Page 71 of The Best Men
By silent, mutual agreement, we both move toward the shallow end. There’s a bench there, and a ledge with cupholders in it, in case you want to bring your cocktail into the pool.
Me? I only want to bring my cock.
And Mark’s.
He sits down on the edge of the pool, arms flexing in the moonlight as he lowers himself into the water. Rivulets slide down his firm chest as he settles onto the bench.
I slip into the water. But I don’t sit beside him—not when I can straddle him instead. Who does he think is running this show, anyway?
Mark lifts his chin, looking me right in the eye as I settle onto his wide-stretched thighs. Our cocks line up, and even that first, paltry contact makes me have to hold back a groan. The only sound is the water lapping against our heated bodies, and the distant hum of a motorboat out in the bay.
We regard each other for a long beat.
“I thought that game would never end,” I whisper.
“Same.” He reaches up and sets a hand in the center of my chest. Wet fingertips tease me lightly, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
Nggggh. I’m raring to go. But I also like this little staring contest we’re having.
“You have an ex who’s getting married?” he asks suddenly.
Fuck, I don’t want to talk about that. “Apparently.” I lean in and scrape my whiskers against Mark’s. The friction, the water rushing past my cock, the scrape of Mark’s chest on my nipples . . . A man can’t really think too well. I tongue his earlobe. “Kind of hard to remember his name right now,” I whisper. “And I’ve got better uses for your tongue than talking about him. Like, I want 77C and D tonight, and 33A tomorrow.”
“I’m all in,” he says, and then I show him better uses for our mouths.
Mark lets out a horny grunt and grabs my ass with both hands. And I slide my body down his until I can plunder his mouth with my greedy one. Until our cocks line up and gyrate together.
This is exactly what we need. A slow, dirty grind. Wet kisses and even wetter bodies.
If Flip or Hannah decided to take a midnight stroll, we would be caught in a heartbeat. I fuckinglovethe riskiness of this. But even more, I love how much Mark loves it. He is a goddamn study in contrasts. Nerdy banker. Spreadsheet maker. Skinny-dipper.
Sometimes, getting to know a guy makes him less interesting. But not Mark Banks. His slippery, questing hands light me up.
And I can’t wait to see what else he’ll do next.
23
ANVILS AND TELEPHONE POLES
MARK
There’s no cell in my spreadsheet for the way I feel right now.
Asher was right—the sheetisa piss-poor way to describe all the things I’m feeling, and all the things I want. There aren’t even words for the way the water caresses my body, making me tingle everywhere. Or the way Asher’s kisses taste. Like heat. And need.
Getting into the pool was the best idea I’ve ever had. And it turns out that a swimming pool isn’t actually a boner killer after all. I’m on fire, and mere cold water could never extinguish it.
My brain is full of static as Asher climbs off my lap. “Come on,” he whispers. “Out you go.”
I take a drunken glance at the house. It’s dark and quiet. I should probably be shocked when Asher guides me down onto a chaise lounge again.
And I should be even more shocked when he says, “Hands and knees.”
But I’m not shocked. I’m just . . .consumedwith want.
I sneak another glance at the house. The chair Asher chose is blocked by a potted palm. So if someone does wander by, only eighty percent of my dignity will be shredded.
And I’m too drunk on lust to care.
