After a couple of close calls, where I nearly topple before righting myself at the last moment, and only thanks to Russ’s tight grip on my thighs, I notice that under the water, Mom’s legs are tapping. She gently taps her heel against Dad’s side to indicate which direction she’s going to try to throw me next.
The next time she does it, I tap Russ on the other side, then throw my weight opposite her. She gasps and swears, and nearly loses her seat before Dad skips to one side to catch her.
“Careful there, old man,” Russ calls out playfully, and I suppress another shiver at the way his voice travels through me when he speaks, with me up on his shoulders like this. It feels like a vibration going through me.
“Look who’s talking!” Dad calls back, and then he pushes toward us, Mom going on the offensive again.
I brace hard and manage to twist away from her tackle attempt yet again. I tap Russ on the other side, and we sidestep another attack by our opponents. That’s when I feel Russ’s hands slide a little higher. Just an inch. But a moment later it happens again, his hands inching toward the crease where my leg touches my thighs. My breath hitches.
It’s enough of an opportunity, apparently. Mom lunges without warning, and I’m too distracted by Russ’s hands. She grabs my forearms and flings me backward, and a moment later, I slide off Russ’s back into the cool waiting water of the pool.
I resurface a split second later to thunderous cheers and yells.
Dad and Russ shake good-naturedly, Mom slaps my back and winks. “Better luck next time,” she calls. But I barely even notice, as she and Dad turn to face their next competitor, a younger couple who live down the street.
I don’t notice, because Russ is behind me, his hands on me again, but my hips this time, drawing me back against him. It’s dangerous. Playing with fire, to stand this close right now.
“Good game, teammate,” he says softly, and his hands slip down over my hips to grab my ass, tightly, fast. His hand moves again before I can even react, but I suck in a sharp, startled breath.
Fuck. I want him. So goddamn badly, it’s killing me right now.
“You threw that game,” I hiss through clenched teeth, after my heart rate calms down again, and my breathing returns to almost normal. “I got… distracted.”
“I was hoping you would.” His eyes dance with amusement. Then I notice him glance sideways, just a little, quick as a blink. “They’ll be busy for a while…” he points out. With that, he steps back and grasps the rung of the ladder on this end of the pool. Then he hauls himself up and out of the water, shooting me one last pointed backward glance, before he snags a towel and pads through the greenhouse to the sliding door and back inside the house.
The deserted house, now that the rest of the party are all occupied out here.
My heart hammers in my chest. I glance around the pool again, at all the people cheering on the game or pouring themselves new drinks or snacking on the sidelines. I hold my breath and wait what feels like an eternity but is probably really only half a minute. Then, pulse racing at what I’m about to do, I swim over to the ladder and climb up to follow Russ inside.
6
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I breathe, as Russ shuts my bedroom door behind me. “There are so many people down there. Anyone could come back inside at any moment, decide they want to come up and use the bathroom…”
Russ silences my protests by pinning me against the bedroom door and kissing me, hard. His hands don’t hesitate, not now that we’re alone. They roam down my body, from my chest along my curves to my ass. His palms trace around to grip my ass tightly in two fists, and he pulls me up and against him, until I arch my whole body against his with a groan. Both of us are still wet from the pool, and his skin feels hot and slick against mine.
Not to mention the rock hard strain in his swimming trunks, begging to be released. God, his cock is already so fucking hard. How did he even manage to walk up the stairs without anyone noticing?
“It’s a good thing you’re used to being a good, quiet girl, then, isn’t it?” Russ asks me with a wicked grin. From the bedroom walls behind him, my old posters of the celebrities I grew up crushing on stare back at me, almost like they’re egging me on. Because if I could have gotten away with it back in college when I was home visiting on breaks, I would have hung Russ’s face right up there with them. He was every bit as much one of my forbidden crushes as those boy bands and famous actors were.