Good girl

Izzy watches him, her thighs still quivering from the brief press of his palm against her soaked thong. The pink tube top has slipped further, bunching by her breasts, and the cool air of the room brushes against the damp skin of her chest. She doesn't move. She doesn't look away from him.

Marcus's hand lingers in the air for a moment, fingers still glistening faintly from the wetness they left behind. He looks at her, then down at the white fabric stretched across her hips, then back up to her face. His expression is unreadable, but there's a new weight to his gaze, a stillness that makes her breath catch.

"Good girl," he says, his voice low and even, the same two words from the pool, the same tone that made her chest tighten the first time. "That's exactly what I needed to hear."

Her lips part, a soft exhale escaping her as she feels the flush spread down her neck. She doesn't speak. She just holds his gaze, her body a taut line on the mattress, waiting.

Then his hand moves. It drops to the waistband of the white thong, hooking a finger beneath the thin elastic.

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