“But they can’t have you,” I continue, my voice hardening. “You’re mine. At least for now.”
The possessiveness in my tone surprises even me. I didn’t plan to say that, but the words feel right on my tongue, natural in a way that should concern me.
I need to regain control of this situation—of myself. This isn’t going according to plan. She’s affecting me more than I anticipated, making me say things I don’t mean, feel things I shouldn’t feel.
I have two options. Take her right here, in front of everyone, establishing my dominance and getting this desperate need out of my system. Or bring her back to the pool house, where I can fuck her properly without an audience.
Public sex would certainly send a message to Rico. It would show him I’m still the same cold bastard I’ve always been, unmoved by sentiment or attachment. It would prove to myself that this woman means nothing—just another body to use and discard.
But the pool house offers privacy. Control. The ability to take my time breaking her apart and putting her back together the way I want. No distractions, no performance for others. Just her beneath me, surrendering completely.
The decision is tactical. Stay here and keep an eye on Rico while satisfying this inconvenient desire, or retreat temporarily to handle it in private.
I weigh the variables. The risks. The rewards.
Emmaleen’s eyes dart around, nervous energy humming through her body where it connects with mine. The calculation happening behind those pale green eyes is almost visible—weighing options, measuring consequences. She’s thinking about walking back to the pool house with me, all those eyestracking our departure, everyone knowing exactly what we’re about to do.
Too many variables. Too much exposure.
The decision forms like ice crystallizing in my mind. Clear. Sharp. Final.
“Stay exactly where you are,” I murmur against her ear, my voice casual enough that anyone watching would think I’m whispering sweet nothings. “Don’t move.”
Confusion flickers across her face as I shift beneath her, maintaining the appearance of a man simply adjusting his position. With practiced efficiency, I unfasten my swim trunks, the sound of the Velcro masked by the pounding music.
“Lift up,” I command, my tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Just an inch.”
She complies immediately, her body rising slightly off my lap. I push the thin fabric of her underwear aside, positioning myself beneath her.
“Now sit down,” I tell her, one hand on her hip guiding her movements. “Slowly.”
Her eyes widen as understanding dawns, pupils dilating with a mixture of shock and arousal. For a moment, I think she might refuse—might finally find the line she won’t cross—but then she lowers herself onto me with excruciating slowness.
The heat of her envelops me, tight and slick, and I have to lock every muscle in my body to maintain my composure. Her breath catches, a small sound that only I can hear.
“Such a good girl,” I whisper, the words sliding between us like a secret. “Now don’t make a sound.”
She bites her lip, nodding almost imperceptibly. To anyone watching, she is just sitting in my lap, perhaps grinding against me, but nothing more. The oversized T-shirt covers everything, creating the perfect illusion of propriety in this sea of naked flesh.
I keep one hand on her hip, guiding her into a slow, barely perceptible rhythm. The other slides up to tangle in her hair, pulling her forward until her face is nestled against my neck. The position looks intimate, affectionate even, masking the reality of what’s happening between us.
Her lips press against my throat, not quite a kiss but close enough. I feel her breath, hot and uneven, against my skin. The tremor in her thighs as she fights to maintain control.
“That’s it,” I encourage, my voice neutral, conversational. “Just like that.”
The pressure builds with each subtle movement, her body tightening around mine. I know she’s close—can feel it in the way she clenches around me, in the slight acceleration of her breathing.
I glance across the pool, scanning the crowd with practiced nonchalance. Most of the guests have lost interest in us, distracted by more explicit entertainment elsewhere.
But not Rico.
No, Rico stands alone, leaning against the bar, watching us with those cold, calculating eyes. Oblivious to everyone around him but us. One hand holds a tumbler of amber liquid. The other is moving rhythmically inside his pants.
The sight of him jerking off to this—to her—sends a surge of something dark and possessive through me. I tighten my grip on her hair, turning her face away from his line of sight.
“He’s watching us,” I tell her, my voice a low growl against her ear. “Jerking off to the sight of you taking my cock.”
She shudders against me, her internal muscles clenching in response to my words.