She eases herself into the water and disappears beneath the surface. When she reappears her hair is slicked back. The water reaches her ribcage. She beckons to him.

‘Is it cold?’ He doesn’t swim much anymore. Not since his father drowned. He eyes the blackness warily, his head reeling as adrenalin and lust pump through him.

She smiles and shakes her head. The mist has become sparse and patchy and the moon reflecting off the water throws enough light on her for him to see the outline of her breasts. He undresses and lowers himself into the pool. She was lying about it not being cold, but he doesn’t care. His feet touch the floor and he wades over to her. Puts his hands on her skin which is peppered with goosebumps. He kisses her on the lips, then ducks his head and kisses each of her perfect nipples in turn. She strokes his shoulders then pushes back from him, fumbles beneath the water. Her hand emerges holding her underwear, which she throws onto the terrace.

His body fires again.

In the dark his senses are heightened. Soft breaths come in and out of her. He can smell her shampoo. Her make-up and perfume. Her skin is warm against his. She wraps her legs around his middle. Her pubic hair brushes against him and he stifles a moan.

‘Jesus,’ he whispers. ‘Your parents—’

‘Won’t see us.’

‘And if they do?’

‘I told you. I don’t care.’

She leans backwards. Her body floats on the surface of the water, breasts proud, he runs his hand from her abdomen up and over her chest and throat. Then she rights herself and takes his hand to pull him down beneath the surface. His heart thumps. For a moment he feels fearful but then her body envelops him. In the silence her lips find his. Her tongue is insistent. He puts his hand on her lower back and brings her closer to him. He wishes they could stay like this forever, suspended in the water, nothing else but the two of them. When they can’t stay down any longer they break the surface.

‘Have you done this before?’ he whispers. He girds himself for the answer. He wants to be her first but at the same time feels the weight of that responsibility.

There’s a hesitation. Then she says, ‘Once.’

His body tenses with irrational jealousy.

‘But I hated it. It hurt and when I told him to stop he was too caught up in what he was doing to hear me.’

The jealousy quickly turns to anger and he knows that if that man were here now he’d punch his lights out.

‘It didn’t feel,’ she hesitates again, ‘like this.’

‘Like what?’

She laughs softly. Kisses him. Takes his hand and presses it between her legs with an urgency that paralyses him.

‘You’re sure?’ His voice cracks with needing her.

‘Are you?’