I undo the fly to his swim trunks and reach in to find his hard cock. He removes his shorts and my bottoms, and with a wet plop, they’re on the pool’s edge. So much fornotskinny dipping.
I wrap my hand around his rock-hard shaft and pull him closer so my tongue can tease his nipples. I groan and raise my legs over his shoulders as he shoves his head between my legs and sucks my swollen clit. I lift my hips and grind into his face. “Fuck me,” I breathe. “I want you inside me.”
“Not until you come.”
His fingers pivot in and out as his tongue strums my clit like a guitar. I pull on my nipples as I go over the edge. Releasing me back into the water, Clay kisses softly down the curve of my neck and over my breastbone as my breath evens out. “I didn’t bring any condoms down.” His eyes search mine, letting me decide what to do.
“Why don’t I take care of you in a different way?” I suggest.
His mouth curls at his edges. “What do you have in mind?”
I pull him over to the stairs and sit him down at the top. His hard rod bobs an introduction. My hand encircles his hardness, and I’m able to stroke him up and down.
He finds my nipple and plays with it.
“You’re distracting me,” I warn him.
“That’s okay.”
I run my flat tongue up the bottom side of him, and his dark eyes become hooded with desire. I cup his balls and bob up and down, the tip of my nose skimming the water as I take him to the back of my throat. My cheeks hollow with every pull as I try to push him deeper. His hands lace through my hair.
“If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.” His warning is half groan.
I pull back and keep going. I look up at him just as he grunts, groans, and fills my mouth.
I swallow it all and sit back between his legs, biting my lower lip.
“You are amazing,” he says, sounding completely wasted.
Pulling me in tight, he kisses me as we cool off.
“Let’s take this inside,” he suggests after a moment.
I nod. “Okay.”
We put our swimsuits on and pick up our glasses, and inside, we put everything away in the kitchen. Clay is teasing me about how slow I am to head upstairs when there’s a noise.
I step away from him like a schoolgirl who just got caught with her boyfriend.
“Mom, Hamish, we’re in the kitchen,” I call.
We don’t hear anything, and Clay walks out toward the noise when, suddenly, someone dressed in black with a balaclava seems to charge him. Clay shoves him off, and he runs out the front door with Clay hot on his tail.
In an instant, I’m on the phone to nine-one-one. They take what seems like forever to answer. And when they finally do, I realize I don’t know where I am. “Yes, I’m at—fuck, I don’t know the address. I’m at a townhouse downtown. Someone was inside when we came in.”
Then Clay appears, and I hand him the phone. He gives the operator the address and tells her someone broke in and attacked him before he ran off.
None of this makes sense. I don’t know what to think or do.
Clay finishes the call and holds me tight. Just a moment later, the police come running in with their guns drawn. It’s a wild scene. We are asked to stay with the officer in the kitchen and tell him what happened. The other two officers walk through the house, checking for anything amiss. We explain our evening and swimming in the pool, leaving out the sex part.
Hamish and Mom return in the middle of all the commotion. “What happened?” Mom cries.
I explain what happened, just as the two officers who were upstairs arrive back in the kitchen.
“It’s pretty messy upstairs,” one of them says. “I’m assuming you didn’t dump your suitcases and purse on the floor.”
I look at my mom, and her eyes are wide. “No, in fact I hung my clothes on a hanger before I came downstairs in my bathing suit.”