Page 6 of Mountain Daddy

He’s built like a Roman statue, all carved muscle and inked skin.

Oh God.

My cheeks go nuclear.

"You're red again," he says, stepping toward me. Each step sounds like judgment. Like hunger.

He stops close enough to make my breath catch and my nipples harden. Close enough that I smell his cologne—spicy, dark, expensive. My eyes drop to his towel again, my mind picturing the bulge beneath it.

"Relax," he murmurs. "You came. That’s all that matters, Lilly."

He knows my name? Ah, yes. The name badge on my outfit. Observant. It thrills me to feel… seen.

I tryto laugh but sound nervous. "Figured I owed you a new drink. And maybe dry cleaning."

His eyes flash like he could eat me whole. "Let’s start with the drink."

I swallow hard. “Just one drink.”

He walks over to the bar and I follow, not knowing what else to do with myself. He pours and hands me a glass, and I have no idea what’s in it, but I sip just to have something to do with my mouth.

He arches a brow, amused. “You’re not worried about meeting a stranger?”

“I’m more worried about what’s in this drink.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

Warmth, arousal, blossom between my thighs at how he says it. I realize it’s just him and me, alone, inside this gorgeous suite.

And for so many reasons, I feel flirty, powerful, even.

He archesa brow at my switch in energy. He smirks, sets his drink down, a dare in those eyes.

"Swim with me."

I blink. "Swim?"

And then he does the unthinkable.

He drops the towel, manhood standing up for me. I ogle him shamelessly as he walks across the balcony like a Greek god on vacation.

He’s built. He’s tattooed. And, um—girthy, long, perfect.

He divesinto the water like he does this every day. And maybe he does. .

Me? I’m standing there trying to remember how to breathe. He’s naked. Completely…naked.

"You coming in or just planning to eye-fuck me all night?" His voice is deep, challenging.

God, he has the nerve to smirk.

I set my drink down, kick off my heels, and walk outside.

"I’m thinking about it."

I sit there on a padded lounge chair, traitorous skirt still trying to be a tube top. Fine. I’ll join him. I start out slow. First I take off my heels. He smirks wider.

“So,” I say, forcing conversation. “Do you always invite waitresses up to join your nudist club?”

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