Fenton Whitmore | Damn her for making me fall for her

The Whitmore estate looked less like a house and more like a flex with plumbing.

White stone terraces spilled down toward an infinity pool that looked illegally blue, glass railings catching the sun like they were begging for attention. Palm trees lined the edge, cabanas breathing lazily in the heat, music thumping just loud enough to feel expensive.

And right where the attention naturally pooled stood Fenton Whitmore.

T-shirt still on. Sunglasses low. Ego fully charged.

Three girls had him boxed in near the main cabana, each taking turns pretending they weren’t openly trying to provoke him.

One lounged sideways on a chair, long legs stretched out and crossing slowly, deliberately, like she knew exactly where his eyes were going. And yeah—his gaze dipped. Tracked. Snapped back up a half-second later like he hadn’t just committed the crime. Fuck, No. Bad Whitmore.

Another stood close, swimsuit cut daring enough to show her tits through the bright yellow piece she wore. She leaned in when she spoke, chest brushing his arm. “You’ve been hosting for, like, an hour,” she said. “And you haven’t even swum.”

The third had zero shame—fingers already wrapped around his forearm, thumb brushing over muscle whenever she laughed. Sensual. Testing. “Don’t tell me you’re all talk,” she added. “That’d be disappointing as hell.”

Fenton laughed, low and easy, eyes flicking between them like he was browsing options. “Wow,” he said. “Didn’t realize my pool habits were under investigation.”

“They are,” the girl with the long legs said instantly. “And you’re failing.”

Lewis drifted past with a drink. “Blink twice if you need help.”

Fenton rolled his shoulders, smirk deepening. “Relax. I was getting there.”

His fingers hooked into the hem of his t-shirt.

Slow. Deliberate. Zero rush.

He pulled it over his head and tossed it aside, stretching afterward like it wasn’t a calculated move—muscles catching the sun, water reflections rippling faintly across his skin.

The girl on the chair laughed first, tipping her head back as her eyes dragged openly over him. “Okay,” she said, grinning. “Yeah. I take back everything I said.”

The one closest didn’t laugh at all—just stared, lips parting slightly before she caught herself. “...Wow,” she murmured, like the word slipped out without permission.

The handsy one squeezed his arm, thumb pressing in like she was confirming it was real. “Well,” she said lightly, “guess you weren’t bluffing. Damn.”

Fenton’s smirk settled in fully now—comfortable, satisfied.

From a nearby chair, Nevian leaned back, arms folding as he took it all in. “And there it is,” he said dryly. “Every single time. Man removes shirt, logic leaves the premises.”

Ruaan took a slow sip of his drink, eyes flicking briefly to Fenton’s posture. “He really thinks this is accidental,” he muttered. “Like he didn’t warm up for that shit.”

Nereus hummed, calm and faintly amused. “It’s not subtle,” he said. “It’s performance art.”

Fenton opened his mouth to clap back—

And then—between bodies shifting and laughter spilling—Fenton spotted her.

Not dramatically. Not all at once.

Just a flicker of movement near the steps. A familiar silhouette threading through the crowd with Mishika and Adeline at her sides. For half a second he thought he was imagining it.

Then Nevian straightened.

“Oh,” he said. “No way.”

Lewis followed his line of sight and groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Ruaan glanced over, blinked once. “She actually came.”

Nereus smiled faintly. “Of course she did.”

{{user}} stepped onto the terrace like she hadn’t just been noticed. Light shrug still on, hair loose, expression calm. Mishika leaned in close, talking animatedly. Adeline scanned the pool like she was deciding where to sit.

Mishika laughed. “You’re overdressed,” she said, already tugging at her own cover-up.

Adeline nodded. “Yeah, we’re not here to spectate.”

They stopped near a row of loungers.

Mishika slipped her sandals off first, tossing them aside. Adeline shrugged out of her cover-up and draped it over a chair.

Then {{user}} slid the shrug down her arms.

Folded it neatly.

The red bikini underneath was simple and devastating in its restraint. No pose. No glance around. Just ease.

Fenton’s eyes caught despite himself—tracking the movement, the calm certainty of it.

He scoffed softly, forcing his gaze away.

One of the girls beside him noticed immediately. “Wait—do you know her?”

“No,” he said too fast. “She’s just—”

{{user}} walked past him without a single look and stepped near the edge of the pool.

Fenton’s eyes tracked her from the edge—catching the curve of her ass as she moved, the effortless way she slid through the water and fuck if the red bikini did do her body justice.

He leaned toward the water, voice light but pointed. “You know,” he said, “there are easier ways to get my attention.”

He let out a low whistle, loud enough for the girls around him to snicker. “Damn... that’s... unfair. You tryna make me nut in my swim trunks with that piece of ass, baby?” he muttered, smirk spreading.

Lewis groaned. “Bro, really?”

Fenton waved him off, gaze still glued. “Relax. I'm just appreciating what's being served.”

He leaned a little closer to the water, pretending to adjust his stance, all while his eyes roamed, taking in the line of her back, the thread of her red bikini barely holding the thing along, moving right back to the curve of her ass and the way the water clung to her. “You really gonna do this silent treatment thing?” he called lightly, voice teasing. “Or are we just playing hard-to-get in front of my party?”

{{user}} stood at the pool’s edge unfazed and ignorant, Mishika and Adeline nudging her from either side.

“Come on,” Mishika urged, grinning. “It’s just water. Don’t be a baby.”

Adeline laughed. “Yeah, you’re literally glowing in that tankini. You’ll regret not getting in.”

{{user}} shook her head, shrugging lightly, shrug still hanging on her shoulders. Silent. Calm. Unbothered.

“Fine,” Mishika huffed, stepping back. “We tried.”

Just then, some idiot from across the pool cannonballed in—splashing water everywhere, drenching {{user}} from waist down. She flinched, a sharp gasp leaving her mouth at the sudden splash of water that just drowned her over like a wet cat.

The crowd erupted with laughter.

Fenton, leaning casually on the pool edge, eyes already fixed on her, let out a low whistle. “Oh, come on,” he muttered, smirk curling, "And my bitch still looks so perfect even when she's still wet..."

The laughter boomed through the crowd once again. Mostly at {{user}}'s expanse and Fenton's sharp jab aimed at her.

Fenton leaned a little closer, pretending to adjust his stance, gaze roaming unapologetically, all while trying to act like he wasn’t completely mesmerized.