The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood 2)

The muscles in my chest were tense as I lined us up. Although she’d seemed to be enjoying it a few seconds ago, my dick was a lot bigger than two fingers. I wasn’t going to be comfortable if she wasn’t, and no way was I going to hurt her.

I asked it more for me than her. “Ready?”

She nodded.

With all the prep, her body was still kind of resistant, and it made me nervous with how much force I had to press into her with. Abruptly, the head of my dick pushed inside, and Erika’s sharp gasp made me feel like I’d swallowed a brick. I froze, unsure.

The shower continued to run, but otherwise everything was still. I wasn’t even breathing.

Her arms were tense, but her fingers unfurled from fists and pressed against the vinyl slats. And then she began to move minutely. Just a fraction of an inch at a time. I was only barely inside her, but I had to close my eyes. The visual of what we were doing was going to send me over the edge.

Her painstakingly slow movements began to increase, taking more of me with each pass as I held absolutely still. I couldn’t help it, the words spilled from my mouth. “God, I love it when you fuck me.”

She sighed dreamily. “Me too.”

Warning lights flashed inside my body and bliss traveled up my spine in waves. Don’t come. Wait.

Fingertips brushed against my sack and I glanced down. She was touching herself, and—fuck me—my dick was halfway inside her now. I palmed her ass cheeks and peeled her open so I had a better view.

“How does it feel?” I asked.

She didn’t answer right away. Maybe she was struggling for the right word. I hoped for ‘good’ or some variation. Her tone was incredulous. “Crazy.”

The brick in my stomach weighed me down some more. “Do you want to stop?”

There was no hesitation this time. “No.” She kind of laughed. “You’ve got a big dick. Give a girl a second to get used to it.”

I let out a tight breath.

When I relaxed, she did too, and suddenly it was easier for her to take me deeper. I groaned from the sensation. It wasn’t just how tight and different it felt, it was all the other shit that went along with it. How hot she looked with me inside her. That I was the first guy she’d wanted to try it with. How perfectly in sync we were.

I don’t know how it happened, but at some point she handed control back to me. I was the one fucking her now, slow and deep, while she had one hand bracing herself against the wall and the other between her legs.

She said it like a warning. “I’m going to come so fast.”

“That’s going to make me come,” I fired back.

I didn’t want her so far away when it happened. I leaned over, setting my hand beside hers on the partition, and used my other hand to turn her head toward mine.

I drank in her moans as they swelled and crushed them under my kiss when she came. Her rhythmic pulses choked my dick, and I groaned as the orgasm roared toward me, feeling like my body had been cranked up to eleven.

We didn’t talk about how she wanted it, so as I began to come, I pulled out. Hopefully, my timing hadn’t been terrible or I’d ruined her orgasm, but it was impossible to hold back any longer. I pumped my fist on my dick, stroking a few furious thrusts, before shooting streaks of cum across her perfect ass.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my whole body twitching with electricity and satisfaction.

Our hurried, labored breath was louder than the shower. I filled a hand with water and used it to gently wipe away the mess I’d created before she decided to get creative again.

Maybe it was my cooling body or the sudden breeze whipping through the slated partition that caused a chill to cling to my skin. An eerie awareness rolled through and my heart thudded oddly inside my rib cage.

There was a shadowy reflection in the water pooled at our feet that hadn’t been there earlier. I glanced toward the shower’s doorway—

Erika’s ex-husband stood at the entrance, and judging by the horror running across his face, he’d been there a while.

TWENTY-ONE

Erika

When I felt Troy solidify into stone, I wiped the dampness from under my eyes, straightened, and followed his gaze.

No.

Clark stood at the entrance of the shower, backlit by the bright, sunny afternoon behind him, his gaze fixated on our naked bodies.

I said it both in my head and out loud. “What the fuck, Clark?”

There wasn’t much point to shielding my nakedness from him. When we were married, we weren’t shy about nudity. He had no right to look now, but still he had the audacity to do it anyway. In my surprise, my brain was slow to understand why he was looking at me like my body was unfamiliar.