I want to grab it with both hands, want to pull her against me and let her feel exactly what she's doing to me.
But I can't. I won't. I'm not a depraved man who takes advantage of vulnerable women in his care.
Even if my cock is rapidly hardening in my swim shorts, even if every instinct I have is screaming at me to get out of this pool and press her against the nearest surface.
I force myself to turn away, to dive under the water, to use the cold shock to hopefully calm down. When I surface, Belle is descending the steps into the pool, her movements slow.
"Oh!" She gasps as the water reaches her waist. "This feels amazing."
I clear my throat, trying to keep my voice steady. "I can adjust the temperature if you'd like. There's a control panel—"
"No, it's perfect." She smiles, and that smile goes straight to my cock. "Really perfect. I haven't been swimming in... God, I can't even remember how long."
She walks deeper into the pool, the water rising to just below her breasts, and I have to actively stop myself from groaning out loud.
Because the water is making her skin glisten, making that burgundy fabric cling even more closely to her curves.
And her breasts are jiggling with each movement, creating ripples in the water that draw my eye like a magnet.
How can I be this affected? I've been with beautiful women, experienced women, women who knew exactly what they were doing. I've had lovers who were probably more skilled in bed, more age-appropriate.
But none of them have ever made me feel like this… Speechless, desperate, barely hanging onto my control by my fingernails.
Belle moves closer, seemingly unaware of the effect she's having on me. The water laps at her cleavage, and I watch a droplet slide down into the valley between her breasts and want to follow it with my finger.
"So," she says, her voice slightly nervous. "Do you swim every day? Is that part of your routine?"
I latch onto the mundane topic, needing the distraction. "Most days. It helps clear my head. Better than running, and easier on the joints at my age."
"At your age?" She tilts her head. "You're not exactly ancient, Richard."
"I'm forty-five. That's ancient compared to—" I stop myself before I can say *compared to you*.
"Compared to what? You look incredible for any age." She blushes as soon as the words are out, like she can't believe she said them. "I mean, clearly you take care of yourself. The gym, the swimming. It shows."
The compliment makes my cock throb. "Thank you. I try. Mostly because if I don't, Marcus lectures me about maintaining peak physical condition for security purposes."
Belle laughs, and the sound is warm, genuine. "Does Marcus lecture you about a lot of things?"
"Constantly. He has opinions on everything from my cardiovascular health to the fact that I eat lunch at my desk. Last month he tried to implement a mandatory meditation schedule."
"Did you follow it?"
"For about three days before I had a board meeting crisis and forgot entirely. He was very disappointed." I lean back against the pool edge, trying to look casual despite my body's state. "What about you? Did you have any routines before... before Nathan?"
Her expression clouds slightly. "I used to go to yoga classes. There was this studio near my apartment, before I moved in with Nathan, that did evening sessions. I loved it. The instructor was this tiny woman who could bend herself into a pretzel and made it look effortless."
The image of Belle in yoga pants, bending and stretching, does absolutely nothing to help my current situation.
"You should start again," I say. "I'm sure there are classes in Blackwater Falls, or I could have an instructor come here—" I stop. "Sorry. I'm doing it again. Trying to fix everything, throw money at problems."
"It's not a problem that you want to help." She moves a bit closer, the water rippling around her. "It's actually really sweet. Nathan never wanted me to do yoga. Said it was a waste of time, that I should be home when he got back from work."
"Nathan is an idiot." The words come out harsher than I intend. "Sorry. I know he's… Well, no, I'm not sorry. He is an idiot. Yoga is good for flexibility, strength, and mental health."
"Have you tried it?"
"Once. Marcus insisted. I lasted approximately fifteen minutes before I got bored and went back to lifting weights."
Belle giggles and the sound is so light, so different from the scared woman who showed up at my gate yesterday. "I can't picture you in a yoga class. You seem more like the type to need constant activity, not meditation."
"Accurate assessment. I'm not good at sitting still." I watch her float a bit closer, those breasts creating the most distracting ripples in the water. "What else did you used to do? Besides yoga and museum visits?"
"I used to read a lot. Mystery novels, mostly. Nothing high-brow, just fun escapist stuff." She looks almost embarrassed. "Nathan said they were trash, that if I was going to read I should read something worthwhile."
"There's nothing wrong with reading for pleasure. I have an entire shelf of political thrillers that would probably be considered trash by literary standards."
"Really?" She looks delighted by this information. "Like what?"
"Everything by Vince Flynn. Some of Tom Clancy's earlier work. Anything with excessive military detail and improbable plot twists." I find myself smiling. "Victoria used to give me so much shit about it. Said a man in my position should be reading the classics, not 'airport novels.'"
"I love that you read them anyway."
"I spent enough of my life doing what other people thought I should do. Now I read what I want, eat what I want, live where I want." I pause. "You should do the same. Read your mystery novels, take your yoga classes, spend entire days in museums if that's what makes you happy."
Belle is close enough now that I can see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple. Not easy, but simple." I find myself unable to look away from her face, from the way the steam is making her hair curl slightly at the temples. "You deserve to do things that make you happy, Belle. You deserve to take up space in the world without apologizing for it."
"I'm working on believing that." Her voice is soft, almost shy. "It's hard to undo two years of being told the opposite."
"I know. But you'll get there." I want to touch her, want to tuck that curl behind her ear, want to do a hundred things that would cross the line I'm trying desperately to maintain. "You're stronger than you think."
She's quiet for a moment, just looking at me, and I watch several emotions flicker across her face. Then she says, "Can I ask you something personal?"
"Anything."
"Do you ever get lonely? Living here by yourself, working from home, barely leaving the property?"
The question catches me off guard. "Sometimes," I admit. "But it's better than the alternative. Better than being in the city, surrounded by people who want something from me. Better than—" I stop.
"Better than watching me marry Nathan," she finishes quietly.
I should deny it. Should brush it off, maintain some semblance of appropriate distance.
"Yes," I say instead. "Better than that."
Belle's eyes go wide, her lips parting slightly, and I watch her process what I've just confessed.
"Richard..." she starts, but I interrupt.
"I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. That's not… You don't need to hear about my—"
"I'm glad you left," she says, her voice stronger now. "I'm glad you weren't there. I don't think I could have done it if you were watching. If I'd had to look at you while promising to be Nathan's wife."
My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she can hear it over the gentle sound of the waterfall. "Why?"
She takes another step closer, and now she's within arm's reach. Close enough that I can see the water droplets on her eyelashes, the way her lips are slightly parted, the rapid pulse in her throat.