I open my mouth and hold my breath as my regulator slips free. He removes his own, and we float toward each other instinctively, our mouths colliding in a wickedly hard kiss. He angles to deepen it, but I don’t know how to engage my tongue without swallowing water. I’m awkward as all hell, but the kiss? It’s fucking thrilling.
It’s not completely silent underwater. The pressure against the ears puts a different perspective on sound. Everything is louder, deeper, resounding in the chest. Like the flow of air through the tubes, the swish of the water around us, and the groans of our voices as our lips move together.
When I pull back, he slides his backup regulator between my lips and pops his own breather in his mouth. Somewhere above us, my tank and vest bob away.
Since we’re sharing an air cylinder, we’ll use up the oxygen in half the time. But I know that’s not the reason for the urgency in his eyes. He stares at me with ravenous need. To claim me. To fuck me. And he illustrates the direction of his thoughts by gliding his hands up my back and untying the strings on my bikini top.
This is happening. I’m going to have sex with Cole.
The moment I’m naked, Trace’s handsome scowl flashes through my mind. But I stop myself from analyzing and dreading and tripping into guilt. Instead, I focus on Bree’s words.
For once in your life, you’re going to put yourself first.
Cole swims around me, his biceps bunching with the slicing movements of his arms, his physique strong and chiseled beneath the vest and tank. I turn with him, physically connected by an air hose and emotionally attached to every beat of his heart.
We glide toward each other, our bodies sliding and tumbling together, our hands roaming, gripping, nails scratching across skin. His palms cover my breasts as I feather my fingers down the bumps of his abs, over the waistband of his dive shorts, and stroke the outline of his swollen cock.
I try to temper my breaths, but they come fast and hard with the fire roaring inside me. My nipples go taut, and my pussy throbs with the need to be filled by him.
He releases me and descends, sliding down my body until my thighs rest on his shoulders. Droplets of air fizzle upwards, blurring my view of him. What is he doing?
Something moves in the corner of my eye. I turn my neck just as his abandoned shorts waft by.
My pulse pounds through my veins. He’s naked. I wave away the effervescence of air and look down, trying to see him beneath me.
The water clears a millisecond before he slides up my chest and positions my legs around his waist.
I grip his shoulders, and the underside of his erection rubs hard and hot between my legs. Nothing separates us, not even doubt. I love him. I want him. If I don’t take him into my body right now, in this magical subaquatic moment, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
He studies me from behind his mask, communicating more with his eyes than he could with words. He loves me, too. And if I don’t let him fuck me, he might die from the bluest balls in the history of blue balls.
It’s been over four years.
Four fucking years since he’s had sex.
His fingers curl around my wrist, lifting my hand beside my face. Then he taps my palm. He wants me to give my consent, using the underwater hand signals he taught me.
Without hesitation, I shape my fingers into the universal sign for okay and give him a nod for good measure.
His lips part, and the regulator floats from his mouth. Tiny beads of air trickle from the curved-up corners of his mouth, and he yanks me tight against him. With an arm locked behind my back, he lines himself up with my center and slams me down on his cock.
I suck huge gulps of oxygen and clench my inner muscles around his thick girth, whimpering at the shocking bliss. Even more arresting is the sight of his head falling back on his shoulders, his eyes squeezing shut, the cords lengthening in his neck, and the spume of air escaping his clenched teeth.
But it makes my chest hurt when he’s not breathing from the tank. So I grab his regulator and press it against his lips. He pulls in a deep inhale, meets my eyes. Then he fucks me.
Kicking his hips into a voracious rhythm, he strokes his cock from tip to root, stretching me, using me, owning me, body and soul. If I were a screamer, I would’ve drowned already. As it is, I’m draining the air tank with every panting heave of my chest.
He pauses briefly to the check the gauges. As he shifts a leg backward, I realize he’s standing on the pool floor, using his strength or weight, maybe both, to keep us stable.
With a hand on the back of my head, he holds our face masks together and drives me down on his cock. I moan and writhe and lose all sense of time and space. Chained to the pleasure, I bask in the reunion , running my hands through his hair, riding the thrusts of his hips, sharing his air, and clinging to the powerful flex of his body.