"Fuck." I bite my lip. Try to wrap my legs around him.
He plants one hand on the curved wall beneath me. But he stays floating. He's right there, but his body isn't connecting with mine.
The water is between us.
I bring my hands to his ass. Pull him closer.
There.
His crotch brushes mine.
He's hard.
I want that. I want it here. I don't care that someone could see. That I won't be able to keep quiet. That I'll probably get arrested.
I only care about getting my fill of Ryan.
He slides his arm around me. Uses it to hold himself in place as he toys with my breasts.
"You're fucking perfect." He presses his lips to my neck. "I ever tell you that?"
I shake my head.
"Fuck." He presses his lips to my neck as he pulls one triangle over my breast, covering me. "I'm gonna come if I keep this up."
"That isn't a problem."
"Yeah, it is." He adjusts my swimsuit, returning it to its rightful place. "I'm not coming until I get those pretty red lips around my cock.
He pushes back, through the waterfall, to the massive pool.
I take back the control I can. Lead him to the steps then push off them. Back to the deep end.
He chases me around the pool, under the water, through the tiny tunnel, back to the packed shallow end.
He wraps his arms around me.
Holds my body against his as he brings his lips to my ears. "I'm gonna get you back for that, baby."
"I know."
He shakes his head. "No, Leigh. You have no fucking idea."
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Leighton
By the time we're alone in the elevator, I'm not sure which of us is torturing the other.
He tugs at the towel wrapped around my chest. Watches as it hits the floor with a thud.
His eyes trace my body. He does it slowly, like I'm a work of art. Like it's the first time. Like he's memorizing every line.
But is that because he needs every ounce of me?
Or because he knows this might be the last time?
No. We have another day and a half until the dinner. There's no way we'll make it a day and a half without stripping to nothing.
But then maybe he—
My thoughts dissolve as he brings his lips to mine. His kiss is hard, hungry. Like he's claiming me. Like he's desperate for every drop of me.
I try to rise to my tiptoes, but I slip on the slick floor.
There.
My feet find the towel. Still, it's too slippery. I can't move. I can't get closer. Or break our embrace.
I want both. And neither. I want to tell him I love him. And I want to run a million miles away from anything that might hurt.
How can I let myself fall harder?
How can I stop myself?
It's Ryan.
He's everything.
The elevator dings. He shifts his hips, releasing me. He bends to scoop my towel and drapes it over his arm.
He steps into the hallway. Turns to me with a smug smile as he unwraps his towel and drapes it over mine.
He's just as beautiful with soft orange wall paper and fluorescent light surrounding him.
His wet hair sticks to his forehead.
A bead of water drips off his chin. It traces a line down his chest and stomach. Beneath his belly button. Past that soft tuft of hair. All the way to the waistband of his swimsuit.
I swallow hard.
He takes my hand. Leads me to our hotel room. It's only a few dozen feet, but it feels like a million miles. I need him. I need the world disappearing again. I need to lose myself in my lust.
He stops at the door.
Oh. I have the key.
I slide it into the lock. Watch it flash green. Turn the handle.
I step inside.
He follows.
The door slams shut.
Sunlight streams through the sheer curtains.
We're alone again. And I feel it. I feel that the world is ours.
I move into the room. Into the wide-open space between the couch and the balcony.
Ryan places his body behind mine, his chest against my back, his crotch against my ass.
His breath warms my ear. "You like being on display, baby?"
"Yes."
His voice drops to something low and demanding. "Pull the curtains."
My sex clenches. My feet sink into the carpet as I move to the sliding door. There. I grab the plastic rod and pull it all the way to the right.
The room gets brighter.
The light gets harsher.
It bounces off the glass with a glare.
It casts highlights over Ryan's hair, shoulders, stomach.
Casts shadows behind him.
It means something, shadows being behind him, but I can't connect the dots. Not with my brain screaming need Ryan now.
"Come here," he demands.
It's three steps to him.
His fingertips skim my hips. He traces a line over my hips, up my side and chest, along my shoulder, up my neck, along my chin.
He catches my lower lip with the pad of his thumb.
Slowly, he slides the digit into my mouth.
My eyelids press together as my lips close around him. I suck the taste of chlorine off his finger. Until it's just Ryan's skin.
But it's not enough.
A thumb isn't enough.
I need him in my mouth.
My eyelids blink open. Find his. He's in that same trance of lust, but there's something else in his expression. This sense of control. Like he knows exactly how to work me.
He's like this with everything he does—an in-control perfectionist.
And, fuck, he really is good at this.
He drags the fleshy pad of his thumb across my lip. Over my chin. Down my neck and chest.
He takes his time tracing the outline of my triangle top.
His touch is light. His fingers slide along my slick skin with barely any friction.
I'm ready to beg him to touch me properly when he drags his fingertips down my stomach.
He traces the waist of my bikini bottom.
His fingers curl into the straps. They toy with the bow holding the right side together.
Then the left.
Then he's brushing his fingers against my sex, pressing the wet Lycra against me.
I need it gone.
I need his hands on my skin.
I need him as desperate as I am.
Slowly, he drags his fingertips up my stomach. He traces a triangle to its tip, follows the halter strap.
He tugs the bow undone.
Peels my bikini top from my skin.
His pupils dilate as he brings his hands to my chest.
He toys with my nipples. It's different than it was in the water. Less smooth. More intense.
He draws circles around my tender buds. It starts soft—I can barely feel it—then gets harder.
Desire pools between my legs. This feels so fucking good, but I need more.
I shimmy out of my bikini bottoms then kick them aside.
I move closer.
My hands skim his hips. I trace the waist of his speedo. Cup him over the swimsuit.
He's hard. I need that. I need him out of his fucking mind.
His hands curl around my wrists. "Not yet."
My sigh is a whine. Now. I need him now.
He releases my right wrist. Brings his hand to my breast. Toys with my nipple again and again.
My eyelids press together.
My sex clenches.
Every brush of his fingers winds me up. The tension in my sex builds. It gets higher, deeper, tighter.