Page 12 of Forbidden

I pull back at the panic in his voice, but he just reaches for the remote on his desk and presses the button to close the blinds.Fuck.I didn’t even think. I mean, the pool is deserted and it’s hard to see up at this angle anyway, but if you’re in the gym, you’d be able to see everything. I glance down to find it still empty just as the blinds shutter us from view. Barely any light makes it through, and the darkness only serves to offer a layer of security to the near-feral need we’re trying to sate.

Doug stalks over to me, pushing me down onto the sofa and gripping the waistband of my sweats. I lift my hips as he pulls them down to my knees, not even pausing for breath before he takes my aching cock between his lips.

“Doug,” I moan. “Fuck.”

He works me deep enough that I feel the scrape of his beard on my thighs, his nose brushing my stomach. When it comes to giving head, Doug McMann is a god amongst men, and I struggle to remember why I gave this up.

Sinking my hands into his hair, my hips buck, fucking his mouth, but he just slides his hands under my ass in encouragement.

My head falls back as I revel in the warm heat, his throat swallowing around the head of my cock as he gags. “Holy fuck.”

He moans, slipping a hand up under my balls before pushing back, the pad of his spit-slicked finger pressing against my hole.

“Ugh,” I moan. “Doug. I’m—”

He doesn’t let up as I come hard down his throat, licking, and sucking every drop of my release as his finger teases my hole, not quite breeching.

He sits back on his heels, wiping his damp beard with the back of his hand, but I don’t even give him time to catch his breath before pulling him to his feet and tugging down his sweats. With him standing and me on the couch, his flushed cock is at the perfect height for me to devour. And I do.

I groan at the familiar weight of him against my tongue, at the smooth warmth of his skin. Taking him as deep as I can, he threads his fingers through my hair.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Look at you. I forgot how pretty you look with my dick in your mouth.”

My skin heats but my spent dick still tries to rally at his words. Doug has the filthiest mouth of anyone I’ve ever met. He swears like a trooper around the pool but get him naked and it’s a whole other level. I’m not sure what it says about me, but I fucking love it.

“That’s it. Take it like a good boy,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek as he thrusts deeper, nudging the back of my throat and causing my eyes to water. “Your mouth was made for my fucking cock, wasn’t it?”

All I can do is moan as he uses me, his eyes hooded with lust. It doesn’t take long before he’s coming down my throat with a strangled grunt, and I gasp for air as he pulls out. Dropping to his knees, he grips my face and kisses me hard, seeking out the taste of himself on my tongue.

Eventually he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. “I think I’m warmed up now.”

I chuckle, reaching up to scrape my fingers through his beard. “Good.”

We don’t talk as we pull up our sweats and comb fingers through our hair, but the awkwardness in the air between us speaks volumes.

“That can’t happen again,” I say quietly.

Doug turns to his desk, clicking the button on the remote to pull up the poolside blinds. “Whatever.”

My lips press together as I watch him stare down at the water, his back to me. There’s nothing I can say, though. What I said before summer still stands. As much as I wish it wasn’t the case, this really can’t happen.

Exhaling softly, I pick up my jacket and shrug it on. Doug doesn’t move, his eyes fixed on the window. He doesn’t look up when I open the door, so I say nothing as I leave.

JOY

I hate this. It’s my own personal hell. I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about Lane. How he’d just shown up acting like he didn’t know me. What the actual fuck? He’s changed. Of course, he has. It’s been four years. His blond hair is longer. Still shaved on the sides, but longer on top. His green Franklin West polo covered most of the ink that seems to coat his arms and I wonder whether it goes over his back and chest, too. He didn’t have any tattoos when I saw him last.

Plowing through the water, I try to focus on my breathing and technique. After all, we’re supposed to be showing him what we’re made of. Lane Masters knows exactly what I’m made of. He took me apart and left me in fucking pieces. Even so, I push myself as hard as possible, like I have something to prove. Maybe I do.

He’ll have finished college last year. Why the hell didn’t he stay in Minnesota? Why is he here?

When he stood there, facing off with Coach McMann, I know I could have said something. I could have stayed behind when everyone else went to get showered, but some stubborn part of me didn’t want to make it that easy. I’m torn, though. I want to know why he walked out of my life—ghosted me—after promising to be mine, but maybe he wouldn’t tell me. Maybe he’d just pretend he doesn’t know me.

My chest aches. I couldn’t handle that. No. It’s better to just play him at his own game. Even though it’s making me anxious as hell.

I finish my final lap, trying not to look where Lane is standing with a stopwatch.

“Impressive time, ladies,” he says. “Thank you.”

---