The city lights shimmered across the wet stone plaza as Alex cut through the late-night quiet, leather jacket creaking with each step. The central fountain glowed like liquid fire—cascading water illuminated from beneath, throwing golden ripples across the empty benches and dark trees.
Then he saw her.
She stood motionless in the shallow basin, completely nude, skin glistening under the warm uplights as if she’d been carved from moonlight and mist. Long auburn hair clung damp to her shoulders and back, droplets tracing slow paths over full breasts, down the gentle curve of her belly, pooling briefly at the cleft between her thighs before joining the fountain again. Her bare feet planted wide on the submerged stone, toes curling against the cool tile. Head tilted slightly, eyes half-closed, she looked like a secret the night had decided to keep.
Alex stopped breathing for a second. His boots scraped the pavement as he slowed, drawn closer despite every rational voice screaming walk away.
She didn’t flinch when he entered her peripheral vision. Instead her lips curved—just the smallest, knowing smile.
“You’re not calling the police,” she said, voice low, carrying easily over the steady rush of water. A faint accent he couldn’t place. Irish? Something softer.
“Not tonight.” He stepped onto the wide rim of the fountain, close enough now to feel the fine mist kissing his face. “You always swim like this?”
“Only when the city’s asleep.” She turned toward him fully, unashamed, nipples tightening in the cool air. “And only when someone interesting walks by.”
Heat crawled up his neck. His gaze dropped involuntarily—long legs, the shadowed triangle between them, the way water beaded and slid over smooth skin like invitation.
She took one step forward. Water swirled around her calves. Another step. Now only inches separated them, her heat cutting through the night chill.
“You can touch,” she whispered. “If you want to risk it.”
His hand moved before his brain caught up—fingertips brushing the underside of her breast, thumb grazing the hard peak. She inhaled sharply, arching just enough to press herself into his palm.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
Her laugh was soft, wicked. She reached out, fingers curling into the lapel of his leather jacket, tugging him forward until his boots splashed into the shallow water. Cold soaked through instantly. He didn’t care.
She guided his other hand to her hip, then lower, pressing his palm flat against the slick warmth between her thighs. No hesitation. No games. Just raw, liquid need.
“Feel how ready I am,” she murmured against his mouth. “All this water… and still so wet for a stranger.”
He groaned, fingers parting her, finding her swollen and slippery. She rocked against his hand, slow, deliberate, the motion making the fountain’s surface ripple outward like an echo of her pleasure.
Their mouths crashed together—hungry, teeth and tongue, tasting chlorine and skin and reckless freedom. She bit his lower lip hard enough to sting while her hand worked his belt open, freeing him into the cool night air.
When she guided him inside her, the contrast was electric: her tight, burning heat against the chill water lapping at their thighs. She wrapped one leg around his hip, pulling him deeper, nails digging into his shoulders through leather.
They moved together like the fountain itself—rhythmic, relentless, water splashing with every thrust. Her moans were swallowed by the sound of falling water; his growled curses lost in her hair.
When she came, she shuddered hard, head thrown back, breasts heaving under the golden light. He followed seconds later, spilling into her with a choked sound, hips jerking as the orgasm ripped through him.
For a long moment they stayed locked together, breathing ragged, water dripping from their clothes and skin.
She kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and sweet this time.
“Next time,” she whispered, “bring a towel.”
Then she stepped back, water streaming off her body like liquid gold, and disappeared into the shadowed paths beyond the plaza—leaving only ripples, wet footprints, and the memory of her skin burning against his palms.
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