Page 84 of Swim To Me

I chuckle lowly, tightening my grip to cup her arse beneath the cover of the water. “It might have been but you still did it.”

Delilah peels her cheek from my collarbone to look at me. “I did, didn’t I?”

Nodding, I begin to swim us up to the deep end, keeping a tight a hold while my legs do all the work. “I’m proud of you.”

Dipping her head, Delilah sips a kiss from my lips, unbothered who sees us. I guess it’s because she doesn’t have to worry the way I do. But she’s too addictive to let go of, to say no to, so I kiss her back.

When Delilah pulls back, it’s too press a sweet kiss on my bottom lip, before her lips quickly morph into a smile. “I’m proud of me too.”

In between addictive touches, Delilah and I practise floating on her back, her front and how long she can hold her breath underwater.

“I bet I look beautiful right now,” she jokes when her head pops back up the fifth time, beads of water streaming down her neck and into the tempting creases of her body. I watch a particular droplet trail its way between her breasts, disappearing before I can lick it off.

“You do,” I say truthfully, taking in the slick style of her hair, her bun now a little lopsided and less artfully messy and the spike of her lashes. She looks a little like she did in the shower this morning, before I fucked her brains out, only a little less placid and cock drunk.

“Smooth talker…” Delilah winks, dunking her head back underwater to hold her breath again, so I have to wait until she pops back up to speak. I count the seconds silently in my head, watching the bubbles begin to froth and foam from her pursed lips letting out only small whisps of precious air.

When Delilah does resurface with a splutter, I pull her into my body again. I need her close, I can’t fucking get enough.

“What are you doing the rest of the week?” I ask.

“The rest of the week? Working. I’ll need to catch up with the work load I missed today… go over the mistakes I probably made on Tuesday because I couldn’t focus on anything but the searing pain in my head.”

My heart flips in my chest as I remember how poorly Delilah had looked once she’d opened her front door to me on Tuesday afternoon. She’d been as white as a sheet, weak kneed and clammy. Totally unlike herself.

Although, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a massive part of me elated to be there. Not because she’d been ill, in fact I’d wanted nothing more than to take the pain from her, but becauseI’dbeen the person she’d asked, trusted enough,wanted,to come over and nurse her back to health.

“What about the weekend?”

Delilah grimaces. “If there’s as much work as I think there will be… I might have to clock in a couple of hours on Saturday morning, just from home though, so if you want to—”

“I was thinking you could come over mine,” I suggest, a concoction of fear and mainly excitement zinging through me. “I could cook something for the two of us?”

“Like what?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet, gorgeous, but I’ll whip us something up, depending on if you say yes or—”

“Yes, Grey. I’d love to.”

“Saturday evening? Is six, okay?”

Delilah grazes her thumb over my cheekbone, nodding. “Sounds perfect.”

It’s a fucking good job I’ve made plans to see Delilah on Saturday evening, because the rest of the week goes downhill from the minute, I kiss her goodbye outside the leisure centre on Wednesday.

Somebody must have pissed in Hudson’s protein powder shake on Thursday morning, because he’s in such a foul mood; not even looking up from his phone to communicate with me and then walking straight out of the front door when I ask him a question.

I’m late to work by nearly two hours because I somehow managed to read the rota wrong for the first time ever, and thought I wasn’t supposed to be on lifeguard duty until the afternoon.

When I do eventually get to work, I have to stand and listen to a stern telling off from my boss, before settling my arse in the lifeguard chair which is still slightly warm from its last occupant.

I’ve not even been sitting in the chair for ten minutes, when a young child begins retching in the deep end of the water. My feet are slipping down the rungs as fast as I can, speed walking to the ledge where I can jump in safely.

The young boy’s dad thwacks his son on the back to dislodge the swallowed water, just as I reach the two of them, the loud sound of choked coughing echoing across the walls.

“We need to get him out,” I say, plucking the boy up by his underarms and furiously kicking my legs to get us back to the edge.

But we don’t make it that far.

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