17. Elena #2
The sun is beginning its descent, painting the sky in watercolor strokes of pink and gold.
The lake below mirrors the display, doubling its beauty.
In the far distance, mountains rise in coral silhouette, completing a scene so perfect it barely looks real.
It's almost too romantic for a fake relationship. Almost .
"This doesn't suck," James says eloquently, which might be the biggest understatement I've ever heard.
I slip off my robe, suddenly self-conscious in my swimsuit.
James does the same, and my breath catches.
He’s lean, but powerfully built: broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, with the kind of defined core and strong thighs that speak of disciplined strength, not just gym-rat vanity.
His body seems built for both power and precision, and my omega brain is humming a little appreciation song.
"Enjoying the view?" he asks, that infuriating smirk making a comeback, though his eyes are warm as he catches me looking.
"The landscape is stunning," I deflect.
"It certainly is," he replies, his eyes very much not on the horizon, but on me.
We slide into the hot mineral water, the silky heat seeping into our relaxed muscles. Steam rises around us, golden in the sunset light, creating an otherworldly, intimate atmosphere.
For a while, we just soak in comfortable silence, watching the sunset paint the sky in fiery shades.
"Your idea saved our gingerbread today," James says suddenly. "The stained glass. That was brilliant."
"We did it together," I say, surprised by the genuine compliment.
He shakes his head. "I was ready to scrap the whole thing. You saw a solution where I only saw failure." He looks down, swirling the water. "My father would have thrown the whole batch out and started over, well, if he was a baker. 'Reynolds men don't salvage, they succeed,' he used to say."
The admission startles me. "Sounds like a tough critic."
"And an even tougher construction worker," James replies, looking out toward the horizon.
"Built durable things. When I first showed interest in baking, he thought it was just a phase.
When it wasn't..." He trails off, then straightens.
"Well, nothing motivates like having something to prove, right? "
"Is that why you're so hungry for success?" I ask. "To prove something to him?"
"Maybe," James says after a beat. "He’s old school.
Thinks alphas should hunt, build, lead corporate takeovers.
Not… 'faff about with fondant and fripperies'.
" There's a hint of old hurt in his tone.
"I guess I just… want him to respect my calling, you know?
" He pauses, then turns to me. “Anyway, enough about me. What about you? What’s your big, bad motivation? "
I hesitate, then find myself telling him about Mom, Pierre, my dream of my own little bakery. He listens intently, his gaze never leaving my face.
This is… nice. Unexpectedly so.
As I finish, a gentle hush settles. The water laps gently with the wind, the air cools as the last sliver of sun dips below the horizon, and the first stars begin to prick the darkening sky.
"You know," James says, his voice a low murmur, his eyes dark and focused on me in the twilight, "I’m pretty sure you’re already missing that massage."
He's not wrong. I smile and, feeling bold in this steamy water, turn, presenting my back to him. His hands land on my shoulders, his strong fingers finding those spots Maya worked, kneading with surprising skill. Goosebumps, entirely unrelated to the cooling air, dance down my spine.
"James…" I start, but the words die. It feels too good.
"Just continuing the 'pampering and relaxation' process, Elena," he whispers, his lips close to my ear.
"You won this, remember?" His hands move lower, tracing my spine, igniting little fires on their path.
The attraction that's been simmering between us flares to life in the intimate warmth of the hot spring.
My breath hitches as his fingers dance along my ribs, then slide around to my stomach, pulling me back against his chest. I can feel the steady beat of his heart against my back and smell the tiniest hint of… bergamot?
"Elena," he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. "About that… proposition."
I tilt my head back, looking up at him. "What about it?" I whisper, my voice husky.
"How about," he says, his gaze dropping to my lips, "we consummate it. Right now."
"James—"
"No pressure," he says quickly. "Just... if you want it."
And the thing is, I do . There's something liberating about the honesty between us. No pretense, no unrealistic expectations.
When his lips meet mine, it feels like the most rational decision I've made all week. It’s a slow, deliberate, exploration that tastes of minerals and desire.
His hands slide over the bare skin of my waist, pulling me closer still, until there is no space left between us.
It’s intoxicating. And letting go is… exactly what I want.
His lips move from my mouth to my jaw, then down my neck, sending shivers cascading through me.
One hand cups my breast through the thin fabric of my swimsuit, his thumb stroking, teasing, until a soft gasp escapes me.
He's lowering his head toward my breast, his intention clear, when a tiny sliver of additional rationality kicks in.
"Wait," I breathe, my hand coming up to cup his cheek. He looks up, his eyes dark with desire.
"I want things to be crystal clear," I say, my voice a little shaky but firm. "My conditions. If we’re doing this… 'arrangement'…"
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Lay 'em on me, sugar."
"One: In public, at the festival, this is purely for show. Professional, supportive partners who happen to be dating. Plausible deniability for everyone."
He nods, his thumb now tracing lazy circles on my hip. "Agreed. Though I reserve the right to look at you like I want to devour you. For authenticity, of course."
I roll my eyes, but a thrill goes through me. "Two: What happens in private… like this…" I gestured vaguely to our current, very intimate, situation. "only when I want it. When I initiate. Or at least, when I clearly reciprocate your initiation. No pressure, no assumptions."
His smile doesn't falter. "Your call, Elena. I can be surprisingly patient you know."
"And three," I take a deep breath. "This ends when the festival ends. Clean break. No drama. We go back to being former competitors."
He's silent for a moment, his gaze searching mine in the dim, star-dappled water. Then, he leans in, his lips brushing mine. "Done, done, and done." His mouth claims mine again, deeper this time, more possessive. Any further thought of conditions or consequences dissolve.
His hands roam my body, tracing every curve with a hungry precision, teasing and igniting my skin. With a deft flick, he unhooks my swimsuit, the fabric sliding away as his mouth finds my breast, hot and insistent. A sharp moan escapes me, my body arching into the searing heat of his touch.
James moves lower, his lips grazing my skin as he sinks beneath the steaming surface of the hot spring.
His hands grip my hips, steadying me as his face disappears under the water.
Then, his mouth is on me, his sharp tongue swirling with relentless skill, each flick and stroke sending jolts through my core.
The heat of the water mingles with the fire he’s stoking, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.
His tongue sharpens its focus, circling with deliberate, teasing pressure, then dive into a rhythm that’s both merciless and precise.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, my body tensing as waves of pleasure build, each one crashing harder than the last. The heat of the water, the slick press of his lips, the relentless dance of his tongue…
it’s too much, too perfect. My vision blurs, my moans turning to desperate cries as the tension coils tighter…
and tighter… until it snaps. A shattering climax rips through me, my body trembling uncontrollably, hips bucking against his mouth as I come undone, my vision whiting out.
Okay, Elena , I think, a wild, shuddering pleasure surging through me as his tongue slows, drawing out the aftershocks. This time, you are definitely not falling asleep.
* * *
The car door closes with the soft, expensive thunk of German engineering. As we glide through the winding mountain roads back toward Lakeview, the ride is so smooth I could probably perform brain surgery.
I let my eyes drift closed, my skin still tingling with warmth from the shower James and I shared before leaving the spa. Just thinking about those fifteen minutes under the rainfall shower head makes my cheeks flush. The things that man can do with his hands and mouth…
My lips curve into a satisfied smile as I replay how I returned his mouth performance in the hot spring, watching his eyes roll back as I… as we—
"Ms. Avery?"
The driver's polite voice snaps me out of my increasingly R-rated recollection.
"Yes?" I manage, hoping my voice sounds more composed than I feel.
"Mr. Beaumont asked me to remind you about the pub night tonight at the Lake's Edge," he says, glancing at me in the rearview mirror. "The venue has been reserved exclusively for festival contestants, with complimentary drinks provided by Beaumont Patisserie."
I perk up immediately. "Oh, I love that place!
" The Lake's Edge is the coziest spot in town, right on the waterfront with the best selection of artisanal beers.
The invitation is tempting, but I'm not sure how much more perfection my nervous system can handle today.
Between the win, the spa, and James's… skills… I'm operating on sensory overload.
"Would you like me to take you directly there, miss?" the driver asks.
"No, home first, please," I reply automatically. Uh, guess my brain'd already RSVP’d yes to the invite. "I need to change."
"Of course."
The car winds through Main Street, its street lamps glowing like candles in the night. As I start to wonder who else will be there, my phone buzzes. It's James.
See you at the pub? (If you've recovered from our grand finale, of course…)
I grin, typing back.
Only if you promise not to mention my snoring.
His response is immediate:
Your secret's safe with me, sugar. Don't keep me waiting too long.
I smile as I lock my phone, before wondering if a certain judge and fire safety officer will also be there.
The thought of seeing all three alphas in the same confined space makes my stomach do a complicated gymnastics routine.
But the rational part of my brain, bolstered by an increased intake of DuoBlocks and a healthy dose of post-orgasmic confidence, asserts that it's fine.
Today, I'm in control. I experiment, on my own terms.
The car glides to a stop. And, as I enter my apartment building, I realize I'm actually excited. The day started with tension and ended with… well, release. If tonight follows a similar trajectory, I don't see how anything could possibly go wrong.