It’s one of those dark nights, the kind where the stars are blotted out by cloudy skies and the air smells of snow. Strongly so. I grin as I make the mad dash from warm change room to the pool outside. Even sexy Irish Doms shouldn’t be able to arrange getting snowed in on demand, but he’s at least made an interesting effort.
I lower myself slowly into the water, enjoying the way it intensifies the shivers on the parts of me still hanging out in the cold. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited the hot springs. Too long. Tourist trap or not, it’s still wondrous, especially in the winter. I look around as my shoulders dip under the water. I’ve come in along the straight edge that overlooks the lake when it’s not murky dark out there, but the rest of the pool is organically shaped, with bump outs and railings and opportunities to tuck out of the way of the crowds that are often here.
Tonight is quiet. A dozen others, and likely a few more in the caves, but there’s a hush, a sense of privacy, that doesn’t often happen here.
More than one head is tipped to the sky. I’m not the only one smelling snow.
I turn around, waiting for the man who brought me here to emerge from the change rooms. I’m quite sure I’ve come out first, the product of an upbringing with five siblings where stragglers got left behind. I’m the fastest person into or out of her clothes that I know. Which Callum might find amusing, for more than one reason.
I can feel the liquid pull in my belly as I think of him. Our short stop at the cabin has taken things to a new place. A delicious one, but one where my feet are tempted to float up off the ground.
It’s hard to feel all that concerned. Here, floating is one of my favorite things.
I smile as a silver head peeks out the exit door and the rest of his body follows. Like every other visitor, Callum makes his way briskly across the concrete, the winds off the lake in February plenty of incentive to get to the water fast. I curse the bright lights at his back. This is the first time I’ve seen him at least partly undressed, and all I’m getting is tantalizing outlines.
My artist brain is happy to fill in the rest. And so are my hands. I reach for him as he enters the pool, eager to touch.
He dips down to my level and drops one of his casual kisses on my cheek. “Isn’t this lovely.”
A lifeguard meanders my way and flashes Callum a grin. She’s got an easy job tonight, and he’s well worth ogling. I lead the two of us deeper into the pool. We’re in the thoroughfare where people come and go, and I much prefer one of the side pockets.
He looks around as we walk. “It’s rather bright.”
I laugh. He sounds like a small boy who just dropped his lollipop in the sand. “The caves are dark. I’ll take you through there in a bit.” It’s the most unique part of this particular hot springs, but we’re in no hurry.
He tugs on my hand, changing our direction. “I’ve a mind to go over here.”
He’s heading away from the people clustered around the entrance to the caves, so that’s fine by me. He skirts a small interior wall in the pool and hums in approval when he finds the seating on the other side. “That will do nicely.”
He sounds far too much like a man with a plan. Hot springs are for floating. We’ll get to the contents of his bag later. Or so I think until he tugs me into his lap.
I don’t bother looking around. There were no kids in the pool, and anyone here on a quiet evening in winter takes their chances at catching a couple of locals being cuddly together. I run my hands over his chest, which is suddenly a far more appealing activity than floating. I keep a watch on his face, just in case getting felt up in public is outside his comfort zone.
He chuckles and glides a hand up to cup my breast. “Green, love. I’ve very few boundaries you’re likely to cross tonight. Have your way with me.”
I’m so used to being the most brazen one in the room. Unless Bee is around, but she’s a force of nature. Callum is elegant and controlled and comes across as a businessman on a holiday. Until you look in his eyes. There’s a brightness there at the moment that worries me—and that calls me to play. I fist my hands loosely and unroll them, lightly scraping his nipples.
The low rumble in his throat is an excellent aphrodisiac.
He casually lifts me and turns me to face him, settling me back down again so that I’m straddling his lap. It would be a lot more risqué if I could slide in close enough to sit on his cock, but the ledge we’re seated on is narrow and my knees have nowhere to go. I’m tempted to pout, but even this gives me plenty of interesting things to explore.
My fingers move, tracing the anatomy of his shoulders, squeezing the muscles that run along the ridge to his neck. His head tips forward on a groan, so I linger a while. Rubbing. Enjoying the feel of parts of him softening under my touch—and other parts of him distinctly hardening. My fingers move up, pressing into his scalp, disordering his hair as I go.
His hands run along my thighs and settle on my hips, but he otherwise leaves me to play.
I slide my fingers down his neck and shoulders to his chest. We’ve created a pool of shadow between us and my hands play with it, brushing imaginary charcoal onto his chest with one hand, lifting it with the other, discovering the planes and angles and curves of him. He’s got the body of a man who leaves his suit behind with regularity. I imagine him in a thick sweater, hiking the hills of his homeland or the wilds of some far-off hamlet he’s chosen to drop in on for a while.
I’m really glad he picked my hamlet.
I tip my head up as the first flakes of snow begin to fall.
My hands move lower.