Page 17 of Only the Wicked (The Sinful State #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Rhodes

The hiking guide rated the Glen Falls Hike a medium difficulty level, but it’s a joke. It’s the sort of frustration that under normal circumstances would have festered into a foul mood, given I prefer rock climbing. I like to push myself, sweat, and strain, not go for a leisurely stroll.

But yet, my mood’s fantastic. I don’t remember the last time I felt this light, just fucking happy. Maybe the last time I chewed some of Miles’ gummies.

The air smells green—that mix of fresh leaves, soil, and the slight tang of pine sap that gets sharper in the heat. “It’s around here,” I say, directing Syd to the real reason I chose Glen Falls. I hope it pans out. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve been here, and we didn’t take this route.

“Why isn’t this on the trail map?”

“Well, we’ve crossed onto private land.”

“What?” She squeaks the question in a higher octave, clearly not okay with trespassing.

“Based on the aerial footage, we should now be on private land.”

“You saw this trail from a satellite image?” She stops, mouth slightly agape, quizzical.

“I zoomed in.” It’s actually… Anyone can do that. “And I checked with a buddy.”

“That’s right. You’re from here.”

“Well, Charlotte. But an old classmate grew up nearby.”

“Does he still live here?”

“Nope. But he has family in the area.”

“So they know we’re out here today?”

“Eh, no. Probably not. He told me no one ever comes out here. This piece eventually butts up to a pasture, but he said no one ever really goes in the woods.”

“Have you ever been here before?”

“Long time ago.”

The place we’re headed is about a mile off the public trail.

The sounds shift as we move deeper into the woods—distant chattering voices from the main trail fade away, replaced by the persistent chirp of cicadas and the soft crunch of leaves underfoot.

It’s the kind of quiet that makes your ears search for sound.

Still an easy grade hike, not as well maintained, but something has kept the center of the trail downtrodden—probably goats.

This could be a colossal waste of time, but it’s fun to take the less traveled trail. I’ve needed to use the compass on my watch and when the fuck do I get a chance to do that?

The trail loosely follows a gurgling stream, almost a ditch. Up ahead, the trees break open and the blue sky glimmers. My pulse quickens.

“Is that…” She slows her steps and I almost slam into her back. “A swimming pool?”

“Well, in the south, we call it a swimming hole. All natural. I came in high school. That old classmate? His grandparents owned the land. Now it’s like an uncle or a cousin or some other family member who owns it.”

The stream feeds into what’s basically a dug out deep quarry.

If memory serves, maybe twenty feet deep.

Boulders surround the perimeter. The acoustics change in the clearing—the water hits the rocks with hollow plunks that echo slightly against the surrounding stone walls.

Birds call to each other overhead, their songs weaving through the trees.

There used to be a rope from a tree. We swung across like Tarzan, cannonballing into the water. I scan the trees but don’t see a rope. Even if it was here, I wouldn’t trust it to hold. That was a long damn time ago.

I reach out and tug on her ponytail, give her a quick kiss because I can’t seem to stop kissing her, and wiggle my eyebrows.

“Up for a swim?”

Given it’s her time of the month, I doubt it. Besides, while the water should be clean, it’s not chlorinated. No one’s checking the levels or clearing the tall grass that surrounds the embankment.

Sydney traipses right up to the edge, hands on her hips, looking into the depths.

While she explores, I’m assailed with memories of my friends and I sailing into the freezing water and yelling like maniacs.

Those were simpler times. I mean, there were pressures.

We attended a challenging Charlotte private school and the adults in our lives placed heavy expectations on us.

We also expected great things from ourselves.

My friends and I, we were the twenty-first century version of great expectations.

“How deep is it?”

Sydney’s question draws my attention to the present, and I rapidly blink, processing.

She’s naked. Breasts bare.

Saliva pools in my mouth.

The only thing she’s wearing is a thong. Or no, is she wearing anything?

She’s standing on the boulder in the spot where we used to snatch the rope from a nearby tree limb.

“Can I jump?”

“Feet first.” It’s an automated response, drilled into me in my youth.

And she jumps.

Toes pointed, lean legs straight, arms held out like she’s reaching for the sun, an uninhibited, free spirit. I’ve never seen anything sexier in my life.

The whoosh of her body cutting through air followed by the crisp splash echoes around the quarry walls. For a moment after she disappears, there’s perfect silence before the displaced water settles back with gentle lapping sounds against the rocks.

I charge forward, dropping my backpack to the ground.

How the fuck did I not see her getting undressed?

She bobs up, squealing, her youthful grin so wide her teeth gleam.

“Fuck, it’s cold!” she screeches.

“Not as bad as California,” I challenge. Hell, I wear a wetsuit in the Pacific.

She splashes the water with her palm. “Are you coming?”

I’m hopping on one leg, struggling with the laces. I can’t strip fast enough.

“Stay in!” I shout.

I don’t want to miss this.

I finally get everything off, leaving the clothes in a pile and charge forward, leap into the air, knees high, and cannonball into the water, splashing water from the center to the edge.

The chill burns and I tilt my head up, propelling upwards. When I reach the surface, I swipe at my face, clearing water from my eyes in time to see her bare bum scrambling up the rock.

Holy fuck. I’m going to fall in love with this one.

The thought comes out of nowhere, but it buries itself in my bones, in my core, in my soul.

She stands on the boulder. Her toned body is sensational and judging from the way she stands there proudly, high above, she knows it.

I wish I had my waterproof camera because I want these photographs forever. But there’s no need. Sydney beaming at the top of the boulder, naked, and radiant, imprints in my mind.

And then she jumps with a yell that sends a few birds flapping through the branches.

Once again, the water claims her as ripples speed to the edge. I search the water, seeing her dark shape, my legs kick, churning the water, keeping me upright.

Where is she?

And she’s up, right in front of me, grinning, as free and happy as I felt decades ago.

Our laughter floats around us, shaving years, placing me back in time, or no, it’s nothing that sci-fi. I’m still a forty-one-year-old workaholic without a life. But at this moment, my younger self has emerged. He didn’t die. I just buried him during my quest.

My arms loop around her and I pull her to me.

The contrast of her warm body against my chest and the cold water swirling around our lower halves creates a disorienting sensation.

Her skin is silky smooth against mine but covered in goosebumps that I can feel under my fingertips.

The water creates a buoyancy that makes her feel almost weightless in my arms. She extends one arm, sending a spray of water as I spin her around.

“You do it,” she says, breathless.

“What?” Her perky nipples press into me and, yes, there are things I would definitely like to do.

“Jump,” she urges.

I laugh, stretching towards the edge. I scramble up the boulder, slightly aware of my semi-stiff dick flapping about, but if she can be free with her body, so can I.

I reach the top and mimic her, arms to the sun, and leap.

This time when I kick up for air, she swims into my arms.

“Wasn’t that fun?”

“Yeah,” I agree, shaking the water from my hair like a dog.

“This is awesome!”

I love her enthusiasm.

“So, there are no snakes in North Carolina?”

I laugh.

“Wait.” I hear the caution in that single word. “There aren’t snakes?—”

“Any snakes in here skedaddled after we jumped in.”

She stills and curls into my body. I’ll admit her clinging to me is nice, but her smile is gone.

“What kind of snakes?” She scans the edge like she expects to see one sunbathing on a rock.

“All kinds.”

“Venomous?”

“Some. Water moccasins. Copperheads, but I don’t know that they swim. I didn’t really?—”

She pushes out of my arms, leaping through the water like there’s flames over an oil slick.

“It’s safe,” I call after her.

Her head is shaking and I follow; a grin plastered on my face.

The earthy smell of the bank intensifies as we climb out—damp soil and crushed grass under our feet. I catch her on a grassy spot and I sink my teeth playfully into her shoulder. She squirms against me, wet and smooth.

“I’ve got towels,” I say, refusing to let her go as I pull her writhing, naked body to my backpack.

“You planned for this,” she says, eyes wide, figuring it out. “And you didn’t tell me to bring a suit.”

“In my defense, I didn’t expect you’d actually swim. I thought I’d lay these out so we could rest by the water.”

Sara would’ve refused to sit on the grass without a towel below us, but I bite that reflection back. I’m not always smooth, but I’m never a total dumbass.

The sun beats down on the patch of weeds before the water, and I spread one oversized towel out on the area, then take the other and wrap it around Sydney.

Heat radiates from the ground, warming my feet through to my ankles.

The rough texture of the towel against my water-softened skin feels almost abrasive at first. Small pebbles press into the soles of my feet, grounding me in the moment.

Droplets pool on my shoulder and she smooths her thumb over one, then sucks the water off her thumb.

A guttural groan releases as my blood gushes to my groin.

The transition from water to air makes every nerve ending heightened. The warm breeze raises goosebumps as it dries the water on my skin, creating a delicious contrast between the lingering chill from the swim and the heat of the sun above us.

“I have a confession.” She peeks up at me through dark lashes, her dark hair dripping water into the towel.

Jesus fuck, she’s a wet dream .

My gaze focuses on her full, pale pink lips.

“What’s that?” A low thrum pulses in my ears. My mouth dries. The tips of my fingers tingle with the need to touch her, to take her.

There are so many things I want to do to this woman.

“I'm not really…” She tilts her head, bashful. “It’s not my time of the month.”

My throat tightens.

“I lied to prevent doing something I’d regret.”

Which is why she jumped bare naked. I didn’t even think to look for a tampon string. I actually didn’t think at all.

Perhaps that’s a warning.

She wiggles in my hold, and the towel drops to her ankles.

“And now?” I choke out.

I swear I can barely fucking breathe.

“I regret lying.”