“Take that bitch down!” he’s barking, face contorted as if he’s the one in the ring.
But Bianca is already reaching out to slam her palm against the Jell-O, tapping out.
Tristian hisses as the Dukes all fly into the ring, pulling their Duchess out of the pool. “They’re not going to take that well.”
Stepping away, I grab my bag from the floor. I’m not interested in the frat fallout. I’ve seen what I need to. “Maybe when I win,” I say, grabbing Dimitri’s hand, “the Dukes can send me a fruit basket, too.”
The guys decided before we arrived that one of them would always be with me. I choose Dimitri to escort me to the empty locker room, because that’s what I need. His quiet darkness. The demon eyes. That thrumming, vicious energy that he never has to externalize.
I unpack my bikini, feeling him so close that it prickles on the back of my neck. “You don’t need to guard me,” I say, efficiently stripping off my clothes. “It’s not like everyone out there isn’t going to see me like this.”
“Don’t remind me,” he replies, eyes sweeping over me as I pull the tiny bottoms over my hips. “I’m just here to make sure these bitches don’t pull a Tonya Harding on you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Tonya Harding?”
“You know…” His tongue peeks out to prod his bottom lip, eyes glued to my bare chest. “Took out her opponent before the Olympics or whatever? Nancy Kerrigan.” He makes a bat-swinging motion. “Got her thug of a husband to hit her leg with a pipe.”
I stuff my tits in the triangles, and work on getting the strings tied tight. I know there’s going to be a nip-slip out there, but I’m determined to try my best to keep it minimal, not the least to stick it to Simon for suggesting I wouldn’t. “And you think someone wants to sabotage me. Before the charity wrestling match.”
“You saw how it was out there. There’s a lot of money on the line, but it’s also about The Game points. The Royal woman’s frat gets a lot of points if she wins.” He walks behind me and brushes his fingers over the back of my neck. Goosebumps rise across my skin, and he takes the string away from me. “These assholes have no boundaries. I’m just here to make sure they don’t cross them.”
Using his nimble fingers, Dimitri loops the tie behind my neck. My breasts lift as he tightens the string, and I feel his warm breath. Humming, he says, “That should hold,” before dragging his fingers down my shoulders. He bends to put my clothes into the bag, but pauses, pulling out a bottle of baby oil.
“They said I should grease up,” I explain, gathering my hair up into a high bun. “To, you know, make it more slippery.”
He gives me a devious look from beneath his lashes, straightening. “I can help with that,” he says, popping the cap and pouring a liberal amount into his palm. He sets the bottle on the bench and rubs his hands together. Standing behind me, he starts at my shoulders, palms gentle as they spread the slippery oil onto my skin. His fingers dip over my shoulders and onto my chest, gliding over the tops of my breasts, until he unapologetically slides them under my top. His hips press into my backside, but even though his hardness is obscenely obvious, he doesn’t act on his desire. He just continues to oil up my body, hands gliding down my belly, rubbing below my navel. He crouches, hands curling around my thighs. The touch is firm but unhurried, an almost reverent glide between my legs, covering every inch of exposed skin.
I fight down a shiver as I remember him being in the same place on Christmas night, his head between my thighs as he brought me to an orgasm that had me quivering in Killian’s arms.
When he finishes, he stands, spinning me around. Dimitri holds my gaze with his dark eyes, fingertips skating across my lower back as he watches me, and my stomach swoops at the heaviness in his eyes.
I swallow, letting him pull me close, chest to chest. “What?”
He answers by tucking his fingers beneath my bikini bottoms, dragging them along the crease between my ass cheeks. Voice low and close, he asks, “You know what this stuff is really good for?”
When I do nothing but blink back at him, he curls closer, hand dipping low, and even knowing where this is going, I can’t find it in myself to protest.
I don’t even flinch when the tip of his finger finds my puckered hole. My heart bangs a wild rhythm in my chest, but I hold his eyes, not backing down. Channeling the girl I was in that hot tub only a few nights ago, I reply, “I don’t know. Are you going to show me?”