Page 81 of Too Safe

Strong hands find my bare stomach and grip me tighter. He pulls me so close I can’t tread water.

So I stop trying.

I let go.

I wind my arms around his neck as he wraps his around my low back.

Our bodies dance together in the water, slick and wet, warm and fluid. His grip is tight and unyielding. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Between strong legs, his rigid length taunts me. Unmistakable evidence that though he may hate me, he most certainly wants me.

More than once, his erection presses into the apex of my thighs—a blissful tease that’s there one second, then gone the next. I roll my hips, chasing the pressure. Searching for it again. Needing more of him.

We’re a jumble of limbs, two halves coming together, clinging so tightly that if either of us stops moving, we’ll both go under.

Blinking away the water accumulating on the ends of my eyelashes, I scrutinize Decker. His face is backlit by the setting sun. I loathe to admit it, but he’s beautiful. Sharp angles. Masculine features. Eyes so dark it’s hard to distinguish between the pupil and the iris.

Between the ego and the man, he’s an anomaly.

Stereotypical in so many ways. The alpha male. QB1. Leader of the pack. Envy of his peers.

But then he has these moments…

When he’s deferring to Kylian, trusting him to take the lead.

When he’s checking in with Kendrick and Locke, asking about their pain levels.

When he’s sharing his bed and rubbing my neck, soothing me to sleep.

And now. Holding me so close I swear he might not ever let me go. Peering into my eyes with an unmistakable heat he doesn’t bother to hide.

Until he catches himself, that is.

“Fuck,” he groans. He puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head, releasing us both from the reverie of this uncharacteristically intimate moment. Once more, he squeezes—his grip so tight on my ass I’m certain I’ll have bruises tomorrow—then he pushes away from me in a jerky movement that partially pulls me under.

Resurfacing, I sputter to clear the water from my throat, disoriented and confused. His arms rise out of the lake in broad strokes as he swims toward the dock.

I watch him push up and out of the water but look away before he can turn around and catch me staring.

Toweling off his face with his shirt, he calls out to me in his typical bossy tone.

“Family dinner’s in less than an hour. You better get washed up.”

And then he takes off toward the house, more tension radiating off him than there is water rolling off his back.

I tread, dumbfounded, and watch him retreat back into himself and the enormous fortress he calls home.

I make a mad dash into the house and back to my room. Mostly because I don’t want to run into Decker. But also because I don’t want to be the last one to the table for family dinner.

I almost slip on the polished wood floors as I circle the island in the kitchen. Mrs. Lansbury is digging through the fridge, and Locke has his back to me, stirring something in a pot on the stove. I almost make it past them unseen.

Almost.

“Hot Girl. Come try this.” He holds up a wooden spoon with what looks like a cream sauce clinging to it. The kitchen smells divine. I honestly would stop and be his taste tester if I had more time. Instead, I shoot him an apologetic look and continue my mission.

“Sorry, Emo Boy. I’ve got to shower before dinner. It smells great, though!”

I take the stairs two at a time, droplets of water cascading down my body and leaving a trail in my wake. I’m moving so fast I don’t see Kylian until his arms dart out to steady me.

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