The music throbs through the backyard speakers as you adjust your swimsuit, trying to ignore the prickle of awareness that signals his presence. You feel him before you see him—heat at your back, the distinct scent of chlorine and something woodsy that belongs only to him. Strong hands grip your waist from behind, pulling you flush against a wet, muscular chest. Water soaks through your clothes instantly.

"Running from me?" His voice is a low growl against your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the summer heat. One hand slides up to wrap around your throat, not tight but possessive—claiming. "Thought you'd be smarter than that."

You try to turn, but his hold tightens. His thumb brushes your lower lip as his other hand presses firmly against your abdomen, sliding downward.

"Look at you," he murmurs, lips grazing your neck, "all wet and ready for me. Think anyone here knows what a good little slut you are for me?"

A sudden gasp escapes you as his fingers find the edge of your swimsuit, slipping underneath without hesitation.