“Why?”

I fix my sunglasses over my eyes. “Because I wanted to. Because you’ve already seen me naked. And because your staff doesn’t work on weekends anymore.” I tilt my head toward the sun. “God, I love skinny-dipping. Have you tried it?”

“No.”

“Really? You have a pool. You should at least try it once.” I wave toward him. “Come in, join me.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I crack my eyes open to see what he’s doing. I find him standing on the edge, but now his hands are balled into tight fists at his side.

Someone needs to relax.

The man is a pent-up ball of stress, ready to explode any minute. He’s had small moments here and there where he’s allowed himself to relax, but he hasn’t fully unclenched yet. Maybe slowly but surely, I can help him do that.

“I won’t bite. Promise.” I dip my fingers into the water and splash them around before bringing them up to my chest, where water drips from my fingers and onto my breasts. I’m tempted to circle my nipple but I’m not looking for him to come in here sexually charged. I’m just looking for him to relax.

When he still doesn’t move, I sigh in frustration and shift my body off the raft and into the cool water. My nipples harden immediately from the shock of the temperature change to my skin, but I power through and make it to the stairs.

Huxley’s eyes stay fixed on me, pulsing through me with such intensity that my stomach bottoms out momentarily as I grow close to him.

With a shaky hand, I take his in mine, guide him to a lounge chair, and forcibly make him sit. When he doesn’t protest, I kneel in front of him and remove his socks and shoes. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time, watching my every move. When I’m done, I stand and take his hand in mine again. I leave him in his shorts, because those are easy to swim in, and after I’ve checked for his phone and wallet, I guide him to the steps of the pool.

Oddly, even though I’m completely naked, I don’t feel self-conscious in front of him. I don’t even feel as though I’m naked. He makes me feel comfortable in my skin. He hasn’t quite voiced his appreciation for my body as much as one would think, given the confidence I have around him, but it isn’t about what he says, it’s about how he acts when I’m exposed to him. The way his eyes rake over me with desperate gratitude. The firm grip whenever he places his hands on me. The domineering commands when we’re in the moment.

Not to mention, how he gets so incredibly hard anytime we’re intimate.

I step into the water and bring him in with me. He doesn’t protest, so I keep moving forward until I reach the raft, which is definitely big enough for the both of us. I pull it closer and say, “Get on.”

He scans the raft and then looks at me. “Are you going to join me?”

“Yes,” I answer.

With that, he gets on the raft and then helps me on. With the added weight, we sink lower into the water, but we’re still floating, just the occasional splash of water lapping up over the edge. I situate myself so I’m facing him, while he lies on his back and places his hand behind his head.

“See? No need to get your panties in a twist. Isn’t this nice?”

In a gruff voice, he says, “My panties weren’t in a twist.”

I press my finger to his brow and say, “This was all scrunched up.”

“You’re naked.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that last night.”

His eyes shoot to mine. “You weren’t outside.”

I can’t hide the smirk that pulls at my lips. “Afraid someone else might see me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“You act as if you care.”

His eyes flash to mine again and he stares at me for a few breaths before he turns and faces me on the raft. His hand falls to my hip, and from that little possessive touch, my entire body heats up from the inside out.

“I do fucking care.” His thumb rubs over my skin. “This is for my eyes only.”

I twist my lips to the side, trying to tread the line carefully as I ask, “Was my body contracted to you as well? I can’t quite remember that part.”

He wets his lips and drags his hand up my side, down my arm, and then straight to my breast. His fingers connect with my nipple, and casually, as if this is what he does on Saturdays, he rolls my nipple between his fingers.

But the feeling pumping through me from his touch is anything but casual.

“Did I or did I not have my mouth all over your cunt last night?” He twists my nipple and I squeeze my eyes shut, my breath stolen from me momentarily.

“You . . . did,” I answer.

“Then that means I laid claim on this body.” He pinches me. “Understood?”

A hiss escapes past my lips. “Yes,” I answer.

“Good.” He releases my nipple and I can’t help but utter a sound of protest. The smallest of smirks passes over his lips and I glare at him.

“You think that’s funny? Teasing me like that?”

“Not funny . . . more enticing. Makes me want to do more. Seeing you like this, naked in my pool, makes me want to do so much more.”

“Like what?” I ask, intrigued. After the last couple of encounters with him and the mind-blowing orgasms he’s pulled from me, I’d pretty much let him do anything to me. And I mean anything.

“Bend you over the side of this pool, spread your ass, and eat you out.”

Oh.

Jesus.

My legs grow tight as a dull throb pulses between them. I can’t imagine what that would feel like, but now I’m wondering just how good it would be.

“Have you ever done that before? Ever done anything with anyone in your pool before?”

He glances to the side, avoiding eye contact with me. “Yeah.”

For some reason, that disappoints me. I know I shouldn’t care and I have no right to care at all, but a small part of me wishes that I was the first woman he had in this pool.

But playing it cool, I ask, “Oh really? Was she any good?”

This time his eyes flash to mine. “No.”

Well . . . that, uh, that makes me want to smile.

“Interesting,” I say, keeping my smile to myself. “Why wasn’t she any good?”

He runs his fingers over my breast again and then passes his thumb across my nipple. “She was aggressive. Over the top. It was as if she was trying to impress me.”

“When she did the exact opposite.”

He nods as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and index finger. A small moan falls past my lips. I’m unable to control it, control how he makes me feel. This is the first time in my entire life that I can say that when I look at a man, all I want is his mouth on mine, his hand between my legs, his body commanding mine.

Every.

Single.

Time.

“I don’t appreciate theatrics,” he says softly, his eyes fixed on my breasts. “I want real when I take a woman to bed.”

“Do you think I’m being real?” I ask.

His thumb releases my nipple and he moves his hand back to my hip, stroking me gently. I’m turned on and want so much more. And yet, I also want him to relax, and that’s what he seems to be doing. “Yes, I do think you’re being real. You hate me too much to pretend I’m giving you pleasure. If I wasn’t turning you on, you’d let me know.”

He’s very much right about that, but there is one thing he’s not entirely correct in stating.

“I don’t hate you, Huxley.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says softly. The tone of his voice is more teasing than accusatory.

“I mean, there are moments when I hate you, I’m not going to lie about that. But I don’t have an overall hatred for you. I actually appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

“It’s a mutual appreciation,” he says before he closes his eyes.

His breath evens out as his grip on me relaxes. Is he . . . taking a nap? With me naked like this?

When he doesn’t move, but continues to lie there, eyes closed, hand on me, I realize that’s exactly what he’s doing.

And maybe, in other circumstances, I’d take offense to this. I’m a naked woman lying right next to him. I’d expect him to want to take advantage of the situation, but Huxley doesn’t need to. He can lie here in comfort, knowing that I’ll probably lie right here with him.