Page 77 of Love so Hot

Then, all at once, the atmosphere shifts. His hand brushes my ankle, a deliberate contact. My pulse quickens as he grips my foot gently and pulls me closer. We’re face to face, treading water, and I'm hyper-aware of how close he is. The playful energy that was there a second ago transforms into something charged, something intimate.

The space between us vanishes, and the world outside this pool, outside Greenwood Hollow, blurs into nothingness. Larry's eyes lock onto mine, a storm of red and gold, burning with something that sets my veins on fire. He leans in, slow enough to let the anticipation build, close enough for me to feel his breath mingling with mine.

"Larry?" I murmur, questioning the change I read in his gaze.

"Let's just..." He trails off, seeming to search for words that won’t come.

"Enjoy the moment?" I offer, my heart thudding in my chest.

"Exactly," he whispers, and then his lips are on mine.

It's a shock of heat in the cool water, a clash of every argument, every heated glance we've ever shared. It's fierce and it's gentle all at once, and it feels like coming home after a lifetime of being lost. My hands find their way to his shoulders, to the solidity of him, grounding myself in the reality ofLawrenceSinclair kissing me like he means it.

His fingers trace patterns on my skin, sending shivers down my spine despite the warm night air. His touch is an artist's—confident, intentional—and I can't help but arch into it, inviting more. The pressure of his hands grows bolder, and I reach down, feeling the hard evidence of his desire.

"Damn, Larry," I breathe out, half chuckle, half moan.

"Keep doing that," he groans, his voice rough like gravel, and I comply, my movements firm and rhythmic.

"Feels good?" I ask, caught up in the power of eliciting such raw need from the self-assured businessman who never seems to lose his composure.

"More than you know," he gasps, and there's a desperation in his thrusts now, a plea for release that I'm all too willing to answer.

Water splashes around us, unnoticed, as we forget the game, the fake engagement, the world. All that exists is the push and pull, the give and take, the undeniable truth that, in this moment, we're anything but enemies.

Suddenly, Larry's grip tightens around my waist, and he pulls back, breaking the kiss with a force that leaves me breathless. I'm about to protest, craving more of his lips on mine, when he hoists me up in one swift motion and carries me to the edge of the pool. My heart races as he sets me down on the cool tile, his hands moving to my thighs, spreading them apart with an urgency that matches the pounding of my pulse.

"Larry—" I begin, but my words dissolve into a moan as his mouth descends. His tongue is relentless, exploring me withan intensity that sends waves of pleasure crashing through my body. The world beyond us fades away; there's only his mouth, his hands, and the heat building within me, coiling tighter until I shatter, crying out his name against the quiet night.

Before I can catch my breath, Larry lifts me off the edge, pulling me back into the water. His arms wrap around me, caging me against the poolside, the hard lines of his body pressing into mine. He enters me with a single, determined thrust, and I gasp at the sensation, the fullness. "It's not real," a voice whispers in my head, but it's drowned out by the sound of water lapping against the tiles and the ragged rhythm of our breathing.

"Larry," I pant, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "We shouldn't?—"

"We should," he growls softly, his movements gaining momentum. Each powerful stroke steals my words, my thoughts, everything but the raw, primal need taking hold of us both. It's supposed to be fake, a ruse, but damn if it doesn't feel like the most genuine thing I've ever experienced.

"God, Larry..." I manage to get out, my voice a mix of pleasure and self-reproach.

"Let it go," he commands between thrusts, and I do—I let go of the pretense, the doubts, and the impossible situation we're in. Because right now, in the heated embrace of the man I'm supposed to despise, all I want is this—us—wild and uncontrolled, blurring the line between love and hate.

He pulls out of me and I sink beneath the surface, cool water enveloping us in silence. I take him inside my mouth. His cock throbs against my tongue, and I brace for the rush. The world fades, replaced by the taste of him, salty and real. He shudders, a choked groan muffled by liquid depths, and I swallow the essence of his surrender.

Breaking through to the air, I gulp in the night, lungs burning for oxygen. Larry pants above me, chest heaving like a storm-tossed sea. His eyes are wild, caught between triumph and torment.

"Jesus," he mutters, voice ragged as he pulls me into a searing kiss, desperation laced with every touch.

His hands are firm on my waist, hauling me from the pool's embrace. Water drips from our bodies, mingling with the urgency that crackles between us. He steps onto the moonlit tiles, determination etched into every line of his soaked figure.

"Bedroom," he says, voice low and commanding. "Now."

The pretense of our engagement dangles on a precipice, teetering toward something dangerous, something real. But as Larry tugs me into the shadowy path back to the house, all I can think of is how much I crave this lie to be the truth.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lawrence

Sunlight sneaks through the curtains,nudging me awake. I roll over, and there's Willow, her green hair bright against the white pillowcase. Her eyes—those clear green windows to her impassioned soul—lock onto mine. She looks far too good sprawled naked across my bed.

"Morning," she says, her voice still heavy with sleep. "You heading into the office today?"

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