Forty-Two #2
Van Wyk just winked at me. My monster just winked at me.
Such a small thing, but it’s so… goddamn charming. I can’t seem to move past it. He’s so gorgeous in this moment that I can’t help but gaze at him. My nipples are so tight they’re aching, my panties are wet, and I’m certain I’ve just ovulated.
How does he do that?
It takes me three steadying breaths before I’m back in some semblance of control.
Am I really going to agree to this?
Damn it, part of me wants to. I’ve missed him.
But I’m going to show him. I’m going to win.
“Fine.” I use the word deliberately, accepting his challenge and throwing one back at him in the same moment.
He gives me a flat look. “Are you aware I am not a fan of that word? At least, not when you use it.”
I can’t help my smile. “You’ve never mentioned.”
He pushes back his chair and rises, waiting for me. “You deserve so much more than fine.”
Is that his reason? I don’t know what to say.
He leads me outside into a mild evening. It’s late March, the few clouds shining silver under the moon. Path lights illuminate our way with a gentle glow, and the lights in the pool are already on, shining an ethereal blue through the water.
Van Wyk stops at the edge. “I’ve barely used this since I’ve lived here,” he muses. “At one point, I thought of getting rid of it.” He turns to me, eyes in shadow yet no less intense. “Now I’m glad I didn’t.”
“Did you swim much?”
“It’s been a while.” He smiles playfully. “Don’t worry, I can still take you.”
He starts unbuttoning his shirt. I glance at the pool house where there are several swimsuits that I rotate through, then mentally shrug and enjoy the strip tease he’s giving me.
He throws his shirt onto the nearest lounger, shadows and refracted blue light playing across the muscles of his chest and stomach. His shoes follow, then he unfastens his slacks and pushes them down.
“Are you joining me?” he asks, standing there in just his boxers.
“I’m getting to it.”
It’s an effort to keep my eyes on his face, and even more so when he sweeps his underwear down his legs. I haven’t often had the opportunity to gaze at him like this, and I’m not planning to waste it.
Naked, he stands at the edge of the pool, his tight ass just begging to have teeth sunk into it. Then he dives in. His form is perfect, but I can’t help wince. Can that be comfortable, with his… rudder… hanging free and semi-hard like that?
He swims beneath the surface for half the pool length, coming up for air and extending into a decent freestyle stroke. Okay, he’s no slouch, but he’s not all that fast. I can still take him.
He’s also not watching, and I strip off my strappy top and jeans.
I hesitate over my bra and panties, then decide what the hell and remove those too.
It’s not every day I get to swim au naturel, especially at night, and it’s a special kind of freedom.
Ever so slightly naughty, until it’s compared to some of the things we’ve done. Then it pales in comparison.
I dive into the cool water, the lights on the bottom of the pool shimmering beneath me. I miss my goggles immediately, but he doesn’t have them either, so it’s fair at least. I’m not going to let him win.
He’s waiting for me at the end of the pool. “Right then, Little Stray. Four lengths. Are you ready?”
I know what’s at stake. But fuck it. Why not?
“Fine.” I’m not going to lose.
“Three,” he says.
I blink. Didn’t we just agree four?
“Two.” He grips the edge of the pool, bracing himself.
Oh. I ready in time, just as he says, “One.”
We both throw ourselves into our first lap, and it’s immediately obvious he was holding back. He’s fast, damn it, cutting through the water with powerful strokes, and I focus on swimming as hard and as cleanly as I can.
He’s ahead of me as we both flip-turn at the end, and maintains his lead on the return lap. Another flip-turn, and I push off strong, kicking hard underwater and flowing into my stroke. Third lap, focusing entirely on me and not what he’s doing at all. I do not want to lose.
The thought of him taking my mouth almost makes me falter from my rhythm, but I stretch with every stroke, powering through. I’m vaguely aware of drawing level with him as I flip-turn for the last time, shooting off the wall into the last lap.
And he’s nowhere. It was close all the way; now it isn’t.
Did he screw up his turn?
I’m almost tempted to look, but I don’t. I finish my lap off, reaching the end an easy ten seconds ahead of him. I almost feel disappointed.
“What happened?” I ask when he arrives.
“Got distracted,” he says, standing up in the water and pushing water from his hair. It does things to his chest that are difficult to ignore.
“You? Distracted?” I scoff.
“Have you seen what you look like when you flip-turn in the nude?”
My cheeks heat. “You… you stopped to watch?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “No, I did a touch-and-go.”
I glare at him. “In other words, you stopped to watch.”
“If you like.” He steps through the water toward me, expression hungry, eyes intense, lips curled in a lazy smile. I retreat in reflex, and my back hits the wall. “Now I’m going to claim my prize.”
“You lost,” I remind him.
“Well aware.” His hands close on my waist, and he lifts me out of the water, depositing me on the edge of the pool. I eep, feeling the cold tiles beneath my butt, his body between my knees.
“You know how they say there’s no prize for second place?” he asks, sliding his hands up my thighs.
“Yes.” It comes out high and sharp.
“They lied.”
He lowers in the water until his mouth is right there, then his tongue laps through my folds. I’m not ready, and I gasp at the suddenness of it.
“Lie down, Little Stray.” He encourages me by lifting my legs over his shoulders. I half-fall onto the tiles, catching myself with one hand as his tongue delves again.
“Jesus,” I breathe, my arousal spiking from just those two long licks, and I give in and relax back, gazing up at the moonlit sky, the tiles hard beneath my shoulders.
“Lukas,” he corrects, spreading me open with his thumbs, then pushes his tongue inside me.