The Pool Boy

Chapter One

Layla

The southern Californiasun beats down on my glistening skin, making me tingle all over. A tease of heat throbs through me, pooling between my thighs as my thoughts turn dirtier, and filthier. Behind my sunglasses, my brow furrows, my eyes squeezed shut. My lips part, and I gasp slightly as my fingertips tease lower over my hips.

My tummy caves, and my pulse quickens as the memories of last night come flooding back. I flash back to what I saw, and who I saw, and my core tightens. My arousal floods my bikini bottoms, and I rake my teeth over my lips as my fingertips brush the elastic edge.

The backyard is hardly the place for this, but I know I’m shielded from any prying eyes. It’s one of the reasons I bought this house four years ago when my company was first blowing up. A lot has changed since that first taste of success, but the utter privacy of the pool area in my backyard has stayed the same.

The warm air licks over my skin, and I squirm in the lounge chair. My fingers push under the waist of my bikini, and I gasp quietly. My mind slides back to what I saw—what I watched—last night, and my nipples harden to points under my thin top. My mind replays the way his abs tightened, and the way his hand gripped his huge, thick cock so hard. The way he slid that hand up and down, his head thrown back, his biceps rippling and that jaw of his grinding hard.

The way he came—his thick ropes of cum pumping across his grooved abs and all over his hand.

This is fucking wrong. What I saw last night isn’t as inappropriate as it could have been, but it’s close. And thinking about it—thinking about him—now, is only pushing it further into “wrong.” I know damn well I should have looked away, but there was no looking away once I laid eyes on that. There was no ignoring the raw heat that blazed through me at the sight of… well, him.

His name is Mason Dunn. He lives next door to me, and last night, I realized that the windows of my recently remodeled master bathroom look directly into his bedroom.

…His bedroom in his parents’ house.

I watched the boy next door stroke his thick, big cock last night until he came all over himself, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. At. Fucking. All.

Like I said, it’s not as bad as it could have been, at least. Four years ago, when I first bought this house, seeing what I saw last night would have been illegal. It would have branded me a pervert of the worst kind. But that was then, and this is now, and a lot’s changed since then.

He’schanged a lot since then. That cute, charming boy next door isn’t a boy anymore at all, for one. I basically moved away from here two months after I moved in. My lingerie company was blowing up, and I ended up spending more and more time in New York at my new offices there. Eventually, I was mostly just a New Yorker ninety percent of the time. I wasn’t here to see when Mason Dunn graduated high school and went to Stanford. I wasn’t here to see when he went from tall and lanky to built like a quarterback.

But I’m here now, and oh do I see what he’s become.

He’s twenty-one, I’m thirty. I know he’s “old enough,” but he’s still too young for me to be fantasizing about like this. And he’s too young for me to have watched him last night, squeezing my thighs together in the dark of my master bathroom. But I can’t stop, and the more I try and tell myself not to, the more I keep replying the image of his thick cock pumping his cum over his abs.

Even last night, afterwards, I lay in bed trying to rationalize it. I told myself I was just extra on edge from going on two years of celibacy, and that includes when I was still married to Jeremy. My best friend Celeste was sure that after I divorced Jeremy’s scummy cheating ass, I’d be out there living the swinging single life and falling into one hunk’s bed after another.

And maybe that does happen for some people, but not when you’re in the middle of selling off the company you spent your life building. Even when that was done, and I found myself basically retired at thirty, I just couldn’t bring myself to go out there and “date.” It just wasn’t for me, and the idea of trying to make small talk at some bar or try and weed out the psychos on something like Tinder was overwhelming.

So, six months after the divorce, I had half my LA house remodeled, sold my New York condo, and moved back here.

…Next to Mason. Gorgeous, twenty-one-year-old, incendiarily hot, inappropriate, pure brawn and muscle, and apparently hung like a fucking horse Mason Dunn.

The boy next door grew the fuck up, and now here I am running my fingers over my dripping wet pussy thinking about his dick.

I’ve been back in LA for less than forty-eight hours, and last night was the first time I realized what I could see if his blinds were open. I stood there in the dark, leaning against the glass shower door with my hand between my legs. It might be shameful, but what happened, happened. I touched myself, and I came watching Mason jerk off.

My eyes squeeze shut, and my hand finds the volume to my earbuds. I turn it up, and the sexy pulsing beat of a Halsey song pumps into my ears. My body arches, and I moan as my fingers push down between my slick, sticky pussy lips. I grind my fingertip against my clit, and I imagine it’s Mason just teasing me with that big fucking—

A shadow blots out the sun for a second, and I startle. I open my eyes, and suddenly, I fucking scream.

I swear I must jump four straight feet in the air scrambling out of the pool chair. I yank my hand from my bikini and my stomach knots. My heart feels like it’s in my throat, and every single part of me wants to just melt into a puddle and soak into the ground to escape this moment.

The man is shadowed with the sun behind him, but I can tell from his silhouette that he’s huge, and muscled. He’s shirtless, too, and I can see the hot sun glowing over the tan, bronzed skin of his shoulders. Panic grips me, and I’m about to scream again when I realize that he’s holding what looks like a huge vacuum cleaner with a long, thick hose over his shoulder.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

I’ve been so busy fantasizing about Mason and his big dick with my headphones in, touching myself, that I’ve somehow utterly forgotten about the appointment I made for the pool company to come for a cleaning. I cringe so fucking hard, and I try and tell myself that there’s no way he really saw anything, but I know that’s a really, really shitty lie.

He definitely saw. I just pray to God that he’s professional enough to pretend he didn’t.

I groan and reach up to yank my earbuds out. “Hi. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me!” I peer at the man, but with the sun right behind his head, I have to squint, and all I can see is shadow.

The guy says nothing, and just stands there. I swallow.