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“Because I wanted you here.”
“But why?”
“I told you: because you fuck like a god and I don’t settle for anything less than the best.”
He hides his pride with a deep, stoic glare. He shakes his head before saying, “I’m not here to make your boyfriend jealous, am I?”
“Do you seriously think I’d need any help?” I continue, taking another gamble by putting my hands on his cheeks. “And he’s not my boyfriend. He never has been, either.”
Gus’s silence pushes for an honest answer—and Peter’s right. I just need to tell him what I want.
“You’re here because I want you. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I left Montana, and I’m sick of thinking. I want to touch you. Taste you. I’ll let you do the same to me.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. A look of heat replaces his anger, and I caress his cheek with the pad of my thumb.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Julia,” he murmurs.
“I know.”
My response gets an amused exhale out of him.
Now that he’s calm, I remove my hands from his cheeks and push aside the triangles of my bikini top, leaving my breasts exposed.
Gus’s eyes immediately home in on my nipples. They’re hard already—pink and swollen and lewd like they’re dying for his touch. The longer he stares, the harder he stares, the more difficult it becomes for me to continue this protracted seduction.
But when I start something, I finish it. No matter how badly I want to climb Gus without another second passing between us, I continue to take my time and shed the coverup I’m wearing.
“We’re outside,” he reminds me, eyebrow raised as he watches me toss my coverup to the side.
“I know.”
“This is not a private pool, Julia.”
“I know.”
“Neither of us is good at being quiet.”
His last comment makes me smile. Nearly naked, I move forward again and rest my hands on his shoulders. “As if I care about anyone finding us,” I murmur before I run my tongue along the shell of his ear. “Like anything could stop me from getting you—and keeping you—inside of me.”
He gives me a look of total bewilderment, like he really can’t comprehend how I say the things I do and act the way I do. More delightfully, his expression captures his deep admiration for my audacity: When I’m game, he is too.
“You’ll have to do some pretty impressive work to make me forget what just happened, Ridgeway.” There’s a sexy undercurrent of warning behind his tone. Goosebumps arise on my skin.
“Do I ever do less than impress?”
“Kissing your fuck buddy in front of me isn’t impressive.” His face darkens again. “And then holding me back from him, like you wouldn’t enjoy watching me pulverize a man in your name…”
“He kissed me, not the other way around.”
Gus raises his hands and puts them on my waist, making me inhale sharply from the sensation of his touch on my bare skin. “I don’t give a shit,” he whispers—and holy hell, his anger shoots right to my core.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Always,” he responds without hesitation, tightening his grip.
For once, when I put enough pressure on him, he gives. He lets me guide his body backwards so he lowers down onto the daybed behind us.
There’s a cabana over it, white and gauzy, with drapes surrounding three sides. Slowly, deliberately, I undo the ties and position the drapes to give us some semblance of privacy—but not much. If anyone were to enter the pool area and pass by the foot of our cabana, they would find Gus and me.
