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“No, I want you to jump in with all your clothes on.” He clicks exasperatedly. “Of course without your clothes. Are you going to come in or do I have to climb out to get you?”
He waits, glowering.
Oh.
She’s flustered now, remembering his alpha-ness and his threat of spanking. She rises to her feet and starts to grab the hem of her shift. She’s wearing only her panties underneath. She shucks it off and her panties as well. She stands naked in the morning breeze, shivering. She imagines prying eyes in between the foliage, and she scans the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of Fred and his men.
She is so exposed. So naked. She stands with her legs together bashfully. She wants to cover her breasts, but she doesn’t dare.
“Jump in,” he says.
His tone is no longer in invitation mode. It is a command. Oh, oh, oh, she thinks. That wonderful intimate mood – of equals and lovers – has dissipated. He has worked out his internal issues and he no longer is vulnerable anymore.
She doesn’t know whether to feel wary or relieved.
She moves to the side of the pool. It has an overflow edge, and the water keeps seeping over into a covered deck drain. She sits on the edge uncomfortably, sliding her legs into the water. It is cold. She doesn’t think he’s the type of guy to heat his water – probably likes the barefaced chill as a punishing wakeup to the senses in the morning.
He wades towards her. His piercing blue eyes are serious as he clasps her hands.
“I need to fuck you,” he murmurs.
Here? In the pool? She feels a little faint. But she senses that if last night was an emotional catharsis (of sorts) for him, today is its release through physicality.
He tugs at her hands, and she finds herself falling. Falling into his arms, falling with a helpless splash. She gasps in the water as she struggles to steady herself. Her body is against him. Wet bare skin to wet bare skin. He’s holding her waist and sensuously roaming his hands down her body. His face is very close to hers. Hot damn, but he’s fine. She can gaze into his eyes forever.
In the water, his hand brushes against her pussy. Her pubic hair trails in the mild current. He seems to find this amusing as he toys with it, pulling at its wet strands playfully. She holds very still – as discomfited as she is in this situation – while he probes her pussy lips, something he is very fond of doing. Erotic pleasure uncurls from her clit, which he nudges and squeezes now and again.
Ohhh, Channing.
She grabs his arms – those marvelously sculpted arms with veins like snakes glistening below his skin. Their eyes devour one another as he continues his underwater exploration of her secret folds. Her fingers dig into his skin. He snares the throbbing sliver of her clit in between his index and third finger. An electrified impulse implodes within her tender flesh.
Her moist facial lips part in hunger. Her vagina begins to ache with pressing need.
Channing, Channing. Please, oh please.
She wants him to fuck her. She needs this release as much as he does. It has been a hell of a past twenty-four hours and they both can use a good fuck.
But first, she wishes he would kiss her.
His face is very close to hers, but he makes no move to lean his marvelously shaped lips towards her.
He never does, she thinks. There is no impasse. It’s one step forward, one step back with him.
Oh Hugh, what have you done to each other?
His probing fingers find her pussy hole. He wriggles two fingers in. Her passage is snug and filled with water, a tunnel runneth over. He makes a circuit, rubbing her walls with a sweep. Tendrils of lust course all over her vagina, and she feels her spine tingling.
He expands those two fingers, makes a V sign inside her. A knuckle grazes her G-spot. She shudders with both desire and the cold.
“I want you,” he murmurs again.
Exhilaration surges within her. I want you. What she longs to hear from him, though it’s second best to what she really wants to hear.
I love you, Susan.
Yesssss.
He pushes her against the wall of the swimming pool. Water eddies around them, coy and subtle. He parts her thighs. He bends his own knees so that he can ready himself for the thrust – the torpid underwater penetration.
His fingers slip out of her pussy. He grasps her buttocks and lifts her up. Her knees are bent and her feet wave viscously in the water. She can feel the iron hard rod of his flesh, positioned just beneath her greedy hole.
Her eyes are dilated with need. Her mouth is still slightly agape, and her cheeks are very, very flushed.
With a sharp intake of breath, he spears her. She can feel his solid column of flesh rushing into her watery tunnel. Ohhhhhhhh. Pulsing in inch by delicious inch. Her vaginal walls are cleaved apart just as his hard body has arrowed the water earlier. He seems to be in a hurry. There’s an urgency to his thrust, as though he needs to get there quick.
He allows her to get used to his size and girth. She is filled pleasurably. Wonderfully so.
But he doesn’t allow her to get used to him being inside her, because he begins to move. Rapid strokes. Quick in-out rocking movements. His firm chest rubs against her breasts. She’s being stimulated in so many areas.
His strong hands support her hips, and her back is pressed against the wall as an anchor. Her pussy juices swirl with the water – warn cream mixing with cool aqua. The way he feels in the water is intense, as though they are both moving in a dream – as though she is being washed and douched at the same time he is fucking her. Cleansed from improprieties. Cleansed from all worries except the present, the now.
His skin is pebbled with clean water droplets, and his pupils are extremely dilated as he holds her gaze. He pants slightly. After that massive swim workout he has had, she’s surprised he can still be so energized.
He thrusts and pierces her with an aggravated frenzy, closing his body in onto hers, kneading her breasts with his heaving chest. She clings to his shoulders and back. So firm, so smooth, so godly. She brushes her lips against the skin of his shoulder and licks and tastes the fresh water on it. He doesn’t even notice she does this.
His grunts become more pronounced as he races towards his climax. His groin slaps against hers, and in the water, the compression becomes more buoyant. He takes more effort to nail himself into her each time. She moans and twists. His cock is angled at her G-spot, where each blunt rub against it sends fire streaming through her orifice, shooting into her entire pelvic region and snaking up her spine to meld in the glowing mush of her brain.
She cries with the pleasure of it. He takes heed and increases his intensity. Their pants and grunts merge into one another’s – twin sounds of mutual pleasuring, mutual understanding and mutual satisfaction. His fingers dig into her flesh, a sign of his building excitement. She throws back her head and arches her back. The tiles are cold against her skin. She grips him harder, and harder, until her fingernails indent his solid flesh. She doesn’t think he notices this either.
Her mind tumbles over with his name, his face, his ripe, luscious body merged with hers. A succession of images pound like strobe-like flashes within her mind. Herself as a desert waif, clothed in fluttery sails of clothing. Running towards that figure coming towards her.
Channing! she cries.
He begins to run towards her. He comes closer, handsome as the devil himself and larger than life. They kiss, their lips pressing fiercely against one another’s.
Oh Channing.
She lets herself climb the crests of the whitewater peaks – the peaks upon peaks of the tsunami. And the flotsam washes over her – all sound and fury and raging madness of it. Bliss enters every pore of her body. They are kissing again in her daydreams – voracious lips parting and tongue twisting against tongue.
Along with her orgasm comes the yearning for something more. Much, much more.
Channing.
She wants every part of him, and not only what he has to offer right now. As her climax sends her muscles into deep spasms and shudders, she realizes – in dismay – that she has fallen in love with him. Irrevocably, senselessly, desperately and hopelessly in love.
Oh God.
What is to become of her now? How did she allow herself to love a man who cannot and will not love her back?
With her orgasm, he allows himself to climax as well. Despite the swirling water in her vagina, she can feel the very real gush of his hot semen into her, like a jet of molten lava against the cold balm. She closes her eyes and tips her head back. Her hair is wet from all the rippling their lovemaking has caused in the water.
She wishes she can stop and pause this moment forever – Channing inside her, climaxing, hissing his pleasure in a gush of breath against her neck.
It’s a semblance of love. Almost.
He pants against her, holding her. His cock is still stiff inside her, though she feels it waning a little. He pulls out of her. He leans against her, his chest expanding and contracting as he tries to moderate his breathing.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I needed that.”
“So did I,” she gasps.
He appears abashed. His eyes flit away from hers.
“And thank you for last night,” he says. “For listening.”
She doesn’t have anything to say to that.
They both stand in the pool, facing one another, feeling discomfited. It’s as though they are suddenly strangers instead of two people who have shared their bodies thoroughly.
He says gruffly, “I have to go out to do stuff.”
