I haven’t been this in my body in years. Maybe forever. It means I feel everything. The rough concrete under my feet. Her taut ass, driven down by the weight of her body into my arms. The slight burn in my biceps from keeping them locked into position. The spray of the waterfall on the back of my neck.

The waterfall...

The rush and crash of it registers again as Jenny presses back, creating space between us so she can set her feet back on the ground. As soon as she does, she laughs, pure joy echoing in the pocket of space carved out from behind the waterfall. She bends forward, the curve of her back graceful even as she rearranges her bikini bottom. This time, it happened so fast and furious that I didn’t bother taking it off, only shoved it aside. That made her wet.

“You’re too sexy,” she tells me with a pout. “You know this is against the rules.”

Ah, yes. The rules. The rules we’ve been trying and failing to follow for the last seven days. The first rule is that we’re not supposed to fuck on Bliss property. My private home on the club side doesn’t count as Bliss property, but I’ll let you guess how many times we’ve made it there. Jenny has some serious qualms about using the hotel for sex, but then sometimes she looks at me from across my desk and frankly there is no time for anything else. In an infuriatingly hot twist, she’d rather get fucked in the janitor’s closet.

The second rule is that for every illicit fuck, we have to spend an hour talking. I think Jenny gets off on this as much as anything else. It’s how I know that her sister is still rattling around New York City, in and out of living arrangements that make Jenny’s eyes darken with worry. It’s how I know she hated her old job, and that’s why she took the risk on freelancing. It strikes me as brave and risky and living without a safety net, which is something I can only imagine.

She curls her fingers through mine. “I’ll see if anyone’s out there.” Jenny rises on tiptoe to kiss my jawline, her lips warm against the cool of my skin.