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“Not usually,” he admits.
He doesn’t move his hands, which are gripping the side of the hot tub. I look around, noticing, for the first time, that we are completely alone. When did that last couple get out?
“Touch me, Hayden.”
His jaw clenches.
“If we’re going to do this,” I say, “throw ourselves into this weekend, let’s do it right.”
“Ada . . .” Still, he doesn’t move.
“Yes, Hayden?”
My hands fall back down, beneath the water. Grasping his strong, large hands, I guide them to my hips and close the distance between us.
He snaps.
Grasping the sides of my bikini bottoms and twisting the thin piece of material, he uses the leverage to pull me even closer. His mouth descends on mine, slanting for better access.
Which I give him.
The walls are down now. Hayden’s firm grasp on my hips loosens as he moves his hands to my backside. His moans meld with mine, and at this point I have no idea where he ends and I begin. We couldn’t possibly get any closer, unless he was inside me.
The thought makes me even more frantic.
I know it’s a step we shouldn’t take, even now, but I’ve never wanted anyone this badly. His lips tear loose from mine, and I let out a sound of protest.
“No one has the right to look as hot as you do at this moment,” he says. “It really should be illegal.”
That makes me giggle. But he’s not laughing, or even smiling. Hayden is deadly serious. I know this because, even as he looks at me, he moves one hand from my backside and slips his finger into my bathing suit.
My eyes widen as I look around.
“No one else is out here,” he says, his voice thick. Hayden’s fingers slip inside me, and I die on the spot. I can’t stop looking at the door to the spa.
“No one will come out this late. And the hot tub doesn’t close for another half hour.” He pushes the material of my suit off to one side with his other hand. The sight of his arms moving beneath the water, coupled with what he’s doing to me . . .
I love kissing him, but I remember what he said about why he holds eye contact. So I stare into his eyes, knowing he can have no doubt about how he’s affecting me.
My hands shoot up and grasp both of his shoulders as he slips in and out.
“Hayden.”
His lips are parted as he watches me. The waterfall crashes behind us. Earlier Hayden ran his hands through his hair, messing up his usual styled look, making him somehow more relatable.
“I like your wet hair,” I blurt, trying so hard not to close my eyes and fall against his chest. Trying not to fall apart.
“I like your wet . . .”
He stops. Smiles.
But his fingers keep moving, the small splashes he’s making in the water almost my undoing.
“Don’t hold back,” I say. “Not with me.”
It was my way of telling him he could speak frankly, that he could talk dirty if he wanted to, but he mistakes my meaning and leans forward to kiss me. This kiss is different than our first one. Hayden utterly consumes me, eradicating any errant worries or regrets.
When he mimics the movements of his hand with his tongue, I’m done.
