Page 104 of Eternal Surrender

One long groan of want from her, and I was ready to confess my feelings. Ready to surrender pieces of myself.

Her breaths stuttered as she came, tremoring gently against the waves of pleasure, against the thrum of bliss.

I gripped her hips and eased her down back into the water, and she wrapped her thighs around my hips. With a firm thrust, I entered her, my cock buried deep inside her, and with her willingly trapped between me and the edge of the pool, I rocked against her.

Making love to her in water was strangely appropriate, because this felt like a tide was pulling me under something luminous and endless. Cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples and having their buds harden against my touch sparked an uncommon thrill in me and in her.

I came undone, obsessed with her womanly perfection, believing this moment was more holy than any prayer I could offer up to God.

My heart ached for her, even as she was here, even as I continued to be buried deep inside her, this quiet devastation of loving someone I could never have, drawing me into the chaos of pain; this temporary touch of heaven, this fragile moment that felt too sacred to survive.

Still, even as I knew she could ruin me, I couldn’t stop myself from pounding harder still, marveling at how brilliant this fucking of her felt. Here, in the private space that once belonged to Orpheus.

She peered up at me. “You’re the line I swore I’d never cross.”

You’re the only place I want to be, I didn’t say it, though.

Finally, she buried her head into my chest.

We stayed like that, embracing for the longest time, both of us enjoying the lingering ripples of pleasure.

The water now still.

I assisted her out of the pool and offered her a towel from the freshly stacked linen nearby.

Ingrid took it from me and dried herself off. “That bottle of wine you gave me?”

“French farmers protected it during the Second World War and named the Bordeaux Liberté which translates to⁠—”

“Freedom.” She took a deep breath. “Yours or mine?”

I slipped into some fresh clothes. I’d wash off the chlorine later.

“What have I done,” she whispered.

Again, our eyes met, and in that suspended heartbeat there was longing—raw and unguarded, the faintest glimmer of love. It flickered between us like a struck match in the dark.

Ingrid turned away.

“This is just us taking a swim,” I said.

“We did more than swim.” Ingrid’s wet hair was tussled and tumbling over her droplet-covered shoulders, her serious expression reflecting worry. “Is Jadeon really. . . dead?”

“It’s complicated.” I moved away from her, hoping the distance might make her more comfortable.

“What just happened between us?” she asked.

I wanted to tell her she was beautiful, her presence a welcome change from the drama of my own private world, with darkness seeping into each moment threatening to devour me. But I couldn’t say it, and as my thoughts searched for the right words, the silence lingered.

“We must never do this again.” She bit her lip as though fighting the memory of us.

“That’s probably a good idea.”

“I’ve been asked to consult on a case here in London,” she said, trying to inject normalcy.

I feigned I didn’t know. “Not a permanent move then?”

“Not at this point.”