Finally, as the golden hour hit, Zayn climbed down from his perch. Then he strode over, towel slung over his shoulder, his muscles flexing with each step. “The pool closes at ten,” he said, standing over me, blocking the sun. His shadow made my skin prickle.
I sat up, crossing my legs so my thong pulled tight against my p***y. “That’s a shame. I was just getting comfortable.”
He leaned in, voice low. “Comfortable enough to bend over that railing?”
My breath hitched, heat flooding me. He jerked his chin toward the poolside fence, the metal bars gleaming in the light, away from the main area but still exposed to anyone who might linger.
No words needed…I stood, heart racing, and followed him to the edge. The pool water lapped gently below, the air thick with chlorine and anticipation.
