“Gemma,” he gasps, “I can’t swim.”
“Oh my God, are you serious?” I demand, suddenly panicked. Who the fuck doesn’t know how to swim in this day and age? His head goes under again, his hands above the water. It takes me one full second to unfreeze and jump wildly into the pool, where—the very moment my head breaks the surface—he starts laughing. He’s treading water with a big fucking grin on his face.
Of course, he knew how to swim.
“You asshole!” I shout. “I thought you were drowning! Now I’m soaking wet.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Is this a bad time to point out that you pushed me in the pool first?”
“You scared the shit out of me, though!” I cry, making my way to the edge. “It’s entirely different.”
“I completed an open water one-mile swim last year. I thought you knew.”
“I did,” I fume. Everyone in the office couldn’t stop talking about Ben’s triathlon, Ben’s triathlon, like he’d won the Nobel Peace Prize. “I just panicked and forgot.”
He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s cute you were panicked on my behalf.”
“I was only panicking about my potential culpability if you died.” My arms go around his shoulders, letting him keep us both afloat.
He pushes my skirt up and pulls me so my legs are wrapped around his waist.
“I’m not going to let you turn this bullshit into an excuse to have sex in your friend’s pool,” I inform him.
“Obviously not,” he says, slipping his hand between my legs. “But I bet you let me get awfully close.”
His thumb brushes back and forth outside my panties, the lightest, most delicate touch, strumming every nerve. I reach between us and palm him through his pants. He’s so thick, so hard…My eyes fall closed. I will absolutely have sex in this pool.
He lifts me onto the edge before pushing me backward.
His mouth finds mine as he lowers himself on top of me. The adrenaline from only moments ago has shifted into something else, something desperate and reckless. His mouth descends to one tight nipple, and he sucks on it hard through the sheer fabric of my blouse. I wrap my legs around him until his erection is positioned exactly where I want it. If we could just get rid of all these fucking clothes it would take him two seconds to push inside me.
I reach for his belt, but he stays my hand. “Invite me over,” he groans against my mouth.
“It’s late,” I reply. “We could be undressed in five seconds right here.”
His lids close tight for a moment, and when they open, I see resignation there. “You know what I want,” he says, lifting himself off me. “And I’m still going to fucking wait.”
But…but…goddammit.
He reaches out a hand to help me up and I accept it reluctantly. Water pours from our clothes, from my hair. My mascara is undoubtedly proving to be less waterproof than promised. I want to blame him for how irritated I am right now, but I’m not sure I can.
We gather our things and walk through the side gate to his car, soaking wet. He drives me back to the parking garage and leans over to kiss me once we arrive.
“I’ll see you Monday,” he says as I climb out.
I assumed he’d be in this weekend. The fact that he won’t makes me wish I’d given him a different answer in the pool. Maybe inviting him over once wouldn’t have been the end of the world.
26
I wake thinking about Ben.
I think about him as I dress, as I drive, as I sit at my desk attempting to work.
Everything reminds me of sex: the seat beneath me, the breeze that gusts as I walk down the street, a male voice in the hallway.
I send emails without attachments, forget my own phone number at the grocery store. I call my mom Sunday and call her again an hour later, having completely forgotten we spoke. I’m halfway to my car Monday morning before I realize I’m wearing two different shoes. If Ben’s trying to secure the partnership for Craig by making me stupid with lust, he’s doing an excellent job.
We don’t come face-to-face until Monday afternoon. I’m on my way back from a client lunch, running because it’s starting to rain when he’s suddenly in front of me, walking from the other direction.
His gaze falls to my wet button-down, now clinging to my curves. “Jesus,” he says, holding the door.
“This can’t be one of the outfits,” I argue quietly.
He leans close as we wait to go through the metal detector. “They’re all one of the outfits, Gemma.”
I release a shaky breath, and my nipples tighten beneath my damp bra. His gaze flickers there, as if he knows.
We climb on to the elevator and move toward the back. I stand in front of him, the same way I did in Miami. Out of view, without making a sound, he pulls me against his semi-erect cock. I glance to our right but no one has noticed. I look over my shoulder at him and he simply holds my gaze, daring me to move.
I swallow loudly. The elevator stops and one person climbs out, two people climb in. In the resulting shuffle, he pulses once against me, very intentionally, and all my air leaves me in a rush. I try to keep my breathing even and my expression calm. If anyone from the office sees this, I’m screwed, but there is something incredibly erotic about the risk of it all.
He does it again on the next floor. I reach back and dig my hand into his thigh for balance.
The door opens again. “Let’s go to your apartment,” he says quietly.
My eyes fall closed. “The office is closer.” We pass our floor but neither of us move, and when the last people climb off, he reaches past me, and hits the button for the parking garage.
“What are you doing?”
He laughs. “You live above Whole Foods. That’s five minutes from here.”
“But your office would be faster,” I continue to argue, also wondering how he knows where I live. He pulls me tight against him.
“Nothing about tonight will go fast,” he says against my ear.
I’m at my door and have just slid my key in the lock when I hear him approaching. My heart beats harder and faster. This is all I’ve thought about for a week straight, but I’m suddenly searching for a way to back out.
I turn, biting my lip as I glance up at him. His mouth curves to the left just a hint, and he presses me to the door, his body warm and solid against mine. He’s so much taller I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“No, Gemma, you don’t get to cancel on me,” he says.
My laughter is startled, but also relieved. I guess I’m more transparent than I thought.
“Okay,” I whisper, sliding my hands up his neck as he leans down to kiss me.
Has it only been since Friday that we last kissed? It seems like so much longer. My palms slide into his hair, then to his jaw—rough, in need of a shave. He presses me harder to the door, his hand on my hip, pinning me there, and his mouth opens, demanding more. His erection is wedged right in the center of my rib cage. I reach between us and run my palm over him.
“Open the fucking door,” he growls, and I can’t even recall why I was resistant before. I turn the key in the lock, then he backs me inside the apartment. We don’t stop until we’re at the kitchen counter, where I grab his tie and pull his mouth back to mine. His hands, tight on my hips, slide back to grab my ass, to pull me tighter against him.