Ripples chase my hand as I stir the bathwater and test its temperature. Only a couple years ago, I couldn’t so much as look at water so deep without my chest turning cold and my palms sweating. That was before my father demanded I join swim team, and somehow, my competitive nature overrode my fears enough that I won meets and earned medals.
But then, Griffin Blackthorne’s main objective was never really about helping me overcome my fears, as much as I’d like to believe that.
My teammate’s father owned one of the largest chains of grocery stores in the country, with whom my father eventually partnered, and he used the occasional meet as a means of talking business, while he pretended to watch me swim.
I close my eyes, recalling the moments in the cave with Solange, when my chest burned for air, my muscles stiff with fear and excitement. I focus on the memory of her hand gliding up and down my cock, and the way my body tingled with a rush of what I suppose must’ve been adrenaline. I’ve thought about those moments a number of times since then.
Fully unclothed, I step into the tub, much warmer than the cold and salty ocean water, and my body hardens with a thrill of what’s to come. Jacking off in water is nothing new for me. I’ve done it a number of times in the shower, but never like this.
Like giving my fear a big fuck you, and coming while I do it.
I draw the curtains that surround the enormous, circular sunken tub, leaving only a crack of light.
Warmth engulfs me as I settle into the water until it sits at my shoulders, and I run-through some diaphragmatic breathing, in and out, like we did before practice. I’ve grown accustomed to holding my breath for long periods of time, and this time, I intend to put that skill to good use.
I slip below the water’s surface, where the world is muted and I’m alone, and stare up at the distorted constellations painted across the circular ceiling that mirrors the diameter of the tub. My own dark world.
The strokes begin light and teasing. This time, I intend to draw it out. Maximize the climax. It doesn’t take long for my balls to tighten, though, while the first rush of adrenaline pulses through me.
Fuck, yes.
I imagine Solange straddling me, holding me underwater as she rides my cock. Every muscle turns rigid, the burn inside my chest intensifying. I can practically feel the tiny electric shocks inside my brain, the warning signals demanding I take a sip of air.
I don’t.
Blood rushes to my dick as I stroke hard, the water furious and agitated, echoing the chaos inside my body right now. Tunnel vision sets in. I’m preparing to pass out.
I need air. Every cell in my body is desperate for the oxygen that I intentionally withhold.
Muscles wind tighter. Tighter. So fucking tight. I arch with the impending climax, the cool air on where my groin sticks up out of the water while I continue to pump my slick erection.
A flash of light behind my eyes hits at the same time as a blast of heat rushes through my body, and jets of hot fluid pulse from the head of my cock.
I jolt upright on a gasp of breath. I can’t get enough air, and I lean over the edge of the tub, digging my nails into the cold tiles. Through rapid shallow breaths, my body does its best to fill my lungs, until each inhale is no longer labored, but long and easy.
Not an ounce of strength left in me. I’m so fucking relaxed right now, I can’t even fathom moving from this spot. A chuckle escapes while I lie with my head pressed against the tiles.
Solange was right.
Nothing will ever compare now.
Chapter 10
Isadora
Present day …
Heat falls on my face, the intense light piercing through the void. I frown and shield my eyes, turning away from the open window through which sunlight streams. The clock beside me reads ten minutes to seven, and I groan at the small bit of missed sleep, yet I don’t feel exhausted, the way I typically do when I wake up at home. My neck isn’t stiff, nor is my back the way it sometimes feels after sleeping on the cardboard-like mattress at Aunt Midge’s.
I feel like I’ve slept on clouds all night.
Yawning and stretching, I turn over in the bed and flip off the alarm, which hasn’t yet