The Pool Boy(37)

Vera retreats and takes a breath, stroking me with her hand. I keep my eyes closed, and I feel her mouth close over me again, sliding downwards. Down and down, and she doesn’t stop. Suddenly my cock is at the back of her mouth and she still doesn’t stop. My eyes fly open as the head of my cock pops into her throat. And she still doesn’t stop, sliding me further and deeper as her mouth comes to rest at the base of me, lips pressed against my stomach.

“Fuck.” It’s the only word that I can think of.

I feel her tongue reach out, caressing the bottom of my cock as she bobs her head up and down. She’s sliding me up and down, but never releasing me from her throat. I reach out and thread my fingers through her hair, wanting to feel her rhythm in my hands. Vera hums and swallows, and I curse as her throat constricts around me. She releases me entirely, taking a deep breath and giving me a slow smile.

“I don’t want to swallow,” she says.

Her hand is still moving on me. I blink, trying to focus. Fuck. “You don’t have to.” She can do whatever she wants as long as she puts her mouth on me again.

She gives me a long, slow, lick and locks her gaze onto mine. “Let me be clear. The reason I don’t want to swallow is because you’re going to be so far in my throat when you come that I won’t have to.”

My cock jerks against her hand, and I freeze, the visual of her words flooding my mind and sending me straight to the edge. She takes me into her mouth again, moving rhythmically along the shaft until I’m too deep inside to see straight. My hips are moving now, pushing into her even as I try to keep still. Vera works me with her throat, bobbing quickly. She hums and uses her voice to tease me and I am so close to coming.

She pulls me out, back to my head, sucking on the tip before plunging it as far down as it can go, her tongue touching my balls. Again, it’s the sight that drives me crazy, and I cry out as my balls tighten and I release into her. I feel my cock jerking in her throat as I come, sending everything I have deep inside her.

Vera sucks my cock hard, keeping her mouth sealed and not letting a single drop escape. Finally releasing me, she licks her lips. That devilish smirk is back.

“That was fun,” she says lightly.

I can only groan, words still out of the realm of possibility.

She raises an eyebrow at me as she stands. “I hope that didn’t take too much out of you,” she says. “Because I’m going to be naked in your bed very shortly, and I expect you to fuck me. Thoroughly.”

I watch her walk toward my bedroom as she pulls her shirt over her head. I’m already getting hard again as I contemplate all the things we can do together, how I can really make her scream my name. I’m fully naked before I reach the bedroom, and as I walk through the door, I see that she is too.





16





Vera





The weekend passes like a dream. James and I are never separated, and even when we’re not having sex we’re touching. We are constantly entwined with each other, and I still just can’t get enough of being with him. And we talk. We talk about the silly little things you might find out from each other on a first date, and we share things like our firsts. Mine was sloppy and awkward, and so was his. I feel at ease sharing these moments with him, in a way I have with no one else.

Then there’s the sex. He does make me scream. He challenged himself to make me come as many times as he could using only his mouth in only an hour—that left me seeing stars. Then we burned our lunch because we ended up fucking on the kitchen floor. His store of condoms is running dangerously low.

By the time Sunday night arrives, I’m not sure how much more my body can take, even if it feels like I’ll never stop wanting it. And on top of that, my own reality starts to leak through.

I’ve managed to mostly not think about my father this weekend. But tomorrow is the deadline, the day I report to my first day on the new job, and dread steals the heat from me and pools in my stomach like a weight. I put on one of James’s shirts and wander out to the kitchen where he’s cooking. Pasta, I think. I smile at the fact that he’s making me Italian.

I lean against the archway of the kitchen and watch him. His back is to me, and I let my eyes wander, examining the way his shoulders move and the way the muscles of his back disappear into his sweatpants. He turns and sees me staring. He smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, fine.”

He turns away from me briefly to stir the pasta. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

“I’m just—” I sigh, shaking my head. “I’m thinking about tomorrow.”