The Pool Boy(22)

By the time the two-hour mark rolls around, I’m not only aroused and excited but also less anxious about the interview. I also changed into a skirt—my instinct tells me it will be easier this way. As I head outside, I’m relieved to see that my mother is no longer on the balcony. The garden is drenched in afternoon sun, and I stop to admire it. This is one of my favorite times to be here, when it’s quiet and sunny. No place has ever felt more like home than my little garden.

I hear his footsteps a second before his arms wrap around me from behind. “Hello.”

“Hi.”

He grabs my hand and tugs me into the garden. The grass under my bare feet is wet, like it’s just been watered. I should scold him for watering my garden again, but I have a feeling he’s about to make it up to me. “How’s your design?” he asks.

“All done.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” I say. “I got pretty much everything done in the last two hours. I was incredibly focused.”

He laughs as he guides me to my bench; I picked it because I thought it was beautiful, and it became a great place for me to study on the weekends.

He tells me, “Sit down.” And I do. “Close your eyes.”

I do not. “Why?”

James smiles. “Because today you do what I say. And,” he adds, sitting down next to me, “I don’t want you thinking about anything besides what I’m about to do to you.” His voice pitches down on those last words and I shiver. I close my eyes. “Keep them closed.”

His hand is on my shoulder guiding me so I’m leaning against the back of the bench. Then it’s on my skirt, lifting, his fingers teasing my pussy through my underwear. My whole body is on alert, waiting for his next touch. All the arousal I’ve been ignoring the past two hours comes roaring back and I’m finding it hard to breathe.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He’s no longer sitting next to me. His hands are on my knees and then my thighs and then my underwear are sliding away. James pushes my knees apart, and with my skirt up around my waist I can feel the air on my pussy. I have the urge to open my eyes, to make sure that we’re alone and that no one else can see me. But James asked me to trust him, and I will even if the thought of being vulnerable in the open makes me shake.

He draws my legs further apart, and I bite my lip. I’m holding my breath. There’s the lightest touch on my clit and my nerves crackle to life, sending heat through my core. There it is again—just a flick—barely there. He touches me over and over with his tongue, each touch a little stronger, each a little more curious. He drags the tip across the top, cutting so close to my throbbing center, and then I feel it explore underneath. And then he starts flicking from side to side. I can’t predict where he’ll go next.

When he slips a finger inside me, I groan. Sealing his mouth over me, he sucks hard while his hand works inside me. He adds another finger, curling them and stroking me from the inside. They slip across that spot that makes me go blind and my body jerks in response. I feel him smile against my pussy as he continues to work me with his tongue. The sensations inside and outside of me combine and send me straight toward the edge. It feels like the pleasure is being drawn from everywhere in my body, all of it rushing between my legs to his lips locked against me. I feel that rush building. I let my head fall back and surrender, preparing for the wash of pleasure welling up within my body.

As he starts fucking me faster with his fingers, I savor the edge of pleasure before the fall. I’m close, so close, so—and then he stops. Entirely. His fingers don’t move, his mouth leaving my pussy ice cold in the open breeze. My eyes fly open and I look down to find him grinning. “Not yet,” he says. My jaw drops. I think I might kill him.

He tells me, “Close your eyes.”

“James.”

“Close your eyes, Vera.”

I close them and clench my teeth together. It doesn’t matter. As soon as he touches me again I’ll be seconds away from my orgasm. It’s still so close. But James doesn’t touch me there. He takes his fingers out of me and then his hands are running along my thighs and down my calves. The muscles in my legs relax as he massages, and my orgasm fades.

There’s a part of me that’s seriously reconsidering the choice to trust him. His hands move to my feet, working out any tension he finds. I gasp as he works out a knot I didn’t even know was there. Massage is definitely a career choice he should consider. When he’s finished with my feet he moves up, reversing his trail until his hands are centimeters away from where I need them to be. The sound I make isn’t ladylike, and I don’t care.