He seemed so thoroughly put out on my behalf about it that I could only stare at him in wonder.
“I fail to understand why.”
Dark brows threatened to meet in the middle. “First off, that wasn’t you. That was Anya, a character. She’s make-believe. You’re real.”
The flutters in my belly soared up into the vicinity of my chest. “That’s . . . sweet.”
As though he hadn’t heard me, Lucian continued on in lecture mode. “Secondly, I can’t reach through a screen and touch those pretty breasts.”
I bobbled, nearly going under. The flutters turned into a storm, and I had to grasp the edge of the pool to hang on. When I spoke, my voice had become far too breathy. “That implies there has to be touching involved to make it real.”
Something had changed—he wasn’t twitchy. He was resolved, closing in until there was barely a foot between us. Water glinted over the strong planes of his face, making those expressive, firm lips wet. I wanted to lick them, wrap myself around his strong, hard body, and hold on.
His eyes, pale as the glowing pool, pinned me to the spot. So much heat in them. Heat and need and a shadow of frustration, as though he didn’t want to want me. His voice lowered, thick as hot cream. “Em, if you’re naked in front of me, there’s going to be touching.”
Yes, please. Now would be good.
“Pretty presumptuous of you, honey pie.”
Lucian, the rat bastard, smiled, those hot eyes intent on my face. “Who said it had to be you I’m touching?”
“What?” I could barely think. His nearness was making me light headed.
“I’m not above taking matters into my own hand, if that’s the only option.”
I pictured him handling all that . . . girth. The bottom dropped out of me.
“Oh, well played—”
Water ripped, and he was there, big body surrounding me, his mouth inches from mine. “To be clear,” he murmured, “if you’re naked in front of me, I’d rather touch you.”
He was so close, vividly present. Deliciously beautiful. My lids lowered, my lips parting with the need to feel his. I wanted. I wanted.
Our legs brushed under the water, and a shiver danced up my thighs. Lucian grabbed the edge of the pool to brace himself, his arms bracketing me, which made it worse. Water droplets glinted on the dips and swells along his shoulders and arms, drawing my attention to the sheer strength of his body and how good it would feel to touch him.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to; his proximity was enough to make my insides dip and my mouth dry.
I had to take control of the situation. “You want a peek, don’t you?”
Over the quiet sounds of water lapping, I heard him swallow, surprise flickering in his gaze just before it lowered to my breasts. His voice dropped a register. “You gonna give me one?”
Lust punched through me, pure and hot. I loved sex—the dance leading up to it, the physicality of it, the release. But fame had changed sex for me. Men had started to expect a fantasy. They saw me as a virginal princess to be treated with reverence or a personal notch on their belt: I bagged Anya.
Lucian made it clear he didn’t see Anya when he looked at me. That in itself made me want to show him more.
The water was cool, but inside I burned as my hand slowly rose to the edge of my bikini top. Lucian’s gaze grew rapt, his lips parting on a shallow breath. God, that look. It had every inch of me drawing up tight. My breasts grew heavy, swelling with languid lust. I was utterly aware of him, of myself, as I traced the line of my bikini, flirting with the notion of pulling it to the side.
Lucian didn’t blink, didn’t move, but he seemed closer. My nipples stiffened, nudging against the thin fabric, begging to be seen by him. The tip of my finger hooked under the top, and I pulled it slowly to the side, feeling the drag.
Lucian grunted, low and protracted, as though the sound could make me go faster. The reaction in my body was a delicious clenching of my sex. I arched into that sound, my lids fluttering as I tugged the top farther over, stopping right at the edge of my nipple. And he jerked, the water sloshing.
“Em . . .” The plea came out in a thick rasp. “Baby . . .”
The muscles along his arms bunched as he gripped the lip of the pool, as though trying to hold himself back.
Oh, he wanted that peek. An ache built up inside me. My breasts had been seen by millions. But Lucian was right; that hadn’t been me. Here, now, this was me. This was him wanting to see me.
The tip of my finger traced a path of heat along the curve of my breast, back and forth. And he watched, a man starved. Licking my lips, I stopped. It seemed we both held our breaths. And then, with the slightest of tugs, the top slipped over the beaded tip of my nipple.
Lucian groaned, the sound almost animal. I arched my back in response, pulled by his need, my bared breast coming closer to the wall of his chest. I wanted to feel his skin on mine.
But he didn’t move. He gripped the edge tighter, his body working with heaving pants. “Fuck,” he whispered. His pale gaze flicked to mine, a furrow knitting between his brows. “I want a taste. Please. God. Please, Em.”
That he was undone nearly had me sliding under the water. But the need in his eyes made me whimper. Lids heavy with desire, I nodded, and he swallowed hard, his expression becoming fierce.
“Just a taste,” he said, as if to hold himself to that. I whimpered, and his hot gaze snared with mine. Something passed over his expression—determination, reassurance, I couldn’t tell; lust and need had scattered all rational thought. “Just a taste,” he said again.
“Take it,” I whispered, barely able to form the words.
Lucian let out a breath, his mouth moving closer. “Fuck. Em . . . lift that sweetness up for me.”
My breath left in a swoosh, everything squeezing with a lovely tightness. With a shaking hand, I cupped my breast and lifted it out of the water. Offering myself to him.
On a groan, he ducked his head. The hot, wet flat of his tongue dragged over my cold flesh. I let out a cry, a bolt of pleasure punching to my core.
He made a sound of pure hunger, his lips gently kissing the tip before he sucked it deep . . .
“Last one in the pool is a dirty fool!” Tina’s shout was followed closely by a massive splash as she launched herself into the water.
Lucian surged back, as though struck, then turned to block me as I hastily hauled my top back into place.
It was clear from the wide-eyed surprise on Tina’s face that she hadn’t noticed us. Just as clear from Brommy’s slow stroll to the pool edge and the grin on his face that he had.
Whatever the case, the mood was effectively doused. I caught Lucian’s eye, but his walls were up, and he shook his head with a nearly imperceptible motion. With an internal sigh, I swam over to a sheepish Tina and pretended nothing had happened.
I couldn’t regret teasing Lucian to the point where he turned the tables on me. But I would definitely think twice about engaging that way again. Not when he apparently regretted his moment of weakness.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Lucian
After pulling back from the brink of falling on Emma in the pool like a man starved, I stayed away from her and hung out with Brommy. I managed it for two days. And I missed her.