by Max Monroe
“What about your place?” I asked Cam, cranking the axis of my torso around to face him once more. As it still beckoned, I finally took the outstretched helmet from his hands.
“I can take you there too.”
“Okay,” I said and slipped the helmet over my head. “Let’s ride.”
He chuckled at my words and lent a helping hand as I hopped onto the back of his bike.
Once he was convinced my hands were securely wrapped around his trim waist, he fired up the engine, and it rumbled and vibrated between my legs.
“Hold on tight, baby.”
Before I could change my mind, he clicked the engine into gear with a twitch of his toe, and we were off, across the parking lot and onto the main road, until Marco and Skins and everything I associated with Trixie were miles behind us.
I didn’t know what I was trying to achieve with this little stunt. What Marco wanted…what I wanted…what I absolutely didn’t need.
But I did know one thing. Fuck, it felt good.
The wind against my skin. The roar of the engine whenever he picked up speed. The open road. Cam’s body so close to mine. Too many parts stood out as real options for my favorite.
It didn’t matter what I tried to tell myself not to feel. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to remind myself that I had a career to protect and I had a case that needed my full focus.
None of it mattered.
Just let loose, Lana. Just let loose and live a little.
The reality of my recklessness came crashing into focus as Cam pulled into the circular drive of his suburban mansion and settled the bike onto its kickstand.
Out here in the quiet darkness, the difference in our worlds seemed distressingly brighter. Grand and inviting, the front steps of his house invited you to explore at least four thousand square feet of luxury living. The door was a solid, stately wood, and a three-car garage sat regally off to the side, the spotlights of his landscape lighting subtly demanding I give it attention.
I swallowed thickly around the ball of nerves and saliva in my throat and climbed from the back of his bike with two shaking hands to his shoulders.
Warmth radiated through the fabric of his shirt and into my palms, making me pull my hands away quickly to avoid the inevitable moment I knew would come—the moment taking my hands off all of that perfect flesh wouldn’t be a hormonal option anymore.
“So this is where you live…” I murmured softly around a hum.
He smiled at my obvious judgment and laughed in the face of it. “Yep. Just me and my dog, Lucky. I don’t even have roommates. What an ostentatious prick, huh?”
I should have felt uncomfortable—apologetic, even for being such an asshole about something I knew nothing about—but he said it with such good humor that it, in some twisted way, put me at ease.
“Ostentatious. Pretentious. All of those bad –tious words.”
He smiled and leaned his weight into his bike, crossing his arms over his shoulders. I pulled the helmet from my head, handed it to him, and then stood awkwardly as I tried to figure out what to do with my hands.
After a brief toss of my helmet-flattened hair, I settled for hooking my thumbs into the pockets of my jeans.
His smile turned into a smirk, and immediately, my suspicions skyrocketed. But it was too late to retreat, and out here in the open, there was nowhere to hide.
Apparently, he saw the vulnerability of my position just as clearly as I did.
“A guy like that?” He scoffed. “He definitely seems like the kind of guy who gets what he wants.”
My eyes narrowed minutely.
“And what, exactly, does a guy like that want?”
“A name,” he said unassumingly, the act of arrogance dropped in an instant. “All I want is a name.”
His eyes were earnest, his heart bleeding so genuinely into every single one of the golden flakes at the rim and sparkling into the night, and his smile was pure.
Openness. Honesty. Attraction.
Just like that, my protective shell shattered.
Weeks of willpower, years of training—every bit of common sense I’d been blessed with since the day I was born—all of it gone in an instant.
“Lana,” I whispered. “My name is Lana.”
“After you, Lana,” I said, letting her first name roll off my tongue with maybe a little too much enthusiasm.
There’s overkill and then there’s excitement, and I was giving myself the out of the latter. She’d finally given in and told me her name as we’d dismounted my bike in the driveway.
Well, it was only her first name, but I’d take any progress I could get.
I guess letting a guy take you back to his house was grounds for a little more get-to-know-you, and I was in all my fucking glory with the new knowledge.
We’d officially known each other for about two weeks—though, yes, we’d only seen each other a few times—but finally getting a name, any name, other than Trixie felt like a victory worth exaggerating.
She rolled her eyes and stepped out my back door onto the slate patio with a sigh. “I knew I was going to regret telling you my name. Are you going to use it with literally every statement you breathe from now on?”
“Maybe,” I teased and winked as her face devolved into downright attitude. “Fine, fine. I guess I’ll get over it now. I’ll only use it when it’s really warranted.”
Her voice caught as she jumped to add a condition, “And when we’re not at Skins, right? I know it’s a lot of pressure, but you really can’t use my name there.”
Any hint of playfulness in my voice left at the real fear in hers. I could totally understand where she was coming from, and I knew without a doubt I didn’t want to do anything at all that might endanger her. Psycho, obsessed customers could do a lot with a name, including track her down at her house to see her or worse.
I wouldn’t be able to live with being the reason something like that happened to her.
“I promise. I’d never put you in that position.”
Her breath came out all at once as though she’d been holding it completely. I reached out to give her arm a comforting squeeze.
“I like knowing your name, Lana. But I like knowing it because it’s a little something I feel like I get to have as an extra part of you. I don’t want anyone at Skins to have the privilege anyway.”
She nodded then, seemingly convinced of my sincerity, and then looked out over the pool in silence. I kind of hated I’d ruined the mood with my overexuberance, but I couldn’t go back. All I could do was go forward.
My already quiet patio got even more still as we both settled into silence. My pool shone on the level below, and the barely distinguishable lights from the house behind mine reflected subtly on the surface.
Lana seemed withdrawn—distracted—and I wondered if the pressure of being here, alone with me at my house, was starting to get to her.
In an effort to put her at ease, I stepped forward toward the black, wrought-iron railing that separated the two levels of stone patio, and I leaned my weight into the cool metal.
The ornate cut of the top rail dug into my hands with a bite, and all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with a sense of familiarity.
Quinn and Cat’s reception, looking out at the Hudson River and the bustle of the city beyond, the feeling of being alone while the world swirled around me had overcome me. I’d leaned into a railing just like mine, looking over glowing water and reflecting lights, and pondered the state of my life.
Now, my pool was no Hudson River, and the house to the back of me was no Lower Manhattan, but I felt the same pull I’d felt to Lana that night, even with her standing here, just a few feet behind me.
A longing for something just out of reach.
Guilt at the thought of having pressured her into this made me say the words I didn’t want to say. “Do you want me to take you home? Somewhere else?” I turned to look over my shoulder and meet her eyes. “You seem uncomfortable, and that’s
the last thing I want.”
She startled at my assertion and stepped up to the railing to join me. “No, no. I’m sorry if I made you feel that way.” She shook her head as if to clear it and curled just one end of her plush lips up into a subtle smile. “I was daydreaming. Thinking of something I saw the other night and how much this moment reminded me of it.” She laughed. “I’m probably not making any sense at all, but I’m actually way more comfortable than I should be.”
I smiled. Laughed a little. Her eyebrows drew together at my odd response. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I think that’s the most words you’ve spoken in succession to me, ever. I don’t know why I find that so fascinating, but I do.”
She blushed self-consciously and turned to look at the pool, so I reached out with a gentle hand, put a finger to her chin, and brought her attention back. This was too important to pass up, too important to gloss over. She needed to see and feel and understand, and looking directly into my eyes was the best way to do that.
“Don’t,” I whispered, and she frowned at my order. “Don’t be embarrassed. The truth of it is, I find everything you do captivating. But tonight, like this, so close, so private…so real.” I shook my head as I searched for the words. “I mean…it just feels right, doesn’t it?”
Her smile started all the way at her toes but ended before it reached her eyes. It was almost as though the feel of that much happiness—of that much self-awareness, really—scared her.
She didn’t answer verbally, but I didn’t push her to.
The truth was, I didn’t need her input to know we felt the same way. Not now that I was starting to get a read on her anyway.
Most comfortable in avoidance, she turned to the pool and drifted off into a stare.
I took her unwavering gaze at the clear blue LED-lit water as a sign and tossed out an invitation. Maybe—in order to feel completely at ease—she needed something to do other than just talk. “Do you want to swim?”
“It’s May.” She rubbed at the arms of her jacket and shook her head. “And really fucking chilly,” she added with a little smirk. “I’m surprised you even have it open this time of year.”
I smiled. Her excuses were surface level and unconvincing as she looked yearningly at the pool, so I set about discrediting them all in one fell swoop. “It’s heated. Come on, it’ll be fun. Maybe take some of the pressure off.”
She raised an eyebrow, and that adorable little smirk of hers followed. “You feel pressured?”
“Only to perform,” I admitted at my own expense. “You’re good at putting on a show. I’m just posing as a showman in the hopes I can impress you.”
She shook her head with another smile as she realized I was poking fun at myself in order to do just that.
“From what I hear, you’re a hell of a performer.”
I hooted. “Oh yeah? Who have you been talking to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Football. I mean football.”
“Damn,” I muttered. “I really thought I was getting somewhere.”
She looked back to the pool wistfully and then leaned back to hold her weight on her arms as she tested the strength of the railing. I might have worried if I thought she weighed more than two pounds or if the braces weren’t anchored in concrete. As it was, I found her childlike contortions amusing. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“Neither do I,” I said immediately, and she righted herself quickly to give me a shove.
“This is your house. Pretty sure you have a bathing suit here.”
“Maybe,” I admitted with a shrug. “But I’m totally willing to sacrifice myself and go skinny, as in dipping, if you will.”
She laughed outright and started to pull off her jacket. I watched, enthralled, as the leather made its way down her arms. At the thought that she might really go for my suggestion, my cock went ahead and jumped to full attention. Just in case, you know.
“How about we go in our underwear?” she suggested, and I nodded immediately.
I was so committed to the idea of the two of us in the pool at this point, I’d do absolutely anything she asked of me to make it happen.
Pathetic maybe, but effective.
She was really good at stripping down, a fact that came as a definite surprise—wink—and I had to move at near warp speed to keep up.
By the time she took off with a shriek, her dead run for the pool impressive in both speed and intensity, I had no option but to follow after her with my pants still on.
Without hesitation, she leaped from the side to the center of the pool in spectacular cannonball fashion, and my face broke out into an unadulterated smile.
She surfaced in the middle of the clear water and wiped at the loose strands of her hair to push them out of her face. Her grin was triumphant and pure, and any hope I’d had of finishing disrobing without incident went right out the window.
I tripped a little on my pants as I worked to get them off my ankles, and she laughed at my misfortune. I took comfort in the blurry lace of her underwear as it wove and waved a hello from under the crystal water, and I set my sights on my socks.
She laughed loudly and dove again, powering her body clear to the other side of the pool in one neat stroke. I power-wheeled my legs through the pile of half of my clothes in an attempt to follow her as closely as possible and dove in without any grace at all.
When I emerged from under the warm water to tread at the surface and get my bearings, her dangerously close proximity and laugh caught me off guard.
From less than a foot away, it was so warm, so affectionate, so genuine. God, I was already half in love with it.
Unfortunately, my streak for being creepy when it came to Lana wasn’t entirely at an end. The longer I stared in rapt attention, the more she felt out on a limb, and slowly and painfully, the laughter faded to an awkward swallow.
We were close, our legs brushing under the water as we gently paddled them to keep ourselves afloat, and the feel of her chilled breath in the late-night May air snapped something in me.
It wasn’t planned and it wasn’t perfect, but it was real. Quick as a flash, I closed the gap, sealing my lips over hers and capturing her gasp in my mouth.
I’d expected a retreat on her end, even mentally preparing myself for it from the moment I’d made contact.
But her reaction was the opposite.
Fire lit inside her as she paused to let my lips explore and then exploded as she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave everything I had given and more back.
I moaned, overwhelmed by the obliterating sensation of her body against mine, and wrapped her legs around my waist. She clenched them quickly, giving me her weight and acceptance without delay.
I moved my hands to her ass.
It was perfect and bare thanks to the high cut of her thong. She groaned as I squeezed, and it sent me into overdrive.
I licked and plundered at her mouth as she took everything I had to offer, walking us back to the side of the pool and spinning her to push her back against the tile.
It was cold at first, but our bodies were hot. Her back arched from the contrast, pushing her pussy closer to my dick and urging me to take it a step further.
My mind reeled at the quickness—unexpected brazenness—of it all, and I had to fight hard to catch my breath.
I wanted to taste her so badly. To lift her to the side of the pool, pull her panties down, and put my mouth to her pussy until she begged me to stop.
But the air was cold and the water was warm, and even with the best of my moves, I knew a long reprieve from the comfort of the water would break the moment entirely.
I forced myself to slow down, easing off the gas and letting her take the lead. She advanced as I retreated, wrapping her arms around me even more tightly to tell me not to go.
Helpless to resist her fervor—and quite frankly, not wanting to—I gave myself over to the wild moment and swallowed her moan eagerly.
Hesitant to let her go even at all, I unwra
pped one arm from around her trim body and used it to shuck my wet underwear.
It was a feat, frankly, getting it over the barrier of my angry cock, but I pep-talked him hard.
We need your cooperation, buddy. If you don’t let me get these off, we don’t get inside the warm, hot pussy. And both of us really want to get inside the pussy.
Thankfully, he saw my reasoning for what it was and did his part to release the waistband.
When the underwear settled at my feet, I kicked them off into the depths of the water and decided I didn’t mind if I never saw them again. They could live in my pool until the end of time for all I cared.
Not knowing her attachment level to her underwear as opposed to mine, I settled for the idea of pulling them to the side to ease my entry.
She lent herself to the idea eagerly, shifting her hips and opening her legs to allow for better access. I took it as the green light to take the next step and slowly fit the blunt head of my dick to her opening. But at the feel of her bare skin against mine, I froze.
Her eyes hooded and her lips languid, she pouted at the delay in connection.
“Sorry, baby,” I moaned, using willpower I didn’t even know existed in the universe, let alone in me, to push our bodies apart.
“I’ve got a condom in my jeans,” I started positively. “But my jeans are over there.”
She followed my gaze to the other side of the pool and pushed off the side with two feet.
I laughed at her enthusiasm as she reached back to grab me by the arm, but all traces of humor fell away as she made it to the other side, reached into my pocket, grabbed the condom, ripped it open with her teeth, and set about helping me put it on.
“Goddamn,” I groaned as she squeezed her hand at the base of my cock and licked her lips.
Poised and positioned, she backed against the wall of the pool and pulled me forward, settling the head of my dick at her pussy once more.
She moaned at the contact and pushed her hips to mine, taking the tip in herself and nearly making me come right there.
My eyes rolled, my toes curled—it was an all-out war of resolve to keep myself from blowing everything I had to offer before we even got going.