Page 69 of Riot

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Just picked at a piece of corn, her fingers shiny with butter, eyes flicking toward the pool. The lights under the water shimmered across her face, and something about her shifted—like whatever wall she’d been holding in place was starting to crack.

“I wish I could go for a swim,” she said quietly, almost like she wasn’t talking to me but the night itself.

I looked up from my plate. “Yeah?”

She nodded slowly, still staring at the water like it was calling her.

I leaned back, rubbed the side of my jaw. “Damn. Should’ve had Abra grab you a swimsuit.”

That smirk of hers curled at the corner of her mouth. That shy, knowing kind of smile that was starting to become my favorite fucking thing to witness.

“You did say I was free now…”

I raised a brow. “You tryna swim naked?”

Her lips parted, but her voice didn’t waver. “Only if you’re down. ”

I tilted my head, eyeing her. She had a wild side that I wasn’t expecting. Our first kiss had me already wanting more but I was going to keep my dick to myself until she was begging for it.

“I’m always down to make you wet. ”

She smiled and then laughed. That laugh—man, that laugh—came out of her like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It wasn’t loud, wasn’t wild, but it was real. It took ten pounds off my chest hearing her laugh like that.

“I could use a little joy,” she said, voice softer now. Honest.

There was a moment—one of those rare, suspended moments—where we just stared at each other. The air got thick, charged. Not just with heat, but with something heavier. Something like trust. Like need. Like she wanted to remember what it felt like to be a woman again, not just a survivor.

“Aight,” I said, standing. “Let’s do it.”

She hesitated only a second before she rose too. Slid off my robe with a grace that made my heart stutter. I watched her unveil her body as she walked toward the pool. And it stopped me cold.

She wasn’t just beautiful.

She was raw. Radiant. Whole and fractured all at once.

Moonlight clung to her skin like worship. Every curve, every scar, every piece of her that had been stolen and reclaimed was on full display. And she didn’t flinch. Didn’t hide. She walked like she was taking her body back with every step. And I damn near fell to my knees watching her.

I pulled off my shirt and dropped my sweats, trying to calm the riot that had exploded in my chest. Not just desire—though that was there, loud and clear—but something else. Something reverent.

The water greeted us like it had been waiting.

She floated first, arms stretched out wide, head tilted back, her hair fanning out behind her like ink in water. Then she slipped under and came up gasping, laughing, wiping her face.

“Damn,” she breathed. “That feels good. I feel so damn free.”

“You look good,” I said, eyes locked on her.

She paddled toward me, slow and deliberate. “Not bad yourself.”

We swam without talking for a while, just moving around each other, letting the water soften what the world had hardened. Then she climbed onto the shallow ledge and leaned back against the tile, water sliding down her chest, catching in the hollow of her collarbone.

I moved toward her before I could stop myself.

Her legs brushed mine under the surface. Her hands found my shoulders.

I pressed my forehead to hers. Her breathing slowed. Mine matched hers.

I could’ve taken it further. God knows I wanted to. But I didn’t.

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