She is doing lengthstopless.
Distracting visuals cloud my mind, and my imagination runs wild. Her naked. Her naked on my cock. Her unravelling. I growl, fight to keep my focus, and dive in.
As I do lengths, I try to stay focused and calm. I am doing well when I start to think about the water sliding over those perfect nipples.
The same I’ve had in my mouth and nibbled on. I lose my rhythm, and then I snap back in the zone.
Minutes later, I think about the water running over her black bikini bottoms. I then remember her tight wet pussy that would be inside them.
It takes me back to riding her and tasting her. I think of working my tongue inside her core and tasting her. Smelling her. And savoring her,again.
Suddenly, I lose focus and take in water. I stop in the pool, coughing as I purge the water from my lungs. Ripping off my goggles, I suck in air.
She is climbing out now, holding a towel to herself. She’d not known I was swimming until now.
I like to be a ghost, but now, our eyes meet.
I leap out, and water runs down my torso. She looks at me with her lower lip down. We’ve not seen each other for days, and that is good. But now… Now, I am screwed.
I walk past her, pissed, and at least she has the decency to cover her breasts, and quickly.
She looks down as I pass.
There is only one problem. I saw a breast and her dark nipple. I also feel like a bastard for ignoring her when, in reality, I need her like oxygen.
I readthe newspaper in the morning sun, downstairs for the first time in a week.
Samantha delivers my poached eggs again, as well as the exquisite salmon dish. The dish that has no name. No name because she won’t tell me what it is called.
Eating the food I’m becoming addicted to, I turn a page.
As she pours coffee, now next to me, I notice she is in the uniform.
“How is the market?”
“Up,” I say, viewing the stock market page.
“Always?” she asks.
I shake the paper to keep it straight. I then pause.Why not?
“With me, yes.”
“Good to know,” she says, leaning over and placing another hot croissant on my plate.
Not fucking helping.
I try to shake it off and look up. She now looks boring and sensible. “I’m glad the uniform fits.” Samantha twists her neck and sighs. She looks dreadful. “It actually looks like…”
“A sack,” she says jumping in.
“Please, turn if you will.”
Samantha turns in a super boring, old-fashioned style as if on some 1950s catwalk. The sack is truly hideous.
“You’re not wrong,” I say. “It is a sack.”
I rub my jaw, now believing I have her finally under my control. At least now I’ll not be hard around her. The thing is it is disgusting!
