Page 21 of His Secret Merger

“Swimsuits are discouraged,” I said, unclipping my bra with a shrug. “Skinny dipping is on the menu tonight, remember?”

His eyes tracked every movement, but he didn’t reach for me. Not yet.

We slid into the water from opposite ends, letting the silence build. The pool glowed pale blue beneath us, light catching the ripples like stars that hadn’t decided where to land.

I swam toward him, arms slow, steady.

He met me halfway, hands finding my waist under the surface as I curled my legs around his hips. My arms went around his neck, skin to skin, mouth to mouth.

The kiss wasn’t frantic. It was full.

Measured.

Anchored in something we hadn’t named yet, but both felt tugging under the surface.

His hands slid lower, palms gliding over the curve of my hips beneath the surface, fingers slipping just far enough to make my breath catch.

Mine tangled in his hair, wet and slick between my fingers, and I tugged just hard enough to earn that low sound from his throat—the one that always made my stomach tighten.

The water shifted around us, sloshing gently against the tile as I moved against him, slow and deliberate. My legs tightened around his waist, and I felt him hard and ready beneath me, no barriers, no hesitation. Just heat and need, barely restrained.

His mouth found my neck, his tongue tracing the edge of my jaw like he wanted to memorize it, and then he sucked on my earlobe in a way that made me pulse between my thighs.

I pressed closer, letting my body grind against his, teasing us both.

His hands squeezed my ass, pulling me tighter as he bit down gently on my shoulder, and I arched against him, letting the friction build.

And for once, it wasn’t just lust. It was easy. It was electric, and it was real.

We dried off in silence, passing a towel between us like we were trying not to break whatever had settled over us in the water—something quieter than heat but just as charged. Damian followed me inside without a word, barefoot and shirtless, his jeans riding low on his hips, hair still damp, a half-smile curving like he already knew what I was about to say.

But I didn’t say anything right away.

I stood in the doorway of my bedroom, leaning against the frame, watching him cross the room and drop his phone and wallet onto the dresser like this was routine. Like he’d done it before. Like we’d done this before.

We hadn’t.

Not like this.

I crossed my arms, casual but firm, and let my eyes trail over him. His skin still held the warmth of the night, and he smelled like salt and wine and that damn cologne that always made me feel reckless.

“You’re staying,” I said.

Not a question.

Damian raised one brow, just a flicker of surprise before that smug little smile reappeared. “Is that so?”

I nodded. “No shoes, no keys, no excuses.”

He walked toward me, slow and deliberate. “You sure?”

I stepped back into the room, giving him space to follow. “I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t.”

We showered and fell into bed without urgency. No tugging or tearing, no grabbing like we were starving. It wasn’t about needing anymore—it was about choosing.

I straddled him slowly, skin against skin, easing down until we both exhaled. He let me set the rhythm, hands resting on my thighs, letting me take what I wanted. The way he looked at me—steady, focused—made it feel like more than lust.

We moved together, quietly, like we were trying not to wake something too fragile to name.

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