The pool had turned into something primal: hot, wet, and hungry. Water clung to their skin in thick, syrupy sheets, sliding slow and heavy like oil. Every breath tasted of copper and sex, chlorine burned away by the raw heat rolling off their bodies.
Minato's grip on her throat wasn't gentle anymore. Fingers dug into the soft hollow beneath her jaw, thumb pressing hard against her windpipe just enough to make her vision spark at the edges.
Not choking. Claiming. A silent reminder that he could stop her breath, start it again, own every gasp she took.
Robin's nails raked down his back hard enough to break skin. Four perfect lines welled crimson, blood mixing with water, running in thin pink rivulets over the flexing muscle of his shoulders.
The sting made him snarl against her mouth, teeth catching her lower lip and biting down until he tasted iron. She moaned into the pain, hips jerking violently, grinding her soaked cunt against the heel of his hand like an animal in heat.
He answered by shoving two thick fingers beneath the edge of her bikini bottoms, not inside her, never inside her yet, just spreading her open through the drenched fabric, forcing the seam to split her folds and drag over her swollen clit with every brutal roll of his wrist.
The friction was vicious. Wet cloth scraped tender flesh, water and slick making obscene squelching sounds that echoed off the tiles like slaps.
She was dripping. Not metaphorically. Actual rivulets of arousal slid down the inside of her thigh, warmer than the pool, thicker, mixing with the water until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
When he pulled his hand free for a heartbeat, strings of her stretched between his fingers like melted sugar. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on hers, tongue curling around each digit like he was starving.
Robin sobbed, a raw, broken sound torn from her chest. Her thighs shook so hard the water churned around them. She clawed at his shoulders, trying to drag him closer, trying to climb inside his skin.
Her nipples were so hard they hurt, dark and distended, scraping against the soaked triangles of her top with every heave of her breasts.
Minato ripped the knot at her neck with his teeth. The bikini top peeled away like wet paper, breasts spilling free, heavy and flushed, nipples tight and begging. He didn't ease in. He attacked.
Mouth latching onto one stiff peak, sucking so hard her back bowed and her spine cracked. Teeth clamped down, tugging until the areola blanched white, then releasing with a wet pop that left her screaming silently into the dusk.
He left bruises in the shape of his mouth, dark purple blooming across pale skin like spilled wine.
Between her legs, the head of his cock had worked free of his shorts, thick, flushed an angry red, pulsing against her bare slit through nothing but water and desperation.
The slit kissed her clit with every shallow thrust of his hips, smearing precome in slick streaks that floated on the surface like oil. The scent of it, sharp, musky, male, hit her like a drug.
She could feel her own heartbeat in her cunt. A frantic, wet throb that matched the vein jumping along the underside of his shaft.
Every time it dragged over her entrance, her body tried to suck him in, muscles fluttering helplessly, greedy and empty and aching.
He still wouldn't give it to her.
Instead he wrapped one hand around her throat again, squeezing until black spots danced in her vision, and used the other to fist his cock. Once. Twice.
A brutal stroke that made his abs clench and his thighs tremble. Then he pressed the fat, leaking head right against her clit and held it there, pulsing, burning, not moving.
Robin shattered.
Not a pretty orgasm. A violent, ugly, full-body convulsion that ripped a guttural scream from her throat. Her cunt spasmed so hard it hurt, clenching on nothing, gushing slick into the water in thick pulses that clouded around them like ink.
Her nails tore fresh gashes down his back, legs seizing around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back hard enough to bruise.
He held her through it, teeth buried in her shoulder, growling her name like a curse and a prayer while her body tried to shake itself apart in his arms.
When the last spasm left her limp and whimpering, he didn't let her sink. He dragged her up by the hair, forcing her tear-streaked, wrecked face to his.
"Look at me," he snarled, voice shredded raw.
She did. Pupils blown wide, lips swollen and bleeding, chest heaving, breasts streaked with bite marks and water and his spit.
"This," he said, grinding the still-throbbing length of his cock against her ruined, oversensitive cunt just to watch her flinch and sob, "is only the beginning."
Then he kissed her, slow and deep and filthy, swallowing the taste of her own blood and his, while the water around them turned pink and gold and the sky bled out above them.
He still hadn't come.
He wouldn't.
Not until she was begging in pieces.
And they both knew she would.
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