“Every moment is the paradox of now or never.” -Simon Van Booy
The double doors made of glass are open, the coolness of evening finding its way inside, drifting between my thighs as I stride towards them. I can’t hear water splashing and, for that matter, I definitely don’t see Owen as the type who jumps into a pool. No, he’s not a showy person, he’s quiet, subdued, he’s a gentleman. I can feel the smooth stamped concrete under my toes as I walk toward the edge of the large, rectangular pool. The back side of it seems to almost drop off, water cascading down over the side to who knows where. The view from here is something that I hadn’t noticed yet. It looks out over a valley, a smattering of other large homes perched atop the surrounding hills. I look around the yard which is overflowing with lush trees and plants; it’s more like a sanctuary than a back yard, isn’t it, I think to myself. My heart swells. This house doesn’t stop surprising me.
I think I may be in love with this house, too.
I sit down on the cool gray ground but curl my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them. I want to get in the water, to wade into the shallow end so the liquid is up to my waist, drawing attention to my bust. I want to appear sexy and confident because that’s how Kyra does it and it always works for her. But I just can’t. The serene blue ripples under the touch of my finger as I lean over and tap it, and I find my heart in my throat, the fear of being trapped under the weight of the water now more present than I thought it would be or even realized it was.
I watch the waves fade, blending back in with the pool which now rests motionlessly. It’s so crisp and clear that I can faintly see the reflection of my long blonde waves, the arches of my full lips, my wide blue eyes staring back at me. And for a moment I think, hey, maybe Kyra wasn’t just trying to inflate me so I’d believe I was her equal. Maybe I am beautiful.
I don’t even hear him step outside but there he is, sitting down next to me, his long legs dipping into the calm. He is sitting close to me. This is the closest we’ve ever been, except for the moment in his office where we stood face to face. I cock my head slightly, looking up at him; his eyes are big and warm, the amber color that swirls near his pupil is hard to find now. He’s in solid black swim trunks that stop a few inches above his knee and I see that they too are somewhat fitted, like his suit pants. He’s wearing a gray t-shirt that hangs from his broad shoulders, which are lurched forward, his hands gripping the side of the pool. He’s leaning forward to find my gaze and he has it. We are silent, me still clinging my knees to my chest. It started as a way to get closer to him but now, at the edge of the vast pool, I realize I may actually be scared of the water.
My voice comes out throaty and small, a sexy tone that I’ve not yet heard before. It is special, just for him.
“I want to get in. I’m just more nervous than I thought.”
He nods, and the small movement of him nodding releases a pocket of cologne from him somewhere, sending a tingle throughout my body, goosebumps budding up my arms and legs.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he utters, and he does a double take seeing my arms overrun with goosebumps.
Slowly and gently, he runs the back of his knuckles down my arm, not breaking his deep gaze into my eyes. His touch is so sensitive but it is sexual. I see it in his eyes, the desire, care, passion… it’s all there.
My nipples harden through the nylon swimsuit, reacting shamelessly to his touch. I can feel that place deep inside twist up with longing, a pressure building that will soon be undeniable. And out of nowhere, I am betrayed by my deep-seated emotions. Tears form behind my eyes as he shows me gentle kindness, stroking my arm to comfort me, our bodies so close together that I can feel the heat of his breath on my nose. I don’t want to break the gaze we are holding; it is powerful and it echoes through me, my heart thudding in my ears.
He reaches behind him and pulls his shirt off from the neckline, over his head, and he lowers himself into the water so gently that the pool remains still, almost completely. And then I feel his hands on the tops of me feet. Big, strong, caring. His skin on my skin… I inhale sharply to his touch and he knows my need. He recognizes my anguish and squeezes my feet tightly before releasing. I lower my feet and calves into the water, his touch emboldening me. I look at him through my hair, my head lowered, unable to shake away my tears and not wanting to ruin the moment.
He puts his hands on my knees, his thumbs dig in the sides and he gently spreads my legs open, so painstakingly slow. He steps up to the wall of the pool, his body tucked perfectly between my parted thighs. My heart is racing. No, it’s more than racing. It’s flying. I close my mouth to stifle a moan and lift my head so he can clearly see my face, flush and all.
I can’t play it cool. I am breathing so hard. So very hard. My chest rises and falls as if I’ve just ran a marathon or lifted a thousand pounds. I can feel my bottom lip tremble and I quickly bite it to keep it still, to not be another sign of my inexperience. Now, with his hands on my knees, his torso tucked in between my thighs, the worry of the pool washes away. The emotion I am overcome with is for him. For how badly I want him. How badly I need him.
My eyes, wide with anticipation, stay on him as his capable hands rise up my thighs, his palms pressed firmly against my skin, his fingers each outstretched to touch as much of me as he possibly can. He gradually moves his hands up to my body, stopping at my hips. He’s touching me so many places now, after all this time of never touching me. And yet he’s not touching me in the one place that burns for him to extinguish.
Without a grimace or a single strain, he grips me tightly at my hips and lifts me up off the edge of the pool, and he pulls me to him, lowering me into the water. It’s warm-much warmer than I anticipated-and it settles a few inches above my belly button. I look down into the blue and see my feet are planted in the middle of his; he has set me down not just in front of him but so very close to him. I can feel the ends of my hair drag through the water as we stand together, eyes now locked, still silent. I don’t know what to say. Where is all the confidence I promised myself I’d have? He cautiously moves his hands from my hips and takes me by complete surprise when he cups both sides of my face with them, gently stroking my bottom lip with his thumb. My mouth falls open and he leans down, covering my lips with his. There is a need inside me, raging, pounding on the walls of my body to be let out. His kiss is slowly unleashing my need.
His lips are like velvet, the kiss is experienced, his tongue entering my mouth and caressing mine softly. He tastes nothing like I expected. Better. His hands cradle my face while he kisses me, our breathing growing more labored by the moment. Just as I feel my wetness inside in my swimsuit, I feel it.
He leans into me as we kiss and I can feel his hard sex pressed up tightly in his waistband, throbbing against me. Only two layers of nylon are keeping it from me, I think to myself. I haven’t much to compare it to but I gently lean in, causing it to brush up against me again and it feels tremendous in length and-I brush up against it again-so thick. His intake of breath is sharp and I hear it pass through his gritted teeth; the pressure inside me is so intense that I moan into his mouth as he kisses me. He lets one hand fall away from my face and it disappears beneath the surface. I hope for a moment that he is going to take away some of my excruciating pressure, the desire that’s been building for so long. To set my wild need free. But he is different. He does it different than I’ve heard it described. He’s a man, secure in himself and his life. He moves slow, making each move intentional and known, and with that sentiment, his touch yields far more passion and power.
He grabs my thigh and squeezes it, lifting it gently.
It’s been said that people who are meant to be lovers move as one, their bodies tuned to one another, knowing and fulfilling their partners desires before they need to be spoken.
And we do this.
Though I have no experience-especially not in a swimming pool-I feel his gentle tug at my skin and I hop, in one smooth motion, into his groin and wrap my legs around his waist. His other hand falls away from my face though we continue kissing. I don’t know if I’m breathing? But I cannot possibly pull away and drag in a deep breath to be sure, I just can’t. He is my deep breath, the pressure inside me tells me that I may die if I pull away from him now.
Then I feel his thick hands glide up the underside of my thighs, reaching up and settling on my bottom, the tips of his fingers underneath my swimsuit. I moan into his mouth again as I feel him grip my ass, tightly, the strength of his hands making my clit swell. He kisses me deeper and then I feel his erection push up against me, right in that place that aches to be touched.
My heart feels like it’s been shocked with electricity; it leaps and twists, speeds then stops. I gasp, my voice raspy and desperate. My head grows heavy, the back of my skull feels like its full of sand and I feel myself break the kiss. Dropping my head back on my shoulders, my long hair goes deeper into the water, a deprived sob passing my lips. Then his lips are on the nape of my neck, and the realization of the eroticism of it all hits me. I feel my shoulders shake gently, tears slip down my temples and get hampered in my hair, my legs tighten around Owen’s waist. He has traced out the line of my neck with his lips, kissing me passionately. He nips at my chin, his teeth grazing my ear lobe before my head lifts forward, on its own, and our lips meet again. My tongue finds his with an urgency that scares me.
My grip on his waist is so secure that his hands now roam free, drifting off my ass up my back, getting lost in my heap of hair. I feel my locks weave through his knuckles and he tugs me down gently so our faces are level with one another. He breaks the kiss and opens his mouth to speak but stops himself.
And I am terrified.
Is this the moment he realizes he’s made a terrible mistake? It must be.
If the expectations are high, the disappointment is far greater, I know that. I am so vulnerable in this moment that I believe the doubt planted in my mind, telling me it can’t be real because I’m not good enough. I let my legs go free and I step back from him two paces, the water rushing around me in a quiet roar. There’s a rock in my throat and fire behind my eyes. His body doesn’t move but his eyes move madly between mine and his brow dips with confusion.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” I whisper, drawing my hands to my face, unable to watch him go and leave me there. He’s changed his mind, and I can’t bear to watch him leave.
And then I feel hands wrap around mine and tug them down, free from my face. He won’t allow me to shield myself, he requires more from me than that. He deserves more than that. I look up and now the tears are flowing freely; I am so embarrassed that I can’t even meet his eyes. His beautiful, sparkling eyes.
“If you changed your mind, it’s okay,” I cry, my warm tears dripping off my chin into the pool water.
Then his hands are on my face again and oh my, his hands have been all over my body. I gasp at the sight of him so close to me, the way his fingertips dig into my hair, how his breath on my lips makes my pussy swell. And then he speaks. His rich, intoxicating voice, thick with accent and passion, he presses his lips to my ear, bending over, his throbbing sex pushing into my belly.
“I will never change my mind.” And it all falls away.
The worry, the stress, the fear, the inadequacies and the selfevaluations.
It all falls away in his arms.
He scoops me up into his mountainous frame and walks us out of the pool. I nuzzle my face into his neck as he carries me, his evening stubble grating me gently.
He doesn’t stop for the towels and soon I can feel we’re inside the house, the air grows warm around me. He murmurs something, though I grasp in my emotional daze that he isn’t talking to me but he’s said just something to Marie. Oh Marie. How well she knew Owen. She had no judgement, she didn’t laugh at my hunger, she didn’t dismiss me because I am, on paper, quite dismissible. My heart warms at the thought of her compassion and then suddenly I feel Owen climbing stairs. I can’t bear to pull my face from his chest. I inhale deeply and his scent washes over me, making me love drunk. I can’t help myself; I tilt my head ever so slightly and kiss his collarbone, letting my tongue taste his chest. He groans and the sounds of him being so stimulated by me is enthralling; I feel like I’ve won the lottery, like I’ve summited Everest.
His words replay in my head.
I will never change my mind.
He wants me. But it’s more. It’s more but right now I can’t possibly think of it. All I can think of is this twist in my belly, this pressure in my pussy, this desire to dig my fingernails into his back while he puts himself inside of me.
“Yes,” I pant out loud, realizing that I am at the point of no return. He doesn’t question my yes, he feels it too, I know he does.