Chapter 18: Sunscreen Seduction
The steam from the shower had failed to cleanse him. It had only sealed the experience into his pores, a fine film of shame that no amount of scented soap could strip away. Dressed in his own clothes, he felt like a ghost wearing a discarded skin. The sunglasses helped, creating a dark barrier between the person he was and the world he now had to face.
The rooftop air was a shock, dry and warm and scented with chlorine. The city sprawled below them, a geometric tapestry of steel and glass painted in the dying embers of the sun. And there she was, a king on his throne, stretched out on a lounger. The sight of his own body, so relaxed and commanding, sent a fresh jolt of dissonance through him. The lean muscle, the familiar tattoos—it was all his, yet the way it was occupied was entirely foreign.
“Took you long enough,” Katy said without opening her eyes. His voice was so casual. “I was about to send a search party.”
Garrett said nothing. He stood awkwardly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
She finally turned her head, the sunglasses she wore reflecting his own petite, uncertain form. A slow, appraising smile spread across his face. “Those clothes are a tragedy on that body. You’re drowning in them. Go put on a bikini. There’s a whole drawer of them in the dressing room. The black one with the gold clasp. It’ll look good with your tan.”
He wanted to refuse. The idea of stripping down again, of presenting this body in such a vulnerable way, made his stomach clench. But the command in her tone, the absolute expectation of compliance, left no room for argument. He was an occupant here, a tenant in a life he hadn’t leased.
He found the drawer, a rainbow of expensive fabrics and intricate designs. The black bikini was barely there, two triangles of fabric and a few strings. His hands trembled as he put it on, the feeling of the tight knots against his back and the slight pressure of the top an constant, nagging reminder of his new topography. When he walked back out, the evening breeze felt alien against so much exposed skin.
He lay on the lounger beside hers, the plastic straps digging into his back. The sun, now a bloody orange sliver on the horizon, felt like a spotlight.
For a long time, the only sound was the gentle lapping of water in the pool and the distant hum of traffic. He could feel her gaze on him, a physical weight.
“You know,” she began, her voice conversational, “you’re going to get terrible tan lines in that.”
He kept his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. “It’s fine.”
“It’s really not. I’ve spent a fortune on laser treatments and skincare to keep this canvas pristine. Tan lines are… amateur hour. They ruin the lines of evening wear.” She shifted on her lounger, the movement fluid and masculine. “I always tan nude up here. The walls are high enough. No one can see.”
A cold knot tightened in his gut. “Katy…”
“It’s just us, Garrett.” Her voice was a low, reasonable purr. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before. Quite intimately, as I recall from the state of my bedroom.” The reminder was a deliberate, sharp poke. “It’s just skin. My skin. And I don’t want it marred.”
The logic was a trap, seamless and inescapable. To refuse was to admit to a shame she clearly found amusing, to acknowledge an awkwardness she was determined to shatter. He felt the control slipping, the boundaries of this new existence being drawn by her, in his own voice.
With a sigh that felt like surrender, he sat up. His fingers fumbled with the knot at the back of his neck, then the one at his spine. The top came away. The bottoms followed, a whisper of fabric falling to the plastic slats of the lounger. The air felt different now, a vast, intimate exposure. He lay back down, every nerve ending screaming, hyper-aware of the cool breeze touching places it never should.
“See?” Katy said. “Not so hard.”
Silence descended again, thicker this time, charged with a tension that vibrated in the air between them. He could feel the heat of the sun on his bare skin, a sensation so profoundly different it was dizzying.
After a few minutes, he heard the sound of a cap snapping open. He cracked an eye open.
Katy was squeezing a generous amount of white lotion into her palm—his palm. “The sun is lower, but it’s still strong. Can’t have you burning.” She stood up and walked over to his side, looming over him. “I’ll get your back.”
Before he could form a protest, her hands were on him.
His hands.
The lotion was cool, but the touch was warm, firm, and knowing. His own strong, capable fingers began to move over the skin of her back, spreading the sunscreen in slow, deliberate circles. He flinched at the contact, a full-body shudder he couldn’t suppress.
“Relax,” she murmured, her voice close to his ear. Her thumbs pressed into the muscles along his spine, working out a tension he hadn’t even known was there. It was an intimate, proprietary massage. Her touch traced the curve of her own shoulder blades, the dip of her own waist, with a familiarity that was utterly violating. This was maintenance. This was ownership.
She was touching herself, through him, and making him a passive participant in the act. His mind recoiled, but the body, this traitorous vessel, began to respond to the skilled, familiar pressure. A low, unwanted thrum of pleasure started to pulse in deep, hidden places, a dark echo of the vibrations from the toy. He bit his lip, hard, focusing on the pain to ground himself as her hands, his hands, moved over the landscape of his body.
He bit his lip, hard, focusing on the pain to ground himself as her hands, his hands, moved over the landscape of his body. Her touch grew bolder, sliding from his shoulders down the delicate curve of her spine with a possessive pressure that made his breath catch. The lotion-slicked palms drifted lower, tracing the rise of her hips before his thumbs pressed into the soft flesh of her lower back, a deliberate invasion that sent a jolt straight to his core.
A low, involuntary sound escaped him as the massage deepened, her fingers working in slow, insistent circles that unraveled the last of his resistance. The shame was still there, a cold knot in his stomach, but it was being steadily overwhelmed by a rising tide of physical pleasure that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. His body, this alien vessel, was responding with a fierce, damp heat that pooled between his legs, a traitorous ache that demanded attention.
Her hands moved to the backs of her thighs, kneading the muscle with an intimate familiarity that felt both violation and benediction. He could feel the slickness gathering, a unmistakable wetness that made the fabric of his mind recoil even as his hips gave a slight, betraying shift against the cool plastic of the lounger. The city’s distant hum faded beneath the roaring in his ears, the world narrowing to the path her fingers blazed across her skin.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the touch vanished.
The absence of her hands was a shock, leaving his skin tingling and exposed to the evening air. He heard the soft snap of the lotion bottle cap.
“Your turn,” Katy said, her voice a low, amused command. She dropped the bottle into his lap, the plastic cool against his bare thigh. “Do my back. And don’t be shy about it.”
Garrett’s eyes flew open, his heart hammering against his ribs. The arousal was a live wire inside him, a throbbing, dripping awareness that left him dizzy. He could feel the slick evidence of it, a warm dampness between his legs that was both utterly foreign and intensely real. His own hands trembled as he picked up the bottle, the simple task feeling like a monumental test.
He rose on unsteady legs, the transition from horizontal to vertical making the world swim. Katy had already settled onto her stomach on the adjacent lounger, his broad back presented to him like an offering. The familiar tattoos stared back, a map of a life that was no longer his to live.
Squeezing a pool of lotion into his palm, he hesitated, the scent of coconut and sunscreen suddenly cloying. His smaller, softer hands hovered over the muscular plane of his own back, the dynamic so perverse it stole his breath.
“Any day now,” she prompted, her voice muffled by the towel she’d folded under her head.
He placed his palms on the warm skin, and the contact sent another electric jolt through her. His fingers began to move, tracing the lines of muscle and ink he knew so well, and he felt his pussy clench in response, a fresh wave of wetness soaking him. The act of touching him, of being made to service this body he inhabited, was unraveling him completely.