The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood, #2)

by Nikki Sloane

My husband was an attractive man. He worked out three times a week with a trainer, had a handsome face, and took pride in his appearance. But I couldn’t look at him, too frustrated with the situation. Instead, I stared at the remainder of the steak I’d ordered for dinner.

his sex drive had faded to nothing—right as mine had ramped up to the max.

Once the desire for me had gone, it seemed unlikely it’d ever come back. Not unless I did something drastic.

God, it made me feel sexy. I wanted to be a smoldering temptress Clark couldn’t refuse.

Wasn’t I already aware marriage didn’t mean a thing to some people? Like my father.

I swallowed down my embarrassment. I’d come here tonight with a plan of seduction, completely unaware my husband was in love with someone else. He’d made me an oblivious fool.

A tiny voice cried out in my head that he’d done this to me on my birthday.

But the year of cheating? And the fact he had no desire to ever come clean about it? Not to mention the way he treated me after he’d been caught . . . that was fucking unforgivable.

He was livid when I tracked down Derrick’s wife and confessed what I’d caught our husbands doing. I’d battled heavily with the decision to tell her.

But his wife had a right to know her husband wasn’t faithful, and I wouldn’t have hesitated if I’d caught him with another woman. I was a firm believer that once a cheater, always a cheater, and if it were me—I’d want to know.

Better to deal with the hurt now than waste years with a partner who lied and didn’t love you.

I didn’t recognize this man anymore. He wasn’t even a shadow of the person I’d fallen in love with twenty years ago.

It’d been a hard ten months, but my broken heart and wounded pride had slowly healed as I’d settled into my new normal.

It wasn’t a lie. Tuesdays were my standing appointment to clean Ms. Graham’s pool, but I didn’t mention to Bill how the timing was flexible. She hadn’t been home a single time I’d gone over there, so I doubted she cared when I did the service.

I’ve got to clean Ms. Graham’s pool.” He hadn’t restarted the game, so he was able to give me a knowing smile. “You took a shower . . . to go clean her pool?”

I’d been pushing my start time later and later in hopes of seeing her, but so far, no such luck.

“She’s always had that ‘Stacey’s Mom’ thing going on, but since she got her tits done?” My friend did a chef’s kiss. “She’s hot as fuck.” I was well aware.

Ms. Graham had been my primary source of spank bank material whenever I was without internet, and sometimes, even when I had access to PornHub. My fantas...

“She isn’t married anymore,” Preston teased. “Now’s your chance, Troy.” “Shut up.” He laughed at himself, but then sobered. “Maybe that’s wha...

“All I’m saying is I’d let Ms. Graham ride me until she broke my back.”

I’d spent years trying not to think about her. She was older—not to mention married—and my mom’s best friend. Pursuing her would be stupid. Then again, I wasn’t the smartest guy around, was I?

When my vision adjusted, I saw her lying out on the lounge chair, but my brain was much slower to recognize she was wearing a bikini. A peach one that showed off her flat stomach and—

Ms. Graham’s head lifted at the same moment she pulled one of the earbuds out of her ear, and her focus snapped in my direction. My goal had been to get her to notice me, so . . . Mission fucking accomplished.

I was topless, and he was frozen, and holy shit, he was my best friend’s twenty-four-year-old son. It burst from my lips in horror. “Oh, fuck!”

In my panic, I grasped at my towel to cover myself, only to struggle hopelessly since it was pinned beneath my body. I leapt to my feet and yanked the terrycloth up, pressing it over my naked chest.

Troy still hadn’t moved. His lips were open, as if he’d planned to say something, but now he was frozen and unable to do anything. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored Aviato...

So, I did what any reasonable woman would when a gorgeous, almost-stranger c...

The sun dress was a deep indigo, and I pulled it on, not bothering with a bra.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered under his breath, and ran a palm down the front of his body. Because the fly of his shorts was tented.

If his intent was to make his erection go away, the brush of his hand had the opposite effect. Tortured pleasure twisted on his face as he glared at the wall. I wondered if he was mentally trying to make the blood flow in any direction other than his dick, but then surrendered.

His large hand closed over the front of his shorts . . . And squeezed. When he shuddered with satisfaction, his pleasure reverberated through my body. It tingled across my skin like electricity and sent my heart racing.

I’d never witnessed a more erotic sight than watching this boy tease himself. I was fascinated and mesmerized at the sl...

Was there a chance he was thinking about...

When he’d caught me, I’d run away, but there was nowhere to escape for him. Instead, he lifted his chin, puffed out his chest, and set his hands on his waist.

He was trying so hard to appear unaffected. To contain whatever it was he was thinking. He said it like it wasn’t his fault. “You were topless.”

“You’re saying,” I glanced at his erection, “I caused that?” His guilty gaze darted away to stare at the hooks once more, and his lips mashed together.

I hadn’t been able to arouse a man in years, so to do that now, and one as young and hot as this guy? It stole my breath. My voice was uneven. “You liked what you saw?”

“I always thought you were hot, but you’re a smoke show now, Ms. Graham.” My heart stumbled over itself as my brain tried to process the words.

He drew in a breath and lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “I’m sorry about walking in on you and what you just saw. Can we, like, forget that happened?” There was desperation in his eyes, but I wasn’t in control anymore. Someone else took charge and spoke in my voice. “Show me,” I pleaded. “I want to see it.” He went utterly still. “What?”

Blood rushed loudly in my ears, drowning out the panic at what I was suggesting. “You saw me,” I offered. “I . . . want to see you.” As soon as the words were spoken, the sauna-like room beca...

A thrill burst in my bloodstream. This was naughty and sinful, and so wrong; how could I refuse? The lack of sex had voided out my ability to make good decisions, and if seeing me topless had this effect on Troy, I was more than willing to do it again.

He. Was. Impressive.

There was a rough, raw edge to his voice. “Your tits are fucking amazing.” It seemed to have come out of his mouth before he’d thought it through, and it must have set off warnings he’d crossed a line because his face abruptly went blank. Was he worried he’d offended me? Because all his compliment did was make me burn hotter. “Aren’t they?” I said.

We couldn’t . . . could we? It’d make all of this too real, with real consequences.

I was drunk, delirious, and out of control with lust. “Do you want to touch me?” “Yes.” The word burst from his lips with no hesitation, but then he looked stricken. “No. I shouldn’t.” A sobering thought hit me like cold water. “You have a girlfriend.” “What?” He froze. “No, no.” He let out a tight, embarrassed sigh. “If I touch you, shit’s going to . . . escalate.” Relief washed through and disarmed me. His phrasing was almost amusing. “Escalate?”

His pointed look was stern and provocative. “Yeah, Ms. Graham.” When he repeated the word, he drew it out, weighting each syllable. “Escalate.”

“Are you worried I won’t be able to handle you?” “No.” He was perfectly serious. “I’m worried I won’t be able to handle you.”

His gaze dropped down to his dick clenched in his hand. “Look at me. I haven’t fucking touched you, and I’m already close.” My excitement ratcheted up to a new level. “Are you going to come?” I was breathless. “Right now, in front of me?” He shuddered through the powerful effect my words had on him, and his dick jerked under his grip. “Do you want me to?”

Need choked my throat, making it hard to speak, so I nodded quickly. This time, when his hand resumed moving, it was faster, and a determined, focused look settled in his eyes. Did he feel like he was on stage, performing for me? If so, he didn’t seem uncomfortable. Not even a little.

Holy shit. How many margaritas had I had? I’d never said anything like that before, and the abrupt dirty talk from my lips was startling. But Troy? He very much approved of it. He shuddered as his fresh, damp hand took over, and the fatigued one massaged lower.