Page 35 of The No Pressure Pact
She turns her head and gives me a lazy smile. “Not even a little.”
I sit on the chaise lounge beside her. Close but not crowding her. The pool filter hums. A breeze lifts the edge of her towel and drops it again.
“These days are… long,” she says, eyes on the water. “Not bad long. Just, like… a lot, you know? And I know we still have, what, ten more?”
“Something like that,” I say, resting my arms behind my head and looking at the starless sky. It feels cool, the breeze bringing in a slight mountain chill. “Feels like we’ve packed a week into forty-eight hours.”
She huffs, amused and tired at once. “You okay after dinner?”
I lift a shoulder casually. I don’t know what she’s asking of me—if I’m okay after having to endure that much or if I’m okay after that little scene in the butler’s pantry, hidden in plain sight from the other people in the group. “I’ve had worse. You?”
“We mainly talked about the outfits everyone is wearing for the next few days.” She tilts a hand. “I’ll survive.”
Silence settles. Not awkward—I don’t think it’s ever been awkward around her. But it definitely feels charged, like maybe we are both thinking about the same thing and pretending not to.
“The kitchen?—”
“Manu,” I say at the same time.
Her mouth curves, and she shifts on the chaise, moving slightly backwards but facing me. We grin at the same time. It breaks the tension and tightens it.
I shift closer. “You sure?”
“Yes,” she says, like it’s obvious. “But, umm…”
I don’t wait for her to finish her thought, and instead, I kiss her. Slow, first, like we’re easing into a pool. She sighs against my mouth and slides a hand to the back of my neck. The second kiss is not slow. She opens her mouth for me, and I forget all the reasons to pace myself.
“Someone can definitely see us,” she murmurs, not moving away. She smiles against my mouth, like the thought is egging her on or even amusing her to no end, so I press closer. “If I can see the pool from my room, the others can too.”
“We’ll be quiet,” I say, already failing at being rational.
“Promise?” It’s teasing and a little not.
“Try me.”
We tip sideways onto her lounger. It’s narrow, so we have to contort our bodies to make ourselves fit; one of her legs wraps around my hip, and my hand finds her waist to pull her closer against my body. She makes a sound I feel all the way down to my hardening cock. I kiss the corner of her mouth, the edge of her jaw. She tangles her fingers in my hair and pulls, gentle, like she wants me exactly where I am.
I breathe her in: mountain air, shampoo, and the faintest trace of her perfume from dinner. The villa lights throw soft stripes over her collarbone, and I choose to put my mouth there as she tilts her chin up, a generous move that gives me more to work with.
Manuela’s hand finds the front of my shirt and fists. The other drifts lower, over my stomach, resting there for a beat like she’s asking without words. I hold her gaze and nod once.
Her palm slides under the waistband of my sweatpants—slow, steady, like she plans to take her time with me. My breath stutters, and she smiles against my mouth, an indication she’s loving this.
“Shh,” she says, barely there. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“You started this,” I whisper.
“Did I?” Her fingers wrap around me, sure now. My head tips back, and I bite the inside of my cheek to try not to swear loud enough to wake the whole villa. She kisses me while she strokes, long, teasing passes that make staying quiet a losing game. I anchor my hand on her thigh, squeeze when she swirls her wrist, and I almost forget where we are.
“Manu,” I try to say, but instead a needy fucking whimper comes out, and she gasps. She’s definitely on to me, how desperate I am for touch—forhertouch.
Upstairs, a door slides. Voices. Her hand stills but doesn’t move away.
She looks at me, and there’s mischief all over her blue eyes. “Tell me if you want to stop,” she whispers.
I should. God, I should. My whole body is one live wire under her hand, but there’s a voice in my head, louder than the risk or the want, that says I don’t want this to be just about me.
I catch her wrist gently, just enough pressure to make her pause. Her brows pull together, like she’s trying to read me.
