Chapter 24: Wet Consequences
The pool water was the temperature of blood, warm and viscous in the fading light. Stone floated on her back, her red hair fanning out around her like rust in the water, staring up at the first pinprick stars. The filter hummed its low, monotonous song. From the lounger beneath the magnolia tree came the soft, rhythmic flip of a magazine page.
Eleanor sighed, a sound of quiet contentment. “I think the Delacroix piece will sell before the week is out. He’s practically vibrating to get it.”
“Mm.” Erik’s voice was a non-committal grunt from the chair beside her.
Stone let her legs sink, her toes finding the rough plaster of the pool floor. She righted herself, the water sluicing down her body, her black bikini clinging like a second skin. She looked at him. He was pretending to read a book, his glasses perched on his nose, but she could see the rigid line of his forearm, the tight set of his jaw. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t really looked at her, in the three days since the workshop. The memory of his command—Get out—and the subsequent silence was a cold stone in her gut.
She needed to crack him open again.
“Water’s perfect, Mom,” Stone called, her voice artificially bright. She began a slow breaststroke towards the shallow end, directly in front of their chairs. She made sure her movements were languid, exaggerated. The swell of her breasts against the bikini top, the arch of her back as she kicked. She saw his eyes flicker upwards from his page, over the rim of his glasses, just for a second. A predator noticing movement.
“Don’t stay in too long, you’ll prune,” Eleanor said absently, turning another page.
“Just a few more minutes.” Stone reached the steps and hoisted herself up, water cascading from her body. She stood on the pool deck, knowing the dying sun would silhouette her through the wet fabric. She took her time squeezing the water from her hair, one hip cocked, before walking to the empty lounger next to Erik’s.
She lay down with a soft sigh, closing her eyes. The space between her and Erik was less than two feet. She could smell his aftershave, the clean scent of his linen shirt, underneath it the faint, primal smell of him that was now etched in her memory. She felt his gaze like a physical touch.
“I’m going to refresh my drink,” Eleanor announced, the lounger creaking as she stood. “Erik, darling?”
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice tight.
The slap of Eleanor’s sandals faded on the flagstone path towards the house.
The silence expanded, thick and heavy. The cicadas sawed in the trees.
Stone didn’t open her eyes. “You haven’t looked at me in three days.”
“This has to stop.” The words were flat, final.
“It can’t.” She turned her head, opening her eyes to look at him. He was staring straight ahead at the darkening water, his book forgotten in his lap. “It’s already inside me. You can’t put it back.”
He flinched. A full-body tremor. His hands clenched on the arms of the chair.
In one fluid motion, he stood. He didn’t look at her. He walked to the pool’s edge, his back to her, and dove in. The splash was clean, violent. He surfaced in the deep end, shaking his head, water sheeting from his grey-flecked hair. He began to swim laps with a fierce, punishing stroke.
Stone watched him, a slow smile touching her lips. The protest was in the swim. The flight. But he was still here, in the water with her. She pushed herself up and walked to the pool’s edge. She dove in, a smooth arc that carried her into the water just a few feet from him as he reached the wall.
He pushed off, starting another lap. She followed, not matching his speed, but shadowing him. In the deep end, he stopped, treading water, breathing hard. She drifted closer, her legs scissoring slowly to keep her afloat. They were alone, shielded from the house by the bulk of the magnolia and the falling night.
“You’re scared,” she whispered.
“I’m disgusted,” he shot back, but his eyes were on her mouth.
“Liar.” She let her body drift nearer, until their legs brushed underwater. A spark. A current. “You loved it. You loved fucking me on your workshop floor. You loved calling me your whore.”
His hand shot out under the water, fingers clamping around her wrist. “Shut up.”
She didn’t pull away. She moved closer, until her body was almost against his, the buoyancy pressing them together. “You want to do it again. Right now.”
“Your mother is fifty feet away.”
“She can’t see.” Stone lifted her other hand out of the water and placed it on his chest, over his pounding heart. She let it slide down, over the hard plane of his stomach, beneath the surface. Her fingers traced the waistband of his swim trunks.
He sucked in a breath. His grip on her wrist tightened, a silent war waging in his eyes.
Her hand slipped inside his trunks. She found him, soft at first, then stirring, thickening rapidly under her touch. She closed her fingers around him, stroking slowly, firmly, underwater. His head fell back, a choked sound escaping his lips.
“See?” she breathed, her lips close to his ear. “Your body doesn’t lie.”
He turned suddenly, his hands grasping her hips, spinning her around so her back was to his chest. He pulled her against him, his hard length now pressed into the cleft of her ass. One arm banded across her chest, holding her tight. The other hand plunged underwater, past the ties of her bikini bottom, down.
His fingers found her immediately, slick and swollen and open for him. He didn’t tease. His middle finger drove into her, a brutal, claiming invasion. She gasped, her head falling back against his shoulder.
“That’s it, babygirl,” his voice was a raw, hot whisper in her ear, laced with self-loathing and unchecked need. “Take Daddy’s fingers.” He added a second, stretching her, his thumb finding her clit, circling with a roughness that made her legs jerk. The water lapped around them, muffling any sound. “Be quiet. Unless you want Mommy to find out how wet her little girl gets for me.”
He fucked her with his fingers, a harsh, relentless rhythm that matched the frantic beating of her heart. His own hips ground against her from behind, his cock trapped between them, a promise of more. The world shrank to the feel of his hands on her, in her, the scent of chlorine and his sweat, the distant, oblivious sound of the kitchen door opening and closing. Eleanor was coming back.
“She’s coming,” Stone panted, her body tightening, a coil about to snap.
His fingers curled inside her, a cruel, perfect angle. “Then come. Now. Let her see you shaking. Let her wonder.”
The orgasm ripped through her, silent and devastating. Her body convulsed against his, a series of sharp, electric spasms that squeezed his fingers tight. A soundless scream tore from her throat, her vision whiting out at the edges. He held her through it, his hand a vise, his own breathing ragged and hot against her neck.
As the last waves subsided, his fingers withdrew, slick and glistening in the faint light. He brought them to his mouth, tasting her, his eyes locked on hers. It was the most obscene, most intimate thing she’d ever seen.
Footsteps on the flagstone.
He released her, pushing her gently away. Stone turned, treading water, trying to control her breathing as her mother approached with a fresh glass of wine.
“You two look refreshed,” Eleanor said, settling back into her lounger.
Erik swam to the ladder and hauled himself out, his swim trunks clinging, the evidence of his arousal unmistakable. He grabbed a towel, tying it quickly around his waist. “Getting chilly,” he said, his voice surprisingly even.
Stone watched him, her body still humming. She felt his cum from three days ago, felt his fingers from just now, a layered, permanent claim. She floated on her back again, a smile playing on her lips that had nothing to do with the stars.
He walked past her chair, towards the house. As he passed, his towel brushed her arm. His hand, quick as a striking snake, darted down and pinched the tender skin of her inner thigh, hard enough to make her jolt. A punishment. A promise.
Then he was gone, the patio door sliding shut behind him.
Eleanor sipped her wine. “He’s been so tense lately. Work, I suppose.”
Stone let her legs sink, standing in the pool, the water now feeling cool. She looked at the house, at the lit window of his study now glowing in the dusk. “Yeah,” she said softly, tracing the fresh, faint bruise already forming on her thigh. “I suppose it is.”