Poolside Temptation

The pool threw broken coins of light across the deck, and Elise stood in them like she had been set there on purpose. She was twenty-eight, five foot three in her bare feet, tan from a summer of client lunches that kept ending outside, and the white bikini looked like it had lost an argument with her body. The triangles strained over a full D-cup, and her waist was tight from the early workouts she complained about and never skipped. Her ass was round and firm, the high-cut bottoms riding so the lower curve of each cheek caught the sun every time she shifted her weight. She was a businesswoman who could close a deal before lunch and still lose her sunglasses in her own purse, smart and funny and ditsy in the bright way that made people underestimate her until she smiled and took their money.

"I told him the invoice was in the folder with his name on it," she was saying, glass of sparkling water sweating in her hand. "He wrote back, which name. I said the one on his birth certificate. He sent a thumbs-up. I don't think he found it."

Vanessa, twenty-nine, snorted and nearly spilled her own water. "You collect helpless men."

"I collect men who pay," Elise said. "Helpless is a hobby."

The side gate clicked. Rafael came through first, thirty-one, her husband, sunglasses shoved into his hair, a cooler of sodas knocking his knee. Behind him Jerome had to turn his shoulders to clear the frame. Six feet, dark-skinned, muscle stacked easy under a black tank and navy trunks, he was thirty-two and built like the job sites he ran had personally carved him. Elise's face lit the way it always did around Rafael's friends, warm and flirty and, as far as she knew, perfectly safe.

"There you are," she called. "I was about to tell everyone you were a fib Rafael made up so he could leave early."

Jerome's mouth curved. His voice came out lower than he meant. "Your husband drives like the speed limit personally offended him. We could've walked."

She laughed and rose on her toes to kiss Rafael, then turned that same brightness on Jerome. Her hand landed on his forearm when she asked if the drive had been miserable. The touch was nothing to her. It went through him like a struck match.

He had wanted her for a year. It had started the night Rafael, proud and careless with his phone, sent the guys a string of pictures and videos he should have kept to himself. Elise in a dress at dinner. Elise bent over their kitchen counter, ass up, reaching for a bowl, oblivious to the camera. And the clip Jerome had opened until his pulse should have worn out: Elise in short gray shorts in their living room, music up, twerking because Rafael had asked her to. She laughed the whole time. Her cheeks clapped. She glanced back with that delighted, ditsy face like she had no idea what her body was doing to anyone who was not her husband. Jerome had watched it in his truck with his cock in his fist and hated how badly he wanted the real thing. Now the real thing stood three feet away in a white bikini, and his mouth had gone dry.

His eyes moved before he could lock them down. The tan swell of her breasts. The dip of her waist. The fit, high curve of her ass when she turned to set her glass on the table. He pictured her bent over the nearest lounge chair already, bottoms yanked aside, his hands spreading her while she pushed back and took every inch. The image was sharp enough that he had to shift his stance.

Rafael saw the look. He always saw the looks. He was a secret cuck about it, the kind of man who never said the word and still got hot and restless when other men stared at his wife like they wanted to use her. Jerome's hunger was worse than most, blatant, almost rude. Rafael's smile went slow. He loved this. He clapped Jerome's shoulder, loud enough for the deck. "Told you she looks better than the pictures."

Elise blinked, amused, missing every sharp edge under the joke. "What pictures? If you sent the boat one where my hat flew off, I am divorcing you for taste."

"Worse," Rafael said, grinning, and headed for the grill and the other men. He glanced back once. Jerome was still looking at her ass. Rafael's pulse kicked, private and pleased, and he let the feeling sit.

Elise kept talking, oblivious and bright. She asked about Jerome's latest site, teased him for never texting back, and flipped her damp hair off her shoulder so her breasts shifted in the thin top. She was loyal. She loved her husband. Flirting was just how she moved through a party, and she never followed it anywhere Rafael was not welcome. Jerome answered her and, behind his eyes, already had her ankles by her ears.

The afternoon slid toward evening without anyone deciding it should. The grill smoked. Someone put on a playlist Elise kept talking over. She drifted between conversations the way she always did, bright and a little scattered, stopping to fix a leaning stack of towels and then forgetting why she had walked over. Every time she passed Jerome her hip nearly brushed his thigh. Every time, he imagined gripping that hip and hauling her back onto him until the jokes fell out of her mouth. Rafael watched it happen and did not interrupt. When Jerome's gaze dropped to her ass as she bent for a fallen sandal, Rafael's ears went hot. He smiled into his soda and let the want roll through the yard. Let him look. Let him want. That was the part he never admitted out loud and never got tired of.

By the time the string lights flicked on, the other men were already arguing about cards. Cole, thirty-four and loud, waved a deck from the doorway. "Poker. Inside. Loser deals the next three hands and doesn't get to complain."

"I'm in," Rafael said. He caught Jerome's eye and tipped his chin toward the house, a casual invitation that was also a test. Jerome did not move.

"I'll catch the next hand," Jerome said. "Somebody should watch the pool so none of you float off and ruin the night."

Rafael held the look a second longer than he needed to. Then he grinned, the secret heat still low in his stomach, and followed the men inside. The sliding door shut on their voices.

Vanessa stretched and hooked an arm through Elise's. "The ladies are claiming the guest room. I have a dating disaster to unload and I refuse to tell it standing up."

Elise laughed. "Give me a minute. I left my phone out here, and if I don't grab it I'll convince myself it drowned."

"Don't vanish," Vanessa said, already halfway to the house, and the other women went with her, bare feet slapping tile, their talk folding into the hallway until the backyard went quiet.

The pool pump hummed. A moth battered itself against a bulb. Chlorine and warm stone smelled like the whole summer. Elise turned in a circle, scanning the lounge chairs for a phone she was not even sure she had brought outside, and found Jerome still there, big and still, watching her like the party had been an excuse to get to this.

"You hate poker," she said, smiling, a little ditsy about the sudden emptiness and not yet reading his face. "Rafael says you lose on purpose so you can leave early."

"Rafael talks too much." His voice had gone rough. "Come here."

She came, because she was friendly, because she liked him, because the night felt soft and she did not see the danger in a friend's voice going low. She stopped a foot away, head tipped, five foot three to his six feet. "Did I leave my phone on you? That would be a new one, even for me."

"No." He let his eyes drop, slow and deliberate, over her mouth, her breasts, the bare tan of her stomach, the white bottoms, the fit ass he had been staring at since the gate opened. "I've been trying not to say this all day. You're killing me in that bikini."

She laughed, the flirty automatic one, and then the laugh thinned because he was not joking. Color rose under her tan. Her nipples pulled tight against the thin fabric before she could tell them not to. "Jerome."

Inside his head the restraint snapped into pictures so graphic he almost tasted them. He saw himself bending her over the lounge chair, spitting on that tight hole, working his cock into her until she sobbed and pushed back for more. He saw her on her back with her legs folded to her shoulders, ass spread in his hands, taking a pounding so deep her smart mouth could only moan. He saw cum striped across her tan back while she shook through it, delighted and still asking for him. The fantasies were intense enough to make his cock strain his trunks, and he did not look away from her face.

"I mean it," he said. "I've wanted you for a year. Your husband sent us those pictures, and that video of you twerking in those little shorts, and I have not been right since. I watch it and I think about bending you over and fucking your ass until you can't laugh anymore." He held her gaze. "I'm not drunk. I'm not messing with you. I want you. If you want me to shut up and go play cards, I will. Say the word and I'm gone."

Her mouth opened. Closed. She was smart enough to hear exactly what he was offering and ditsy enough that the bluntness still startled her. Loyal, she thought. She was loyal. Rafael was inside with a bad poker face and a head full of other men's stares. She loved him. She also felt a hot, liquid ache start low in her belly, her bikini bottoms suddenly too damp to ignore, and she did not look away.

"You watched that video," she said, softer.

"Too many times." His hand hovered near her hip, not touching yet. "I imagine your ass in my hands. I imagine you face down on that chair, moaning, taking my cock in your ass and liking it. Tell me to stop and I stop. I swear."

She stepped in until her breasts brushed his chest. The contact made her breath catch. "I've been feeling you look at me all night, and I kept telling myself I was imagining it. I wasn't. I'm curious. I want to know what you would do if I said yes."

"Then say yes."

"Yes." She put her hand on his stomach and felt the muscle jump under her palm. "Yes, Jerome. I want it. I want you. Out here, before anyone comes back. I'm saying yes because I want you to fuck me, not because you talked me into anything. If I say stop, you stop. Deal?"

"Deal." His hands finally closed on her waist, big enough to span it. "Where do you want me?"

Heat flooded her face and her pussy at the same time. She had been loyal for years, and she was choosing this with her eyes open, curiosity burning hotter than caution. "My ass," she said, and a breathless laugh broke out of her even as her thighs pressed together. "I've thought about it. Not with you. Just thought about how it would feel to be filled there. I want to try. I want you to. There's oil on the side table. Use it. Lube me up. And talk to me while you do it. I want to hear how bad you've wanted this."

His cock throbbed so hard he had to breathe through his teeth. "You're sure. Say it plain."

"I'm sure." She kissed him, quick and hot, then again slower, tasting sparkling water and the salt of his skin. "Fuck me. I want your cock in my ass. That's me asking. That's me wanting it."

He walked her to the lounge chair at the far side of the deck, half-shadowed by the big umbrella, pool light sliding blue across the cushions. Elise's pulse was loud in her ears. She was still the woman who lost her phone and teased vendors, and she was also the woman who had just asked her husband's friend to fuck her ass, and the second fact had her wet enough that the bikini clung.

"Turn around," Jerome said.

She did. He untied the side bows and let the bottoms fall. Night air hit her bare ass and she shivered, not from cold. He palmed both cheeks, spreading them, groaning at the tight little hole and the slick gleam already on her pussy.

"Look at you," he said. "I've jerked off thinking about holding this ass open and watching my cock disappear. Bend over."

She bent over the chair the way he wanted, forearms on the cushion, back arched, ass up. The pose shoved her D-cup against the fabric and lifted everything he had stared at. She looked back over her shoulder, hair in her face, eyes bright. "I'm eager. Don't make me wait now that I said yes."

He grabbed the bottle of coconut oil, poured a thick shine into his palm, and warmed it between his hands. "Lube first. Then me. Tell me if it's too much."

"I will. And right now I want more, not less."

His slick fingers circled her asshole, patient and filthy, pressing until the muscle gave and one finger sank into that heat. Elise gasped, then moaned, pushing back onto it. "Oh. That's—more. I can take more."

"Eager for a woman who came out here looking for her phone." He worked a second finger in, scissoring, oil dripping down to her pussy, lubing her until she shone. She rocked, fucking herself on his hand, ditsy little sounds breaking into something needier. When she was open and slick he shoved his trunks down. His cock was thick, dark, heavy, the head already wet. He stroked oil over the length until it gleamed.

"Spit on me," she said, half laughing, half desperate. "I want to feel you do it. I saw it in my head when you were talking. Do it, then put it in."

He spread her cheeks with one hand and spat, a hot stripe landing right on her tight hole, mixing with the lube. Elise whimpered. He set the broad head against her and waited one more breath.

"Yes," she said. "Put it in. I want it. Fuck my ass."

He pushed. The head breached slow, stretching her, and her fingers clawed the cushion. "God—Jerome—you're thick—"

"Breathe. Push back. Take it." He fed her another inch, then another, oil and spit letting him sink into that blinding grip. Her ass held him like a fist. He did not rush the first stroke, but he did not stop either, working deeper until his hips met her cheeks and she was stuffed full. Elise's mouth hung open. A broken moan spilled out of her. She bit her own wrist, then decided she did not care who heard.

"All the way," she panted. "You're all the way in my ass. Move. Pound me. I want it hard."

He drew back and drove in. The lounge chair creaked. He set a deep rhythm, hands locked on her waist, then on her fit ass, spreading her so he could watch his cock piston into her stretched hole. Every thrust shoved a wet sound out of her. She pushed back to meet him, eager, lost, the loyal businesswoman gone soft around the edges and replaced by a woman who wanted to be used exactly like this.

"That's it," Jerome growled. "Take it. I've wanted to fuck this ass since that video. Look at you pushing back. You love getting your tight ass pounded."

"I love it," she gasped. "Harder. Don't be gentle. I said yes to all of it. Use me. I want to feel you tomorrow."

He pounded her doggy-style until her thighs shook and her moans went high and constant. The lubed length of him shone every time he pulled back to the head and slammed home again. Her pussy dripped onto the cushion. She reached under herself and rubbed her clit, frantic, and the shock made her ass clamp so tight he swore against her shoulder.

"Not done with you," he said. "On your back. I want you folded up."

He pulled out slow. She whined at the empty ache, hole fluttering. He turned her, laid her on the lounge, and folded her legs up toward her shoulders, ankles near her ears, the piledriver opening her completely. Her ass was right there, shiny and slightly gaped, her D-cup spilling toward her chin, her face flushed and wanting. He gripped both fit cheeks in his big hands, spread them wide, and drove his thick cock back into her lubed anus in one deep thrust.

Elise cried out, then moaned his name like she had been saving it. "Yes—yes—fuck, that's deep—don't stop—"

He did not. He held her open and fucked down into her, intense and graphic, the wet clap of his hips against her ass filling the quiet yard. Each thrust punched a sound out of her chest. She grabbed his forearms and pulled, urging him deeper, pushing her ass up to take every inch. The stretch burned sweet. Pleasure built under it, huge and strange, radiating from where he split her. She was fully lost in it, consensual and greedy, stretched and used and begging for the next stroke before the last one finished.

"You feel that?" he said, voice wrecked. "My cock in your tight ass. All of it. Say you want it."

"I want it. I want you to pound my ass. Jerome—right there—I'm gonna come—don't you dare pull out until I start—"

He gripped her cheeks harder, thumbs digging into the soft-firm flesh, and hammered her through the climb. The orgasm hit from her ass outward, a full-body clench that made her shake and sob his name, pussy pulsing, hole fluttering around him in desperate little grips. He rode two more deep thrusts while she came, then pulled out as the spasm took her. His cock jerked. Thick ropes of cum striped her tanned back and splashed across her ass, hot and heavy, painting the same cheeks he had been staring at since the gate opened. Elise shuddered through the whole of her anal orgasm while he unloaded on her, ass clenching on nothing, back arching, a wrecked laugh breaking out of her that was breathless and delighted.

"Oh my God," she said. "Jerome. Oh my God."

He stroked the last of it onto her skin, chest heaving, and laughed too, low and stunned, the two of them grinning at each other like they had gotten away with the best bad idea of the year. Pool light moved over the mess on her back. Then Elise, still smart under the ditz, reached for the towel on the neighboring chair.

"Wipe me down before I do something truly stupid, like walk inside like this."

He cleaned her carefully, gentle now, oil and cum and the shine of her, until her skin was just tan and warm again. She retied the bikini with shaky fingers. He fixed his trunks. Her hair was a mess. His mouth was swollen from the kiss. They looked almost ordinary if you did not know where to look, and they were both thrilled that nobody would.

They slipped back toward the lit house as if nothing had happened, poker chips clicking behind the glass, women's laughter drifting down the hall. The night smelled like chlorine and coconut oil. She was sore in the best way. He was still half hard. At the edge of the deck she caught his wrist, smile crooked, satisfied, a little daring.

"You gonna tell him the truth, or are you walking back in there like you didn't just cum all over his wife's ass?"