Beneath The Surface

It was a short walk from the hotel to the shore, where there was a private bathing area with a wooden jetty. The lake lay calmly before us, no one else in sight. Only the soft lapping of the water, the chirping of crickets, and the feeling that something was in the air between us.

I took off my shirt. His eyes narrowed slightly. Then I reached behind my neck, unhooked my top—hey, there was no sign saying topless swimming was prohibited—and let it fall. He looked at me. No comment. No whistle. Just a look so intense that it made my stomach tingle. I thought he was going to grab me. But he left me standing there, walked to the end of the jetty, put his feet on the edge and turned to me.

“Are you coming?”

I stepped next to him, felt the wood under my feet, warm from the sun. I smelled his skin. Sunscreen. Something masculine.

“Are you jumping first?” An amused undertone in his voice.

I grinned. “Ha! And then you'll laugh at me because I'm in the cold water while you're lying on the deck chair basking in the sun. No, thanks, let's go at the same time.”

“Okay,” he said, “on three.”

“Two.”

“One.”

And we jumped.

The water was cool and smooth and enveloped me like silk, weightless and flattering.

I surfaced, tossed my hair back, sucked in air, and blinked my eyes clear. Alexander was close. Just an arm's length away. I swam slowly toward him, stretched my legs out behind me, floated on the surface of the water, my hair sticking to my shoulder. His gaze wandered over my body. Not greedily—inquisitively. Like a man searching for something that cannot be found with the eyes. He swam a little closer—and then his thigh brushed against mine.

Just a touch.

Just a gentle touch under the water.

I remained outwardly calm. But my body tensed. Alexander was right next to me.

Our bodies moved in sync with the rhythm of the waves. His hand dipped through the water and brushed my back. Openly. Slowly. Almost casually. As if by accident. But I knew better. “What do you want?” I whispered softly. My voice sounded rougher than I had hoped. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he let his hand slide down my waist.

Underwater. Skin on skin. And I felt his fingers briefly hook into my bikini bottoms.

“I want you,” he said. “Or at least what I can get from you.”

I felt his heartbeat, his breath, his warmth – and how his body pressed against mine beneath the surface. Despite the cold, I felt hot. I lifted my head slightly and looked into his eyes.

“And what do you think you'll get?”

He leaned forward, close to my ear.

“No more than what you're willing to give. Maybe just your scent.”

His lips brushed my earlobe.

I closed my eyes.

And then, surprisingly, too fast for him to hold me back, I dove under. Two quick strokes underwater, through his legs, and I glided away like a fish. When I resurfaced a few meters away, I turned around and called out with a laugh:

“If you want me, you'll have to catch me.”