The waitress gives her a warm smile. “It’s all right, honey.”
I take the bill before Sierra has a chance to even consider paying it. After dinner we ordered drinks, and then dessert, and then drinks again.
I always thought the whole ‘we can talk for hours’ thing was bullshit until today. Because the time went by too fast, and if Sierra and I sat and talked the rest of the night I’d be happy. And saying ‘she gets me’ is even more of a bullshit line, but she does.
“Every cat I’ve ever met has been an asshole,” I say, going back to our conversation. I pay the bill and leave the waitress a generous tip since we kept her here.
“Then you haven’t met the right cats. Mine are nice. Well, Tinkerbell is.” Sierra finishes her wine and laughs. “Dolly is an asshole. I’m trying to contradict you and I’m failing.”
“Dogs, on the other hand, like people. Even people who are shitty to them.”
I stand and go around the table, offering a hand to Sierra. “I know. I like dogs too. Maybe it’s the way you have to earn a cat’s affection that I like. You just said it: dogs love you no matter what. But cats—“ She holds up a finger, pointing at me. “You have to earn their affection.”
We step into the thick, summer air, emerging onto the main street that runs through the downtown of Summer Hill. The bookstore is a few blocks away, and while most shops are closed by this hour, people mill about the town.
“I’m not used to this heat yet.”
“The humidity is high,” Sierra comments. “It’s been a humid summer. And you never really get used to it.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“Want to go swimming?”
“You have a pool?” I ask, not remembering seeing one in her yard.
“Not technically, but my parents have one and they’re still out of town.”
“Then, yes,” I say, not caring that I don’t have swim trunks with me. I have a few pairs, actually, since I frequented the beach while living along the shore in New Jersey. Sierra says nothing about going to her house to get one either.
“Thanks,” she says as I open the passenger door of my Mustang for her. I hurry around and get in, and head toward her house. We park by her parents’ house and go around back, Sierra enters a passcode and opens a gate to the backyard. Crickets sing out as we dash along a cobblestone path to the pool.
My previous line of work permitted me inside a handful of upscale, luxury houses like this. I was there for a job, not as a guest, but I still stood in awe of people who lived that way. The Belmont’s historic estate isn’t as over-the-top as some of the new mansions I’ve been in, but they know how to live lavishly. The pool setup is no exception.
Sierra opens French doors to a pool house, revealing a built-in bar.
“Want anything?” she asks.
I close the space between us, standing behind Sierra. I wrap my arms around her, and she presses her ass into my cock. My lips meet the skin on her neck and Sierra melts against me.
I already feel drunk.
I’m struggling to stay in control.
“I want you,” I whisper. Sierra takes in a quick breath. I can feel her pulse rise, bounding through her body. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“Chase,” she moans, whirling around in my arms. Her eyes fall shut and she rests her head against my chest. “Thank you.”
“Stop thanking me, Sierra.”
She doesn’t say anything. She just takes my hand and leads me to the edge of the pool and takes her shoes off.
“Float with me?” she asks, reaching for a big, pink flamingo floaty. I take off my shoes, pull my phone and wallet from my pocket, and toss them all onto a lounge chair. It takes a bit of creativity, but we both get on the damn thing with minimal splashing. I let my bare feet dangle in the water and lay back. Sierra’s right next to me, head resting on my arm. We look up at the stars above, not talking. Time passes, minutes, then maybe an hour, and we’re still perfectly content and comfortable together.
“How did you get the scar on your back?” she asks quietly, slipping her hand onto my chest.
“I was in the right place at the wrong time,” I say after a moment’s consideration. There’s no good way to tell her I broke into someone’s house to take a piece of priceless art.
“Don’t give it all away,” she teases.
“It was from a piece of glass,” I go on. “From a broken window.” A window I broke as I snuck into a house that was supposed to be empty. I felt bad for the guy and went easy on him. I left him unconscious on the floor but alive at least, after I allowed him to get one good swing on me. I failed to see the broken glass in his hand, however.
“Ouch,” she says. “No wonder you knew to check for glass in my ankle.”
“Yeah, I learned from experience.” Carefully, I turn onto my side and face Sierra. She hooks her arm around me and closes her eyes, tipping her head up so her nose brushes against mine.
And now we’re kissing. Slow, soft kisses. I cup Sierra’s cheek with my hand and the kisses turn hard. Deep. Desperate. I move my hand down to Sierra’s waist. And then her hip. I gather her skirt in my hand, bunching up the fabric around her ass. Sierra moves closer, bringing her leg up and over mine. My fingers press into her skin, feeling the warmth between her legs as I urge her onto me. Sierra pushes up, fury in her kisses. I slide my hand up to her waist, pulling her close.
She’s over top of me now, and, fuck, she’s hot. Her breasts crush against me and she’s kissing me like her life depends on it. She widens her legs, straddling me, putting us off balance, but it’s so far in the back of my mind, I don’t realize it until the floaty flips over and Sierra and I both sink into the water.
In the shallow end, we both pop out of the water, Sierra flips her wet hair out of her face, green eyes wide. She looks at me for a beat and then we both start laughing. I reach for her, bringing her against me.
“You did say you wanted to go swimming,” I muse.
“True. And the water does feel good tonight.”
“It feels very good.”
Water laps against us, and I reach out to push Sierra’s wet hair away from her face. I’ve never been a cuddle-after-sex type of guy, but right now I want to hold Sierra to me, wrapped up in peaceful silence as much as I want to fuck her.
Sierra takes my arm, wiping beads of water off my tattoos so she can trace them with her finger.
“Do you want to dry off?” she asks.
“Only if you do.”
“I don’t mind being wet.”
I can’t help but smirk.
She flushes slightly but laughs. “Take that how you want.”
“Can’t I just take you?” I take her around the waist and bring her over.
“I think so,” she whispers softly as her long, wet lashes come together. She leans back in the water, spreading her arms and legs out in an attempt to float. “I always sink.”
“The wet dress isn’t helping,” I tell her. “It’s weighing you down.”
“Chase Henson, are you trying to get me out of my dress?” she asks with fake shock, standing upright. She backs up to the edge of the pool and hops up, keeping her feet in the water.