East Rising (Naive Mistakes #2) (23 page)

Conall went to the sound system.

"Doesn't that get damaged in here?"

"Maybe. Like I said, I never have it this
warm, so there's usually not so much steam. But I'd hate to swim in
a twenty-eight degree pool in winter."

"Um, you have to talk in Fahrenheit to me,
bud."

He poked around on an iPod or iPhone.
"Twenty-eight degrees is about eighty-two Fahrenheit. Right now
I've set it to..." (he poked again on whatever conversion app he
had there) "...ninety-five Fahrenheit or so."

My eyes bulged.
Ninety-five!
Yip,
hot-tub.

I dipped my right toe in the water and it
felt like a lukewarm bath. I could swim in there, definitely.

"This is quite the bikini you picked for
me."

"I didn't pick it. Alex did."

"She did?" Damn, and to
think I'd been jealous of her. Any woman would know that a bikini
made of this little fabric means only one thing for any guy who
sees it:
Take it off!

He put on the music. When I
heard the piano, and then the soulful jazz voice, all questions as
to whether he'd planned on making this more than just a swim,
disappeared completely. Disappeared into the sweet tempo and
pitter-patter of drums, then the guitar, and the raspy, soulful
voice of Norah Jones singing
Turn Me
On
.

Conall swaggered over to me. He put his
right arm around my waist. My left leg bent and went onto its toes.
I looked at his chest. "You make me feel so special, you know
that?"

He said nothing, just
pulled me into him and kissed my neck. I melted. My heartbeat broke
the sound barrier, and my forehead fell to his collarbone. He
kissed me more around my neck, just lightly. "Are we even going
to
pretend
to
swim?" I asked.

"Pretend? Oh, I'm just saying hello. We're
definitely here to swim."

I half digested what he said. I was still in
bliss from his lips. Or maybe it had been the steam making me
light-headed...

He eased back, supporting my leaning body
with his interlocked hands behind the small of my back. I don't
know if he planned it, but my crotch was right up against his
hard-on, and then I remembered the Speedo, and I got the point.
And, OK, I might've pushed up a little against him and felt a
little twinge down below as I did it...

My eyes rolled, and I got wet,
instantly.

He looked down,
excruciatingly slowly, over my eyes, nose, lips, ..., my chin. He
eyed the cleavage of my breasts, lingered there.
Oh, fuck, take me now!

"Have I told you how
amazing
you look?" he
said.

"Hmmm?" I was somewhere else entirely...

He licked his lips, then
looked up at my face again. He smirked. I knew that smirk. It was
the smirk which said,
You know I'm going
to make you wait and beg for this, don't you?

I was ice-cream on a mid-summer sidewalk,
man. I pushed my head against his chest and even gave a giggle.
"Argh! You!" I cried.

He laughed. He
so
knew what he was
doing.

"Urgh!" I cried again, knowing, as I'd come
to expect, that he was just fucking teasing me!

I jumped in the pool!

When I came up for air I saw Conall standing
akimbo. It was the first time I'd taken a good look at his legs.
Perfectly proportioned. Just enough hair on them to show off their
manliness, their strength.

I shook my head. "You know," I said, "to put
it fucking bluntly, I'm getting a little sick of this 'making it
special crap'!" I didn't mean it... But I was damn horny now. And
frustrated. And my mouth was shooting off. That's how it goes with
me when I'm hot and have to stop. I get rude.

The song changed.
New York City
. I realized
this was going to be a Norah Jones night...
Player. This damn
...romantic...
player.

Conall dove in, swam once around my legs,
stayed underwater and then lifted me up out of the water with his
arms. I yelped! When his head came out the water, I was too heavy.
He fell back with me and I hit the surface. There were bubbles all
around me, hair in my eyes. Then Conall's face. He smiled at me,
underwater, breathing out bubbles. And, still underwater, he kissed
me.

This. God. Damned. Player!

I shot up for air, swallowing some chlorine.
"You make me nervous, you know that?"

"Why?" he asked, easing himself, again,
against my skin, his arms looped around me back.

"Because you're so damned
confident! So assured of yourself. I always feel like you're
playing with me. Like you think I'm some toy or something, just for
your fun." This statement I
did
mean, kind of. Because his games did make me a
little nervous. They were thrilling, yes, but, well, we think
irrationally when it comes to love I guess. At least I do. And
that's what was going through my mind at the time.

Conall frowned pensively. He'd heard me. And
that's when he stopped teasing me. Stopped it like a fully
freighted bullet-train heading into a town with no brakes:

He kicked off the bottom of the pool,
against me, pushing me backwards. We hit the edge, the only edge by
one of the wooden walls.

His eyes drilled a hole in
me. And he moved in. A hawk. A lion to the neck. A hunter firing.
He kissed me. He kissed me so passionately that I forgot,
momentarily, that I had arms. They dangled somewhere above him,
over his shoulders, then next to him. Because I was being
kiss
ed
. We weren't
kiss
ing
.

His tongue buried itself in me. He bit my
lips, pressed his hard-on right up against my middle.

And then, when the sudden shock of him now
being fully into me and not teasing me anymore, disappeared, I got
into it. And I kissed him back.

We fought for position. Raw and passionate
gropes for the hair, the neck, the chest. He ripped my bikini-top
off like so much hay off a pitchfork. Somewhere I saw it floating.
But mostly my eyes were closed. The sudden wash of water across my
nipples made me mad with desire for him. Warmness filled my
otherwise water-cooled center.

His hand held my left breast, massaged it,
then eased out until only the tips of his thumb and index squeezed
my nipple. It hurt beautifully. And it sent a shock of sensation
through my neck.

Conall moved me from that wall to the next
adjacent side of the pool, all the while kissing me, pulling me
across the water with his arms. I loved being nude for him. I
wanted to show him all of me. He'd never seen me completely
naked.

He moved me to the stairs. And I got what he
wanted: He wanted us to get out of the pool.

This was going to be it. On
hard concrete, on the side of a pool, my hair dripping wet,
Conall's muscled body filling me. I couldn't imagine it being more
perfect. Because, with Conall — this sweet, lovely, hurting man
—
anywhere
would
be perfect.

I clambered backwards, up the pool-steps,
Conall kissing me all the time. I was out the pool. I lay down as
soon as I could, ready for him. His lips moved in on my right
breast, kissed my nipple, bit it.

I reached for his shorts, pulled them partly
off. The song had changed but I didn't give a hoot what it was. It
was romantic. It was soulful. Whatever it was, it was fucking
perfect.

He took his trunks completely off and
pressed against the middle of my legs.

Heaven.

Suddenly the song came
through to me as being the most beautiful voice to ever have sung a
song anywhere at any point in time or in the world
(
I'm on Your Side
,
Maria Mena).

Conall rode me, pressed against me, pushed
the length of his shaft right down the middle of my outspread legs,
over my clit, over my thong...

No
, I thought.
Not above. Inside.
Please, get
inside
me. Today. Now. Right here.

He rubbed against me, kissing my chest. His
face grimaced — the most beautiful, sensual grimace I've ever seen.
His chest tightened, his neck muscles hardened. He breathed
heavily. I breathed heavily.

I needed him, deep within
me. I absolutely craved his fullness inside my body. I put my hands
on his traps, tried to push him down lower as a hint.
"Conall,
fuck
me.
Just
fuck
me,
hard, inside. Please, I need you. I need you now. I want you inside
me, all the way."

As I'd spoken he'd kept rubbing. He'd rubbed
so hard that I'd started, almost, climaxing. My legs tensed. I was
almost there, almost...

I writhed. My butt clenched. Conall moved up
and down and groaned "Oh, yeah" with such beastly and manly power
that it fucking pushed me over the edge...

I cried out,
screamed
, in that pool
house. Night had fallen outside, the orange lights above me spun. I
came. I moved my pelvis, pushed against his cock so I could feel it
as close to me as possible, just inside my lips below.

And then it was he who roared, a manly roar.
A primal, burning "Urghhhhhhhh, arghhhhhhh" that trembled against
the windowed walls. His come reached my breasts, some falling
precisely on my left nipple, then on my stomach. His face went red,
his neck tensed. Then he sped up!

His motions squeezed the last few bits of my
own pleasure out of me.

Right at the end, he
pushed
with his shaft,
against me, let it stretch, and the last little bits of his come
escaped. I grabbed his cock in my hand, squeezed it around one more
time. He was still pretty hard. I knew what that meant, but I
didn't want him to know how I knew it. He could come again. It
would take a little while, but he wasn't fully done yet.

I started yanking, pulling, jerking him off
passionately.

With my left hand, I pushed against his
chest, laid him on his back, and I pumped him with my right. It
felt like forever. I felt him soften just a bit a few times, but
not fully. I knew that my rubbing was keeping him hard. And that
was good, because that meant he'd come one more time.

My bicep burned.

Eventually, he came.

His eyes pinched into the most exquisite
expression of satisfied pleasure that I have ever seen in a man. I
kept pumping him, then stretched it, right at the end, shook him.
He put his hand around my own, squeezed a bit more. Slowly, we
squeezed upwards together. One more drop came out.

He exhaled.

By now, of course, with this whole
coming-for-a-second-time thing on his part, I was hot again. I bit
my lip.

Conall's head lolled. He was out. I'd seen
enough TV to know this about men. They only have so much stamina.
Or so I thought...

I started throbbing again. I felt so
beautiful around him, my breasts bared fully to him, sitting there
looking down at him. My breasts were his. They belonged to him and
no one else.

As his eyes rolled around the room, lulled,
he saw me. And he must've figured out what was going on with me. He
smiled. He got up. Before I knew it, his hand was in my thong, his
fingers sliding inside me, pushing up against my inside the only
way Conall could do it — right up to the sweet spot. Only then did
I realize how wet I was. And when he put a third finger in me, I
realized how ready I was for him.

Somehow we landed in the water again. My
mind had been too far adrift by Conall's movements down below to
establish exactly how that had happened. Conall pushed, thrust,
stroked. He kissed my neck, manhandled my pelvis so that it swayed
by his strength, hanging, in the water, with every movement of his
hand. With his left arm he held me up by my back.

I lost control. I lost focus. All I knew was
there was a man — a strong, able, kind, caring, powerful man —
doing me with his fingers.

I let him. He could've done whatever the
fuck he wanted to do to me right here and now. But Conall, as
always, did only what he felt I could handle at that stage.

I put my legs around him, and rested my
forehead at the base of his neck. I wrapped my arms around that
neck. And I let him finger me as I held onto him.

Time passed... So
much
time. I loved every
eternal second of it. His fingers were in me, in me, in me, in me,
inside me... I forgot everything.
Pushing,
pulling, tugging, deep inside
... Water
gurgled around me...and his hand was inside me all the time.
The
longest
time...

It took a while, but
eventually I came again as well. A deep, quick, sharp orgasm
accompanied by a whimper of sweet pleasure from my lips. When he
was done, I was
finished
, smiling, every muscle in my
body preciously relaxed. A bomb could've gone off outside and I
wouldn't notice.

Conall carried me out.
Literally,
carried
. My legs were still around his waist, my arms around his
neck. I could feel I was still smiling. He put me on a chair and
wiped the water off me with a towel. He cleaned me off where his
come had landed on me earlier, although there wasn't really any
left there to be cleaned off. Then he licked my nipples once more,
both of them, once.

I'd been so doped up from
the heat of the moment that I'd barely noticed that he was, again,
hard. Not massively so, but enough to tell me he wasn't yet totally
done.
How long were we in that
pool?
Eventually I did notice. So, on that
chair, I rubbed him, and then, seeing as he was standing right
there anyway, I put him in my mouth. I licked him, moved my tongue
around his shaft and his head and
devoured
every bit of him that I
could. Then I made him move back and forth while my lips tightened
up around his shaft, pressurizing it so he'd come again.