by Lavinia Kent
The pool was something else, long columns soaring high to meet in pointed arches, the crystal water lapping in the middle. The walls were tiled in a shimmering white with blue and green accents and the pool itself echoed the shades, with bits of shimmering gold. And everywhere there were plants, tall palms and lush tropical leaves. It really was like a cross between a jungle and the Arabian Nights.
“Wow,” he said softly.
“Should I see if I can find you a suit?” she asked.
He just stared at her for a moment.
Her shoulders drew back. “I’ve never swum naked.”
“Really, even when you’re here alone?”
“It never occurred to me. I always come down in a suit and robe.”
“Is it at least a bikini? Have you swum topless?”
“I must seem so boring.”
“Never.” He slipped out of his sand-covered loafers, toeing them aside.
She stared at his feet for a moment, then moved to sit on one of the cedar benches beside the wall. She bent down and untied one high top and then the other. She kicked them aside.
Hmm. Did he try to gracefully remove his socks while standing? It was probably impossible. Should he sit beside her or on the bench on the other side of the pool? There were advantages to each. Should he be close to her or able to watch her every move? She did like to be watched. He strode around the pool to the other side, then sat. He stared at her for a moment and then removed one sock and the other.
She followed suit.
He slipped out of his thin jacket, leaving it lying on the bench.
Locking eyes with him, she reached down and grabbed the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and over her head, her back arching in a most wondrous way, breasts pressed forward against her long-sleeve T-shirt. Her nipples were hard. Was that from the cold of the beach or because of him? He knew what he wanted to think.
She folded the sweater carefully and then placed it neatly on the bench.
He rested his fingers on the top button of his shirt and played with it for a moment before unfastening it and moving to the next. He worked slowly and methodically, letting the shirt part inch by inch. When they were all undone he didn’t instantly move to pull it off but rather carefully spread it open.
Her eyes followed his every movement, her pupils growing wide and dark.
The shirt fell behind him.
He stretched, easing the muscles of his back and arms, but also showing off, adding that little bit of flex.
She swallowed, her breasts rising and falling with movement.
He felt himself grow hard. Her gaze dropped. She wasn’t missing any part of his show.
Her eyes gradually returned to his. He dropped his arms to his sides and waited.
Somewhat tentatively she hooked her fingers at the bottom of her tee and began to pull up. She paused right below her breasts.
“Why so shy?” he asked. “How is this different than the other times?”
Her breasts rose and fell as she took a deep breath.
He didn’t think she’d answer.
Another deep breath. His dick stirred against his leg. Her gaze dropped, returned to his.
“The other times I was carried away. This time I’m stopping to think. I worry what you’ll think. What if I’m not sexy or look a fool?”
“Somehow I don’t think you need to worry about that. You could be clumsy as a cow and I don’t think I’d notice, given how aroused I get every time you even breathe.”
A small smile formed on her lips. “Really?”
“Yes.” He held her gaze, not letting her look away. “And I’m getting more and more impatient for you to pull that shirt off. I’m considering all the possibilities for what color your bra is, if it’s lace or satin, but mostly I’m wondering how long it will take me to get you to take it off. It’s unfair that I don’t have one. I wish I’d had a white cotton tee beneath my button-down. Then I could have made it be the next item to be removed. I somehow doubt that you’ll trade it for my pants.”
“You’re right about that. Maybe for your pants and your boxers.”
“Not a chance. I’m already aware that you have one more item of clothing than me. I’m not sure how I’m going to get you out of your panties. Unless you choose to lose them and keep your bra. In one way that’s even more—but then again, tits.”
“Do you really call them tits? You said it once before.”
Now it was his turn to chuckle. “No, I think of them as breasts, but tits is so much more fun to say. At least I didn’t call them boobs.”
“If you had you might have lost your chance to see them.”
They grew quiet then. Their eyes met and held.
She moved the shirt up an inch and he squirmed a bit. He was more than ready to get out of these pants.
He wondered how much she’d played in the past. It had been clear that she’d never known she had the fantasy of being watched. How would she feel about giving up control? He was more than ready to take it from her.
He was considering doing just that when at long last she pulled the shirt up over her breasts.
Baby blue. Her bra was baby blue. It wasn’t a color he’d ever considered sexy, but…
He quickly unbuckled his belt and pulled it loose. “Hey, you don’t have a belt. I think this should get me your bra.” He dropped it on the tile with a clang.
“Nice try.” She smiled back, finally sounding natural, nerves fled.
Well, if she was going to play it that way. Less than two seconds and his pants were on the floor.
Her eyes dropped right to his straining erection and widened. It was a nice response even if she’d seen it all before. A guy always enjoyed amazement. “And now yours.”
Her fingers trailed along the waist of her jeans, occasionally dipping inside. They came around to the front, playing with the button. She looked up at him from below downturned lashes, her mouth forming a little O. He forced himself to keep his hands at his sides.
The button slipped loose. She pulled at the waistband, then grasped the zipper pull, eased it down.
Yes, her panties matched her bra. He couldn’t wait to see her in the set, to fix that image in his mind. Then she could lose them immediately.
How long could it take to pull down a zipper? It seemed like an hour. Finally she was done.
She kept staring at him.
Her hands came back to her hips, began to push the jeans down carefully, keeping her panties in place. Hell, he’d hoped they’d go together.
An excruciating slow wiggle over the hips, as she lifted up from the bench. Then a hurry over her calves and her jeans were on the floor. Clearly, she instinctively knew the sexy part, despite her earlier comment.
One leg crossed over the other, thighs pressed tight. She wasn’t giving him any more than she had to.
The pool house was warm and a light mist was beginning to form on her brow and up-tilted breasts. He longed to lick it off. Her hair was curling more, defined ringlets forming about her face.
He stood, stretching to his full height. It was his turn to return the favor. With great care he eased his briefs down one hip. Her gaze moved and focused on the ridge of his Apollo’s girdle. He’d never understood women’s fascination with the indent, but he was more than ready to take advantage of it.
He gave Jordan a moment to appreciate its definition, then slipped down the other side. Her gaze flicked over, but then settled on the middle. Clearly she was eager.
She licked her lips. That put a thousand ideas in his mind. He was more than ready to be her lollipop.
He held still for a moment, letting the anticipation build. The tension between them was almost physical.
He looped both his thumbs underneath.
Slow or quick reveal?
Sh
e licked her lips again. Fuck. There was no way he was going slow.
Quick it was.
Her eyes moved and fastened.
Another lick, this one deliberate and slow.
Her eyes came up to his. She was thinking exactly what he was.
He stood, legs slightly spread, shoulders back, letting her look. He was starting to understand her fascination with being watched, although he was all for the intimate, personal appraisal. No strangers need apply.
He felt himself grow even larger, felt the first drop form at the tip.
This time her tongue lingered on her lower lip.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Your turn.” Was that growl his voice?
Her lips pursed out. She slid one hand over a satin-covered breast and the other hooked at the lace band of her panties. “Decisions. Decisions.” The second hand slid up her belly to cup the other breast.
His breath caught.
She cupped both breasts, lifting them like an offering, the soft flesh surging above the bra. The barest pink edge of one nipple peeked at him. He hadn’t been sure that it was a fair trade, his briefs for her bra, but at this moment it was possible he would die if he didn’t see more soon.
She wiggled and one strap slipped down. A little shimmy and then the other. A click of the front clasp of her bra.
He stopped breathing. The bra dropped to the floor in a single movement. He caught a flash of flesh, but then her hands were covering her again.
“Not fair,” he said. This time it was a groan not a growl.
The fingers of one hand opened, the nipple thrust through. “Maybe I’m cold,” she answered.
“And that’s why you’re shimmering with perspiration.”
“A gentleman would never talk about a lady’s sweat.”
“I’ve never claimed to be a gentleman, and at the moment, when I’m debating whether to rip those panties off with my teeth, I certainly make no claim.”
It was impossible to miss the shiver that ran through her, the slight catch of breath. She liked that idea very, very much. And so did he.
* * *
—
What happened next? Jordan stood there, naked except for her panties, hands half covering her breasts, and wondered how to progress. It was time to pull off her panties, but she didn’t feel quite ready despite the heat of desire that was filling her, and not only figuratively. It was warm in the pool room, but it had never made her sweat before. That was definitely all Clay.
He was hot, hot and beautiful and manly and cut and there weren’t enough words in her vocabulary to describe him—at least none that were coming to her as she stared at his penis. She deliberately used the word, trying to cool herself off at least a little. No luck.
She glanced at the pool that lay between them. The water was warm. This time of year she liked the comfort. She hadn’t planned on a swim, but now the thought seemed incredibly inviting. She was standing by the corner with the stairs that lowered down into the shallow end. It would be easy to look seductive while walking slowly into the water. Not that she needed to turn him on any further. She glanced again at his dick. He looked ready to explode. Her mind filled with a picture of him standing there spurting all over. Her toes curled at the image. God, was there anything about the man that didn’t make her want him more, want to kneel before him begging for his touch?
She looked up at his face. He knew exactly what she was thinking.
Granted, she knew exactly what he was thinking, too, based on the movement of his eyes. Tits. Tits. Tits. And yes, it was a fun word. Tits.
He wanted her to move her hands to let him see all. Instead, she closed her fingers, hiding more from his view.
His lips tightened.
She stood.
Oh, he liked that. His gaze ran down her legs, slowly, leisurely, making her feel they were far longer than they were. And then back up—ending at the light blue silk of her panties. She’d chosen well. Not too obvious, but pretty. She stepped forward, sliding her feet over the warm tile until she reached the corner of the pool.
She took a step down, the water rising to her ankles, warm and soft.
She saw the protest forming on his lips and dropped one of her hands.
His face stilled.
Another step. Warmth caressed her calves. She let out a soft sigh. The other arm dropped.
Another step. The slight jiggle of her heavy breasts, water barely above her knees.
The last step, water hit mid-thigh.
“It feels so good.” She let her hands drop into the water. Let drips trail on her belly and breasts.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jerking.
More water, more drips. She splashed herself.
Walked forward. Shivered as the water touched her panties. Twirled her hips a little, enjoying every sensation.
She moved her gaze from him then, sensing how much he liked watching her in her own little world.
Turning slightly, she moved forward until the water caressed the underside of her breasts, gave a little moan as it brushed the sensitive peaks. Not looking at him, she cupped her breasts again, lifting them in the water, then pinched the nipples, drawing them out.
That felt so good. Why had she never thought about playing with herself in the pool before? She bent her head back, letting the water soak her hair until it billowed out behind her.
She lay back, half floating, caught in her own world and yet completely aware of Clay watching her. Was he playing with himself, stroking and yanking that hard dick as he had the other night?
She wanted to do that to him—she’d always loved the velvet steel of an erect penis, loved to watch a man’s face as she stroked it. Her mind filled with Clay’s face, the look that took him when he came.
Her fingers tightened more about her nipples, bringing her to the point of near pain. She lay back farther, letting the water hold her, a lover’s caress. She lay completely back, legs lifting in the water, floating on her back, dreaming.
There was a slight splash, a surging of the water. He was in the pool.
She resisted the urge to look.
Her eyes drifted half closed. She released her nipples, then pinched even tighter, let herself moan, enjoyed the tightness and the heaviness that took her.
He was close. She didn’t know quite where, but she could sense him.
A slight brush against her thigh. She started to move, but caught herself, waiting to see what he would do.
His hands landed on the silk of her panties and in a single swift slide they were gone.
Then he caught her ankles in his hands and she was pulled again toward the shallow end of the pool. The movement caused the water to flow over her pussy, a sensation unlike any she’d ever known. A most delicious one.
And then they stopped.
She bit her lip to keep from protesting.
His hands moved from her. Again she wanted to protest.
She closed her eyes completely.
Movement surrounded her. She felt her head lifted, and something slipped beneath it, holding it.
Her hand moved up, stroked. One of the pool floats.
Then his hands were on her ankles again, spreading them.
He was staring at her. Even with her eyes firmly shut, she knew, could sense it.
Her legs began to close of their own accord, but he held them tight.
It was slightly embarrassing, but far more titillating. If the thought of an unknown watcher had excited her, how much more powerful was this?
“Play with your tits some more. I want to see them swell with need.” His voice was low and teasing, even caressing.
She complied.
“I want you to do what I say and only what I say,” he added.
Her lips parted, her body tightened. Was
she going to come before they even began? Come solely because he gave her orders? It should have been impossible. It wasn’t.
His grip loosened. “Spread your legs more. I want you to show yourself, to offer yourself.”
There was nothing she could do but obey.
“More.” He commanded. “Ah, that’s perfect. So pretty and pink with the water lapping at you. Does it feel good, feel almost like I’m touching you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her mind full of sensation, feeling each gentle push of the water.
“Do you want me to really touch you?”
“Please.” God, it was hard not to beg.
A single finger traveled up each leg, stopping before the tops of her thighs.
“Please. Please.” This time there was no mistaking the begging.
His fingers moved farther, stroked over her, but did not delve.
She wanted to push herself against him, but had no leverage. All she could do was float and let him do as he would.
A deep breath in. She felt her breasts rise from the water as air filled her lungs.
“Pull your nipples again. I like seeing them long and needy.”
She did, shivering from the air that hit her wet skin.
“I wish you could see yourself,” he said. “Those pale breasts, your nipples almost red, rising from the water. The indent of your belly. The gentle curve of your hips. Your curls dark and wet—and not only from water. You’re shimmering with your need.” His fingers moved, opening her lower lips.
He blew.
Her body arched in the water, only the float keeping her from going under.
He blew again. Warm breath on hot skin.
Then his tongue, just a flick, but definitely his tongue.
Again and again.
Then he moved in, pulling her tight, feasting.
A finger entered her, pushing her further, making her need more.
Her muscles tightened about him, squeezing.
Now. She needed more. She needed more now.
He stopped, pulling back, bracing her against the edge of the pool.
She moaned, full of need and longing.