Pool Man (3 page)

His eyes narrowed then raked their way back to my face. “How-how did you sleep?”

Was it my imagination or was he struggling for words? As though casual talk had no place between us, but he needed the lubricant.

The thought of lubricant, and what we could do with it, flashed through my brain. Fizzled there, incinerating all other preoccupations.

“I slept well.”

“Good.” A rough growl. “The room was to your liking?”

“Yes.”

“The bed…comfortable?”

The word
bed
made me shudder. Maybe it was just the way he said it, infusing it with meaning, intent.

Or maybe it was simply the fact that he’d slipped nearer.

The breeze shifted and brought his scent to me on wispy tendrils. That intoxicating bite of his cologne made my head spin.

“Are you…hungry?” His voice rumbled, thrummed with double entendre.

“Not for food.” A whisper. I barely choked it out. Because he’d come close, and closer still. “But first… Rules.”

His brow wrinkled. “Rules?”

I nodded primly. Best to just get this out. I held up a finger. “One. Always use protection.”

“P-protection?” He stared at me like a deer in the headlights. Seriously? Had he not known it was going this way? Had he not suspected?

Or was he shy?

I kind of liked that. I kind of liked the fantasy that he didn’t fuck Marlee and every one of the friends she sent to him.

He cleared his throat and nodded. “Okay. Protection.” He swallowed. “Any other rules?”

“Just one.” It had to be said. “No talking about Marlee.”

His features froze. His lips opened and closed. “No, ah, talking about Marlee?”

“Exactly.” I pushed off, floated into his arms. He caught me. His hands skated over my wet skin reverently, sending ripples in his wake. “I don’t want anything between us, Jimmy. Not anything at all.”

“Oh God.” He yanked me close. It was a shock, the feel of him so hard and rough against my body, but a delightful one.

“Nothing between us,” I whispered.

“Nothing.”

He raised a hand and traced my cheek with the backs of his fingers. We both ignored the dripping water. His touch was warm, but the trail he left cooled rapidly in the night air. He shifted his hold, fanning his fingers over my face and dabbing my lower lip with his thumb.

As he parted my lips, he drew in a breath. I had the impression he was taking in my essence, sucking me into his lungs. I wanted to do the same to him. I wanted to devour him.

I shifted. The tips of my breasts grazed his chest. Sensation scored me and I made a noise, something half human. My lower body, steeping in the hot tub, was warm but spirals of a different kind of heat spun and spiked at my core.

My clit, an aching button, untouched as yet, throbbed with every beat of my heart.

His mouth covered mine and the touch, the taste, the scent of him swept through me like a wave.

This man.
This man.

He nibbled gently, laved and lapped, pressing his tongue inside.

A blade of lust pierced me. There was nothing I could do, nothing I could manage…nothing but sifting my fingers deep into the thick silk of his hair, and holding him tight.

His growl rumbled through me as he deepened the kiss, eating at my mouth, scattering the shards of my sanity.

I gave back as good as I got, pressing against him, rubbing against him, melding our bodies together as tightly as I could.

He kept kissing me as his fingers left my chin, drifted down over the sensitive skin of my neck, toying with me there until I wriggled with pleasure. And then down and down.

He found my breast. Cupped it. Weighed it in the water. Another groan as he squeezed.

But when he thumbed the nipple, the groan was all mine.

His touch was magic, magnificent. A mere scrape of his nail over that swollen peak and a ripple of mindless delight took me.

It couldn’t have been an orgasm, because no one had ever made me come with so little effort.

I have always been difficult.

But it felt damn good.

He pulled out of the kiss and met my eyes, studying me, watching my reaction when he yanked the tie of my bikini top, freeing my breasts. “Nothing,” he growled. Then his gaze flicked down, and his breath stalled. He took them both in his hands and held them together, feasting on one and then the other. Sharp agony, ecstasy, delight scudded through me with each drugging tug of his velvet mouth.

As he continued this torment, he flattened his palm over my ribs and resumed his journey down my body, over my belly and toward the core of my being. I was not inclined to stop him. He slipped beneath the elastic of my suit and skimmed my slit, dabbing in just a tad, just a tease.

A shudder took me.

I might have snarled.

He loosed my nipple with a plop and glanced up at me. Amusement danced in his chocolate-brown eyes. “Do you like this, baby?” He delved deeper. His finger scraped my clit, swollen and engorged and slick.

“God, yes,” I hissed. I wrapped my arms around his neck and rubbed my nipples over his chest in a deliberate invitation. It felt so good. So damn good.

He found my entrance. His lips firmed. His nostrils flared. The light in his eye darkened.

And he thrust.

Two fingers. Deep.

Unerringly he found that spot, that tiny spot where the nerves bunched and wept. He found it and stroked it, a delirious, confounding, ruinous barrage. He cocked up his thumb and set it against my clit and ground into me, fucking me with his fingers, driving me higher and higher. Tighter and tighter, until I thought for sure I would explode, implode, deconstruct.

As I neared my climax, his movements sped up. The splash of water over my chest was distracting, maddening. Cold then hot then cold again.

Just when I was about to crest, just when I was almost there, he eased out.

I wailed in denial, fisted my fingers in his hair, yanked my dissent. He chuckled. Dark and low. The sound danced over the water and into the night.

And then silence descended.

His fingers returned in a rush, three of them, stretching me, plugging me, commanding my release.

I came around him. Madly, wildly. Thrashing and mewling, clenching. He continued to work me, continued to drive me on to greater madness. I came again, a torrent of arousal, of release gushing through me.

He pushed me up against the cold tile and forced me to take more, to take it all. Until I had nothing more to give. Until he’d taken it all.

I was limp and lost. He pulled me into his arms and kissed me again, kissed me as I fought for breath, for sanity, for balance in a world suddenly turned on its ear.

Because Marlee’s pool boy was a fucking monster in bed.

And we hadn’t even made it to the bed.

I couldn’t get enough.

Chapter Three

“Are you okay?” he asked, buoying me up in his arms. I loved the peace, the sense of being weightless, the floating warmth. The lapping at my breasts. The water, yes, but Jimmy as well.

Mostly, I loved his touch. His hands gliding over my hips, stroking my scalp, soothing my body.

“Mmm.”

He kissed me softly. “Shall we go to the bedroom?” A whisper.

I bobbed down until I nudged something hard. Something insistent and thrusting.

Something that had not yet been sated.

A hunger, deep inside me, reignited.

Oh my. Yes. More.

“I would love to.” But I levered myself away. It was cute that he pouted. “You have…protection?”

He stilled. His every muscle clenched. “Damn straight, I do,” he growled, and then he yanked me back into his arms and lifted me in a swelling swoop. Water streamed from our bodies as he strode from the hot tub across the flagstones and into the house.

I laughed, because he was tracking water and he didn’t seem to care. Neither did I. But when we came to his bedroom, a large, sprawling manly den done in blacks and browns, he carried me straight through to the bathroom and toweled me dry.

This was no gentle, careful toweling. It was rushed, manic. As though he couldn’t move quickly enough. I couldn’t either. I snatched up another fluffy towel and began working on him. It was a delight, rubbing him all over, catching the droplets of water in his hair, scouring his chin and chest. I dropped to his feet and dried his legs, from the ankles up.

No surprise then, when I reached his hips, something bold, brash and insistent awaited me.

I peeped up at him. His features were taut. A muscle flexed in his cheek. His tongue peeped out as if goading me on.

Slowly, I rolled down his suit, revealing his cock.

And God, it was beautiful. Thick and long. A fat vein throbbed along its length. The head was swollen, a tantalizing mushroom, with one milky tear beading the slit at the top.

I could not resist. I could not. I eased forward and lapped. His essence exploded on my tongue. Salty. Musky, manly.

He seized. All of his muscles locked. An unintelligible profanity passed from his lips.

I wrapped my fist around him and angled his length toward my mouth. Drawing a deep breath, I took him in.

He threaded his fingers through my damp hair, guiding me, but not. When I sucked, they flexed. Trembled.

I loved that I had such power over him, this enormous, muscled man. One lazy lick and I could have him on his knees before me, begging for more. I took his balls in my hand and rolled them gently.

He whimpered.

When I took him deeper, all the way in, and drew a finger along the seam of his ass, he roared and grabbed my arms, hauling me up against him. “Enough,” he said into my mouth. “Enough. Get on the bed.”

I stared at him in shock. Not just because the issued order had been clipped and impatient. It was just very unlike what I had expected from a pool boy, from a man who was so lacking in ambition, he would be happy serving a woman like Marlee. In whatever way she desired.

But I couldn’t think of Marlee. Not right now, at any rate.

Because something in his tone lit a fire in me, a conflagration that would not be quenched.
“Get on the bed.”
Not a request. A command. A dark, dominant demand.

Naturally, I hopped onto the bed.

I tried not to quiver with anticipation.

This was what I needed. Not some subservient pool boy who would gladly do my bidding, but a man. A man used to command. A man who would take control.

“On your hands and knees,” he barked.

And while it was a bark, there was a thread in his tone, a hint of playfulness. We both knew this was a game.

I rearranged myself as he requested as he fished around in the drawer for a condom. I glanced at him over my shoulder; he ripped the package with his teeth, as if he couldn’t bear to wait. He met my gaze, held it as he rolled the latex on. And then he reached for me.

Wrapping his long fingers around my thighs, he yanked me toward the edge of the bed, spreading my legs and pulling me into the position he desired. He yanked my bikini bottom down to my knees.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, rubbing his cock up and down my slit. I could feel the slick cream of my arousal greasing the way. “Is it?”

When I didn’t answer quickly enough, he smacked my ass. A shock to the system, that, but it sent shards of arousal splintering through me. As easily as that, I was there again, close again. Ready to come as soon as he plunged in.

“Y-yes. Do it.”

But he didn’t. Instead he teased me, dragging the tip over my heated flesh, back and forth. Back and forth. He circled my clit, nudging it with his hard erection.

I threw back my hair as I arched into it. His fingers squeezed my ass, sinking into my hips. There would be marks tomorrow. I didn’t care.

“Now. Do it. Fuck me.”

He chuckled and slipped a finger into my entrance. Not what I wanted. Not nearly enough. I glared at him. He met my gaze and licked his lips. “Say please,” he said. “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Molten lava coursed through my veins. My pulse kicked up a notch and along with it, the thrumming in my clit.

How he’d made me so mad for him, so wild, so soon after coming magnificently in his arms, I had no clue.

And I didn’t care.

I wanted him in me with a hunger I’d never known before.

I wanted him in me, hard and deep.

“Please.”

Before the word left my lips—as if he’d been stretched just as torturously on the rack of need—he buried himself. With one long, hard, steady slide, he filled me.

My body shuddered as I accepted him. Nerves sang and rippled at his advance. As he invaded me, opened me, he hit that spot, the one so newly awakened and alive. And a flutter began in my womb.

So easily.

So simply.

I tried to hold it back. I didn’t want it to be over yet.

As I constricted against the coming onslaught, he hissed. “Jesus,” he said. “Jesus. So tight.”

He pulled out but sank back in, again delighting me with an intense, intimate caress. I bit my lip as showers of pleasure washed through me. I felt poised on the cliff’s edge, peering down at oblivion. And I wanted. I wanted to tumble.

“Hold on, baby. Here we go,” he said, but I barely heard him. I was wrapped in a welter of sensation, in the insanity rocketing through my body.

But God. Oh God.

He began a slow, steady rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. And then he sped up, faster and faster, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. Each thrust, each lunge pushing me closer and closer to the edge I dreaded and craved. My body clenched. I fought and fought to hold back, locking my legs and chewing on my knuckles, desperate to hang on. Desperate to endure this torment. Desperate to see it through ’til the bitter end.

I had the sense he was wound tight as well. We both were. His movements were jerky, flailing, frenzied as his body pounded mine. The sounds of our grunts and groans drifted through the room, twined with the slap of flesh against damp flesh.

He ratcheted up another notch, sluicing in and out of me, pummeling me with crazed, manic lunges. This direction and that, driving me higher and higher, driving me wild.

His cock swelled inside me. The taut knot in my belly expanded to an unbearable intensity. I gasped, wailed, pled.

“Come for me, baby,” he commanded, his voice choked. “Come for me.”

I fractured. Shattered. Broke.

My body blossomed around him. Bright lights danced before my eyes, bliss rained down. I dissolved into a series of quivers, all of which seemed to pass into him. He gasped, a sharp breath, and thrust hard one more time, sealing our bodies together for a long, blissful moment. I could feel him tremble and jerk inside me. Each motion, a trickle of fresh delight.

I collapsed onto my arms, with my ass in the air. He stroked me slowly, from my nape to the curve of my bottom. My skin, alive, awake, hungry, rippled to his touch.

He eased out and guided me all the way down to the bed. And then, after taking care of the condom, he joined me there, curling his arms around me. Together, we struggled for purchase.

Adrift in a sea of wafting delight, I was filled with one immutable resolution.

I was not even going to think about Marlee. Not once this whole week.

I couldn’t bear it.

It was late when we roused. Or so it seemed. The moon was high in the clear sky. Stars glittered through the darkness.

I drifted to the patio doors of his bedroom and opened them, gazing out into the night. He came up behind me. I felt his presence before he wrapped his arms around me and cupped my breast. Nibbled my neck.

Shivers of delight scudded through me.

What was it about this man? He’d taken me and taken me hard. He’d made me come at least twice and, if I’m being honest, more than that. Yet still I wanted him.

All he had to do was touch me and I ached for him to fill me again.

“Are you hungry?” His question rumbled through me, his voice low and languid.

I laughed. “You keep asking me that. I’m going to start thinking you’re trying to fatten me up.”

He chuckled against the skin of my nape. “You’re perfect just as you are.” His palm skimmed down, over my belly, over my hips, hungrily, as though he couldn’t get enough.

I turned in his arms and wrapped myself around him. It felt good, our bodies locked together like this. I loved the way the wiry hairs of his chest rasped at my concentration, making it hard to focus. “I could eat.”

“Mmm.” He kissed my forehead, my nose, my chin. “I could eat you.”

I chuckled, but the chuckle petered into a moan as he found a spot—a spot that made me weak at the knees—and worked it. “We…ah…probably should eat,” I said. If he kept this up much longer, I would toss him onto the bed and devour him. “We wouldn’t want anyone fainting from low blood sugar, now would we?”

The glint in his eye was intriguing. “First we eat. And then,” he said, smacking my ass. “Then we finish this conversation.”

“Deal.”

My suit was wet, so I pulled on a robe he tossed me while he tugged on a pair of shorts and then we made our way into the kitchen.

“What’s your pleasure, ma’am?” he asked, opening the fridge.

I wrinkled my nose. “Do you have any peanut butter?”

He shot me a horrified look. “Peanut butter?”

I sighed melodramatically. “I am, I have to admit, a bit lowbrow when it comes to vittles.”

“Vittles?” His laugh was a cross between a snort and a guffaw, and more on the snort side. He took me by the shoulders and gently but forcibly sat me on the stool by the island. “You,” he said, “stay here. I’ll cook.”

“Okay.” I grinned and nuzzled deeper into the terrycloth. It was warm and comfy, but not as warm as his smile.

He uncorked a bottle of Merlot and poured me a glass. It was delicious, tart and rich; it invaded my senses. Then he tugged on his apron and tied it in the back, the same one he’d worn this afternoon. It was well-loved and stained in places, but looked natural on him. “How about pan-seared scallops with truffle risotto? Maybe poached asparagus with hollandaise?”

“Do you know how to make that?” I had to ask. Because I sure as hell didn’t. I’d tried to make scallops once. Once. It had been a dismal escapade and resulted in me ordering out for Chinese. I didn’t think there was any place from which one could order out on this rock.

“Yes, I can make that.” He nodded and a lock of hair flopped onto his forehead, making him look young and playful, just as a pool boy should be.

“Marlee didn’t tell me you could cook.” I bit my lip, but too late. The words had slipped out.

He waggled a finger at me. “We’re not talking about Marlee. Remember?”

I nodded. Of course I remembered. It was my rule after all.

So I nursed my drink and watched him in silence as he pulled this and that out of the fridge, muttering to himself as he arranged everything on the counter, then went on a foray into the walk-in pantry just beyond the fridge. I leaned over to peek inside, gratified to see it was well stocked. 

He reemerged with a small brown…well, it looked like a petrified poop. I made a face. “What the hell is that?”

Holding it in the palm of his hand, with the reverence one might bestow upon the Holy Grail itself, he sighed. “This, my dear philistine, is a truffle.”

I put out a lip. “I thought truffles were chocolates.”

“Different kind of truffle.”

He set the poop on the counter with the rest of the assemblage; I studied it askance. “It looks like a turd.” I couldn’t not say it. I couldn’t.

He barked a laugh. “It may look like a turd, but it tastes divine. Trust me.”

I watched as he set water on to boil and began cracking eggs and separating out the yolks. “So, where did you learn to cook, exactly?”