Page 196 of Captive Ruin

I know what’s at stake. But fuck it. Why not?

“Fine.” I’m not going to lose.

“Three,” he says.

I blink. Didn’t we just agree four?

“Two.” He grips the edge of the pool, bracing himself.

Oh. I ready in time, just as he says, “One.”

We both throw ourselves into our first lap, and it’s immediately obvious he was holding back. He’s fast, damn it, cutting through the water with powerful strokes, and I focus on swimming as hard and as cleanly as I can.

He’s ahead of me as we both flip-turn at the end, and maintains his lead on the return lap. Another flip-turn, and I push off strong, kicking hard underwater and flowing into my stroke. Third lap, focusing entirely on me and not what he’s doing at all. I do not want to lose.

The thought of him taking my mouth almost makes me falter from my rhythm, but I stretch with every stroke, powering through. I’m vaguely aware of drawing level with him as I flip-turn for the last time, shooting off the wall into the last lap.

And he’s nowhere. It was close all the way; now it isn’t.

Did he screw up his turn?

I’m almost tempted to look, but I don’t. I finish my lap off, reaching the end an easy ten seconds ahead of him. I almost feel disappointed.

“What happened?” I ask when he arrives.

“Got distracted,” he says, standing up in the water and pushing water from his hair. It does things to his chest that are difficult to ignore.

“You? Distracted?” I scoff.

“Have you seen what you look like when you flip-turn in the nude?”

My cheeks heat. “You… you stopped to watch?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “No, I did a touch-and-go.”

I glare at him. “In other words, you stopped to watch.”

“If you like.” He steps through the water toward me, expression hungry, eyes intense, lips curled in a lazy smile. I retreat in reflex, and my back hits the wall. “Now I’m going to claim my prize.”

“You lost,” I remind him.

“Well aware.” His hands close on my waist, and he lifts me out of the water, depositing me on the edge of the pool. I eep, feeling the cold tiles beneath my butt, his body between my knees.

“You know how they say there’s no prize for second place?” he asks, sliding his hands up my thighs.

“Yes.” It comes out high and sharp.

“They lied.”

He lowers in the water until his mouth is right there, then his tongue laps through my folds. I’m not ready, and I gasp at the suddenness of it.

“Lie down, Little Stray.” He encourages me by lifting my legs over his shoulders. I half-fall onto the tiles, catching myself with one hand as his tongue delves again.

“Jesus,” I breathe, my arousal spiking from just those two long licks, and I give in and relax back, gazing up at the moonlit sky, the tiles hard beneath my shoulders.

“Lukas,” he corrects, spreading me open with his thumbs, then pushes his tongue inside me.

I can’t think, I can only feel. My eyes close, my hands reach for something to hold onto, but there’s nothing. I vaguely recall wanting him to do this while I was standing up, but that was wrong. This is so much better. I don’t have to worry about balance; I can lose myself in the moment. I can let him do what he wants, and God does he know what he’s doing.