The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

It came from him in a desperate rush as he heaved his fists over his cock. “You could play with your pussy. I don’t have to be the only one getting off.”

He was right.

“You want to watch?” I asked.

It was like I’d asked him if I could give him a million dollars. “Fuck, yeah.”

My hand drifted provocatively across my leg, slowly moving to its target, and when my fingertips landed on my clit, Troy’s lips parted and released a moan. It was absolutely the hottest thing I’d ever heard. And it gave me the courage to really touch myself.

I’d masturbated plenty of times before with Clark in the room, but that was usually when I’d laid beside him in bed after sex, working to get my own orgasm. In the beginning, he’d tried to assist, but it was clear I was more efficient at doing it, so a few years into our marriage, he’d given up being involved. Most times, he’d fallen asleep before I’d finished.

Clark had never asked me to touch myself, and he’d never shown any interest in watching me do it either.

So, it made my head spin that Troy was into it.

He was so into it.

We were both panting as my fingers rubbed quick circles over my swollen clit, causing sparks of pleasure to spiderweb across my skin. Oh, my God, it wasn’t going to take me long, not when this gorgeous fucking man was putting on a show and staring at me with so much hunger he was downright ravenous.

His hips moved, making him slide through his clenched fingers, and I reached out with my other hand to support myself on the nearby shelf. It was getting difficult to stand as the orgasm built inside me. Tremors vibrated up my legs, and I hurried my fingers to match his furious pace.

“I want those,” he said, between struggling breaths, “to be my fingers.”

Lightning zipped through me, short-circuiting my brain. I nodded toward his waist. “And I wish those were my hands.”

A long, deep exhale of satisfaction came from him, and something suspiciously like a growl rose from his throat. It was primal and animalistic, and the hardwired woman in me responded.

“Oh,” I gasped. “You’re going to make me . . .”

He groaned with pleasure. “Watching you come,” he said, “is going to make me come.”

I tensed my grip on the shelf until my fingers ached, but I didn’t slow my other hand down. I moved so quickly, it was probably a blur to Troy, but then again, he was the same. This beautiful boy, wrapped in muscle and freckled, tan skin, jerking himself off so hard and fast, would have stolen my breath if I had any left.

My vision narrowed in on him as my climax took me. It pulled me into a tight ball and then flung my pleasure out through my limbs, making me shake and flinch with each wave. I cried out, and it was the signal he needed, because then he was the one with the swelling moans and the loud groan as he came undone.

The movement of his hips was jerky and erratic. His hands clamped down over the tip of his dick, trapping his release, but it meant the rest of him was uncovered, and I watched in fascination as the rhythmic pulses throbbed through the length of him.

My hand dropped away from the center of my legs, my body still tingling from the bliss, and when I straightened away from the shelf, it creaked quietly. It took me longer to catch my breath than for him, but Troy remained like a statue with his hands cupped over himself.

I nearly smiled. Was he . . . trying to be polite? Worried about dripping semen on my unfinished floor?

“That was insane,” he said abruptly.

My amusement died as a chill descended on me. Or perhaps it was reality. What we’d just done was insane, and guilt filled every cell in my body. He was Jenna’s son, for Chrissake. I shifted my gaze away. “Yeah.”

“I meant, insanely hot.”

Relief sparked, and my attention flew back to him. “Oh.”

His voice was rich, and his expression was stripped bare of bravado. It was honest and hopeful. “Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I breathed.

He nodded as if he’d said the word “good” out loud, and then swung his gaze from me toward the open door to the bathroom.

I didn’t watch as he marched toward it and disappeared inside. Instead, I retrieved my swimsuit bottoms and yanked them on. The sound of water ran from the faucet in the bathroom while I grabbed my dress, and I tried not to think about why he was in there washing his hands.

With him out of sight, the sex dissipated from the room and cleared most of the fog from my mind.

Oh, God.

What had I done?