Page 20 of Falling

The shops are teeming with people when we reach them. Peter stays close to me so we don’t get separated. That’s what he claims anyway. It doesn’t explain why that includes his hand on my lower back as we walk around. The shop that sells swimsuits is past the restaurant from last night. It looks like it has some possibilities.

“What do you think about this one?” I ask, stepping out of the dressing room. Peter decided he would simply approve or veto what I choose. The first number is a blue Brazilian bikini that fades to white on the top. He nods when I show him the front. Then I turn around. He grunts.

“No.” That’s all he says.

“What’s wrong with it? I think it’s cute.”

“Your ass is in full view of any letch by the pool. It’s a hard no.”

“Are you one of the letches?”

“Absolutely. Next.”

I laugh and return to the dressing room. Based on the way he adjusted his jeans, this one is a keeper. I’ll just slip it in when he’s not looking. The next one is a little more conservative. It’s a tankini with a skirt. It’s red with white polka dots all over it. I step out of the dressing room. He scowls.

“Well, you don’t have to dress like a nun from the nineteen-twenties.” He twirls his hand, and I turn around. “You look like a nightmare Minnie Mouse.” I cock a hip. “You do,” he insists.

With a huff, I return behind the curtain.

I hurl back the curtain with an indignant flourish this time. The current swimsuit is a simple black bikini. The only frill is the mesh at my hips holding the bottom together. My boobs are pressed into a rather impressive handful inside the full cups.

Peter is sitting with one leg crossed over the other. He looks like a Mafia don inspecting his merchandise.

“Turn,” he growls, and I obey. He stands and stalks toward me. With his hand sliding over my stomach, he spins us toward the mirror. In our reflection, he stands behind me with his large hand splayed on my torso. It’s possessive and demanding. My core heats as he leans forward. “It’s perfect,” he whispers in my ear.

He’s not lying; it is perfect. Even if I didn’t know that Peter was incapable of lying to me, the bulge pressing against my ass tells the story. He has a very obvious tell when it comes to my body. I first noticed it when I was in high school.

Rand and I had accepted an invitation to the Winsloes for Thanksgiving. I bent over to pull a board game off the lower shelf. When I stood back up, I found Peter staring at me. His pants had grown much tighter in that brief period. He finally cleared his throat and excused himself from the room. Since then, I’ve watched how certain things I do or wear affect him.

“You like it?” I ask.

“I do.”

“Now we just have to find you something.” I step away. “Give me a second to change back.” What I don’t say is just how wet this swimsuit already is. I have to buy it now.

Quickly, I change back into my street clothes. I know exactly where to find Peter’s next swimsuit.

“Head into the dressing room. I’ll be right there,” I tell him as I brush past. They don’t have the La Perla one Daniel Craig wore, but I find the next best thing. My mouth is watering just thinking about him in it.

eight

PETER

“Geneva,there’s no way I can wear this,” I say. She’s lost her mind. It takes a lot of work just to get the damn swimsuit on.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks. I step out of the dressing room.

“If I move too quickly, my junk is going to fall out. It’s at least two sizes too small.” She’s staring at me like I’m her next meal. Her eyes slowly peruse down until they stop at the tightest part. Please don’t pop a chub. There’s no way it’ll survive in this suit.

“I think it’s perfect,” she says.

“Okay, first, my eyes are up here, you perv.” I motion to my face. She smiles at me. “Second, no.” I turn to walk back into the dressing room.

“Damn,” she moans.

Easy boy, she’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Literally.

“You have to let me smack it.”

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