The Pool Boy: Boys of Summer, #1 Page 3

  Bad, bad girl.

  I wash my hands and head downstairs to find Layla dressed in cutoffs and a t-shirt. I frown, wanting her in a bikini again. Or hell, out of a bikini would be nice.

  “Oh, Mason,” she mumbles quickly. She’s avoiding my eyes, and I start to grin, wondering if she’s wondering if I’ve realized her bathroom view yet and put some dots together.

  “I actually have to run and… uh, do some stuff.”

  I nod. “I’m almost done, but I can come finish up later.”

  “Oh! No, that’s okay, you’re welcome to stay and finish. Just let yourself out when you’re done?” She smiles awkwardly at me and reaches into her bag to pull out a business card. “Here’s my number you…” she blushes, and her eyes don’t meet mine.

  “If you need anything.”

  I nod, and she quickly whirls and rushes out the door. I hear the garage door, and then the sound of that sweet little Porsche firing up. She pulls it down the driveway and then opens the engine up down the road. I stand there, my cock still throbbing in my shorts, my heart still racing, her panties in my pocket, and my desire firmly lit on fucking fire.

  If I need anything? Oh, I need something alright.

  Her.

  Naked.

  In my bed.

  All mine.

  Chapter Five

  Layla

  God, what the fuck is wrong with me?

  The car winds through Laurel Canyon, along sideroads and around sweeping bends. Needless to say, I don’t actually have anything to do, just like I didn’t actually have a phone call to take inside earlier. I just had to get out of that house before I lost my fucking mind around Mason Dunn. I groan when I think of him, all grown up and looking like pure sex. Yeah, I had to get out of there, before I let God knows what happen.

  At some point, my phone buzzes in the seat next to me. At the next light, I glance over and see a text from an unknown number that says “Just about done here. -M,” and I know it’s Mason.

  I drive until I feel like there’s no way he’s still at my house. And when I cautiously pull back up my driveway and peek into the backyard, I see that I’m right. Thank God. I turn the car off and walk out the side door of the garage into the backyard. Mason’s gone, though I immediately spot the hose attachment for his cleaning machine laying to the side that he’s apparently left.

  I walk over to look at the water, and I blush, remembering his muscles flexing as he pushed the cleaner across the bottom of it. The pool is clean now.

  My mind is not.

  I busy myself by cooking an early dinner of salmon and wilted greens, along with a healthy, healthy pour of wine. The food does a halfway decent job of taking my mind off of the boy next door, but the wine brings him right back into the center of my thoughts. I try another glass, but damn if that doesn’t make it worse.

  I groan and drop my head into my hands, alone at my kitchen counter. I want to tell myself that this… obsession with Mason stems from my total lack of a sex life. I mean Celeste has been telling me for months, since the divorce that I just need to get out there and “get fucked.” But no. Hookups are not my thing, and the idea of getting out there and “dating” as a thirty year old divorcee sounds depressing as shit.

  So, the lack of sex might be part of it. I mean, even when I was married, Jeremy and I hadn’t even touched in closing in on two years. God, that was healthy, I think to myself sarcastically. My marriage to Jeremy was dead long before we finally put a bullet in it, too. I knew about his affairs—or at least some of them, I assume there were more. It pissed me off, but I guess I wasn’t heartbroken, because I’d stopped loving him years before. I guess I was too much of a pussy to actually divorce him, or maybe part of me just held on to this idea that marriage is supposed to be forever.

  That is, until I walked in on him with one of the models for my line. I guess it being right in my face like that gave me the push I needed to finally just walk away. I snort as I look around my gorgeous kitchen, in my modest-sized but very, very expensive house in the Hollywood Hills. Too bad for Jeremy, our prenup was airtight. Dickhead.

  I giggle to myself and sip more wine, and then, my thoughts leave Jeremy in the dust. Who needs to dwell on their out-of-shape, mediocre-dicked shithead of an ex, when they could be thinking of the total hunk next door with the smoldering eyes and the horse cock?

  I blush deeply, and I start to replay what I saw again. I think about watching Mason stroke that monster between his legs, and instantly, I’m wet—very, very fucking wet. I squirm on the barstool in my kitchen, and I close my eyes as the pleasure sparks between my thighs.

  I grin salaciously and stand. I knock back the rest of my wine and start to head upstairs to my newly redone master bathroom. Part of the remodel was a gorgeous half-sunken tub with jets and a head rest. Throw in some candles and my waterproof vibrator, and this girl is about have a fantastic night.

  I strip down and wrap a towel around myself in the bathroom. I go to toss my clothes in the hamper, but when I open the wicker lid, I frown. Wait, I just washed those.

  I reach for the crumpled black thong lying on top of the dirty laundry that I know I just washed and left to air dry. I pluck them up, and suddenly I gasp and drop them back in. My pulse thunders in my ears, and I lean closer to stare at them. I want to say I’m crazy, but I know damn well what I’m seeing, streaked in thick still-sticky white lines across the inside gusset of them.

  It’s cum.

  My face burns hot, and something throbs deep inside of me. There’s cum on my fucking panties, and I know there’s only one possible explanation for it. And the thing is, I’m not disgusted. I’m not grossed out, or worried. I’m excited. I look at my panties laying there with Mason’s thick cum all over them, and I get wet, instantly.

  A light suddenly goes on across from my window, and I gasp. I lunge for the switch on the wall and shut the lights off, leaving me red-faced and panting, hiding in the shadows wrapped in a towel. I look out the window, and I see Mason himself stroll into his bedroom in shorts and a t-shirt. He peels his shirt off, and I bite my lip, my eyes sliding over his grooved torso. God, those lines of his hips, point down…

  He reaches for his shorts, and I moan quietly when he drops them and steps out of them. He’s standing there in just a tight pair of black boxer briefs, and even from over here, I can see the way they bulge. My thighs clench, and I swallow thickly.

  Mason walks over to his bed and falls back across it, propped up and facing the window. He stretches an arm up and slips a hand behind his head. Then he reaches for his phone. I watch, feeling more and more like a complete creep and thinking I should just go take a bath, when suddenly, he reaches over the side of the bed and comes up with something in his hands. I frown, and then my jaw drops when I see what he’s holding.

  It’s a thong. A lacy, blue, slightly transparent thong. I’d know those anywhere, seeing as it’s my line. But more specifically, I’d recognize the panties in Mason’s hand because they’re literally my panties.

  He rubs his fingers over them, and when he brings them up to his face, my own cheeks burn hot. I moan softly at how dirty it is that the boy next door came all over one pair of my panties in my own house, stole another pair, and is now playing with them almost naked in his bed.

  The bulge in his boxers grows noticeably, and I moan again. He drops a hand down to cup himself, and the heat blooms hot through my body. It’s so wrong, but there’s also something so hot about the crude, illicit way he’s touching himself while playing with my stolen panties.

  I glance at the marble vanity and spot my phone. Without thinking, or before I can think too hard about it, I go back to that text from earlier, from him, and hit “call” on his number. It dials, and I watch him across the yards. His phone lights up, and he glances over and slowly grins, which makes my core tighten.

  “Evening, Ms. Hughes,” he growls deeply, which makes me shiver.

  “Layla,” I croak back.

  “N
o, I’m sorry, this is Mason.”

  I grin and roll my eyes. “Very funny.”

  I see him grin across the way. “What can I do for you, Layla?” he purrs.

  “I…” I blush. “Um, great job,” I blurt. “I mean on the pool earlier. It, uh, looks great.”

  Mason chuckles. “Thanks.”

  “Oh, I think you actually left your hose over here?”

  He chuckles. “No, I think I’ve got my hose with me.”

  I groan, blushing deeply as he grins.

  “But shit, did I leave that attachment?”

  I nod in the darkness and clutch the towel tighter around myself. “Yeah.”

  “Want me to come get it now?”

  My body shivers, and I rake my teeth over my lip. Don’t you dare, I think to myself. Or I won’t be held responsible for tackling you.

  “No,” I manage to blurt out. “No, that’s fine.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  There’s a long pause, and I can see him grinning roguishly in his bed.

  “Anything else you need, Layla?” he says in just shy of a teasing tone.

  Your cock.

  I blush deeply and shiver, swallowing as my hand tightens on my towel. I glance down at the hamper again, and my breath catches when I lay eyes on my cum-streaked panties.

  “N—no, I just…” I trail off, my pulse racing so hard I can barely talk.

  “You found them.”

  His words hit me like a slap, and I gasp.

  “W—what?”

  His smirk widens, and he grins into the phone. “I said, you found them, didn’t you?”

  My face burns, and my pulse is so loud I’m almost sure he can hear it through the fucking phone.

  “Mason, I don’t think I know what you’re—”

  “Yes, you do.”

  There’s an edge to his voice that has me shivering heatedly. I look up, and I instantly gasp when I see him standing from his bed and peering out through his window towards my house.

  “Are you there now?” He practically growls the question. He walks towards his big window and rests one hand on the frame, leaning into the glass with the phone to his ear. “In your bathroom?”

  “No, I…”

  He unclenches his hand and suddenly spins my panties on his finger. I gasp before I can stop myself, and he grins.

  “Liar,” he growls.

  “Mason…”

  “Layla.”

  “Those are mine,” I croak.

  “So you are there in your bathroom,” he purrs. “And yeah, I know they are. That’s why I took them.”

  I blush, my whole body shaking with forbidden desire.

  “Why did you take them?”

  His jaw clenches, and he growls lowly into the phone. “Because they smell like you, Layla,” he grunts. “Because they smell like your perfume, and like that sweet little pussy between your thighs that you were touching earlier.”

  My jaw drops, my face burns like it’s been singed by fire, and I gasp sharply. “Mason!” I blurt. “This is very inappropriate!”

  He shrugs, still smirking. “And?”

  “And? And we can’t do this! And we’re not having this conversation!”

  “So hang up,” he growls. “Hang up, because I’m just going to keep having this conversation.”

  “Mason—”

  “And I’m going to do more than talk, Layla,” he grunts. He drops my panties and slides his free hand into his boxers. I moan when I see him holding himself—squeezing, and slowly stroking—and from his grin, I know he hears me.

  “Mason,” I whisper.

  “Come closer,” he growls. “To the window.”

  “No, I’m…” I swallow. “I was getting ready to take a bath.”

  “Good,” he hisses, his voice tight. “Even more reason.”

  “Mason—”

  “Step to the window, Layla,” he growls the command, and I swear my body reacts like he’s just touched me. Shaking, I step towards the big windows of my bathroom, until the lights from my garage and his backyard illuminate me in a hazy glow. Mason groans, and his hand moves a little faster in his boxers.

  “Show me,” he growls darkly. “Take your towel off and show me.”

  I blush fiercely and shake my head. “No, Mason—”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  I blush deeply, gasping.

  “But then,” he drawls. “I think you’ve already seen mine, haven’t you?”

  My breath catches, and he grins. “You were spying on me, weren’t you Layla?”

  “Mason, I don’t know what you think—”

  “Dirty girl,” he purrs, and I instantly whimper.

  He hooks his thumb over the waist of his boxers, and he starts to tug them down. They slide down the grooves of his hips, and I gasp as my eyes tease over the little trail of hair from his navel down lower. The fat root of his cock slides into view, and my pussy throbs between my legs. He tugs even more, and more, letting me see inch after thick inch of his big cock, until finally, he pulls them all the way down, and it springs free. Mason’s heavy cock slaps against his abs, and I instantly moan.

  “Oh shit,” I whisper.

  He grins, and he starts to stroke himself. He squeezes, and the swollen crown flares, dripping precum over his head and down over his fingers, and it’s possibly the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  “Show me, Layla,” he growls. “Now.”

  It’s demanding, but I fucking love it. I crave it, actually, without even ever realizing I did. The way Mason just takes charge and tells me what he wants is as thrilling as it is hot as fuck. And before I know it, I’m nodding.

  “Show me that pretty pussy,” he husks, and I moan softly.

  What am I doing?

  But before I can second guess it, I’m slowly pulling at the bottom edge of my towel. I tug it higher, and higher, and my face burns hot. I pull it even higher, until with a final tug, he can see my pussy. Mason groans, and his hand starts to pump his huge cock even faster.

  “More,” he growls. “Show me more, beautiful.”

  I don’t think, I just do. With a flick of my wrist, the towel loosens around me and drops to the floor. And then, blushing wildly, I’m standing naked and utterly exposed to the boy next door while he strokes his big cock.

  “Oh fuck, Layla,” he groans.

  I blush shyly and start to go for my towel, but he shakes his head.

  “Uh-uh, no fucking way. Don’t you dare cover up from me.” He groans deeply. “Fuck, you’re so fucking hot, Layla.” His eyes lock with mine, and fire blazes in his gaze.

  “Touch yourself,” he whispers into the phone. “Touch your fucking pussy for me.”

  My hand pushes over my tummy, my mind reeling. I’ve never done anything remotely even close to this, much less with a guy nine fucking years younger than me. But I want this. I know it’s so fucking wrong, and scandalously twisted, but I want it. My hand pushes lower and lower, until suddenly I gasp as my finger brushes over my clit.

  “Oh shit,” Mason groans. He grunts roughly, and his muscled arm ripples as he pumps his cock. “Fuck, that’s so fucking sexy.”

  “Like this?” I whimper, rubbing my clit.

  “Just like that,” he growls. “Make that pussy nice and fucking wet for me.” He glances over and then reaches down to pluck something off the floor. I realize it’s my blue panties, and when Mason wraps them around his swollen cock, I moan.

  “That’s so naughty,” I whisper, panting.

  “What,” he grunts. “Your hot little panties wrapped around my big dick?”

  “Yes,” I moan. My fingers rub my clit faster, and I pant heavily as the pleasure washes over me.

  “So is rubbing your pretty pussy for me like this,” he growls. “So is rubbing that hot, wet little cunt while I jerk my cock, like you’re my own private little show.”

  I whimper, and he groans.

&
nbsp; “You like being naughty for me, don’t you?”

  “Yes!”

  “Be my naughty girl,” he growls. “Play with that hot little pussy and show me how you come. Show me how you come, Layla.”

  The pleasure overtakes me, and I moan as I sag against the window. My forehead presses to the glass, and my breath fogs it as I shamelessly rub my clit. Mason hisses in pleasure, and I look over to see him pumping his cock in powerful, rapid strokes. Jesus he’s so fucking big, and his head is just dribbling precum all over his shaft and hand. His whole swollen cock glistens wetly, and I grind my clit even harder.

  I start to tremble and shake, and I can feel myself clenching and tumbling towards that edge. My toes curl against the tiled floor, and my breath fogs the window. I moan, my nipples dragging like points across the glass, and my hand rubbing furiously between my thighs.

  “Come for me, Layla,” Mason’s voice purrs into my ear as I start to fall. “Come so fucking hard for me, and I want you to come right fucking now.”

  The snarl in his voice does it. I gasp, and my entire body stiffens and wrenches as the orgasm slams into me. I gasp when I come, tumbling into my climax as the pleasure swallows me whole.

  I hear a groan, and I look up just in time to see Mason’s huge cock swelling and then suddenly pulsing. Thick white jets of his cum splash against his window and run down. More and more pumps out of his head and drips down his thick shaft, soaking my blue thong. I cry out as a second orgasm hits me out of nowhere, and then I’m gasping for air and almost collapsing.

  I pant heavily, my cheek to the glass as my body shivers. I look up, and when his eyes burn hotly into mine, I gasp quietly.

  “Mason,” I whisper.

  “Layla,” he groans.

  “That was…” I trial off, my face burning hot as what I just did really and truly starts to sink in. “Mason, that was…”

  “That was whatever we want it to be.” His eyes hold mine, and he grins. “Goodnight, Layla,” he growls. “See you tomorrow.”

  His light clicks off, and I find myself grinning like an idiot before I pull away from the glass. I drop the blinds and stagger over to my tub to run the water. Slowly, I sink into it up to my nostrils, my entire body still shivering and my pulse racing.