Page 42 of S is for SEX

CHAPTER SEVEN

I had rushed home from the bar and was now poolside with Rhett, relaxing in the sun. Life in the southern California mansion was far different than the life I had been living, but it would be easy to become accustomed to.

He exhaled heavily. “This sun is brutal.”

I turned to my left and opened my eyes. He wiped his brow with his hand, then tilted his head in my direction.

“I’m used to the sun in the Midwest. 80 degrees isn’t hot,” I said. “In Kansas, it gets up to 115 in the summer. This is relaxing.”

“No, this sun’s a bitch,” he complained. “I’m getting in.”

His muscles were long and lean, giving him the appearance of a triathlete or a fitness model, but not that of a weight lifter. In a poolside lounge chair while wearing his swim trunks, he looked nothing short of phenomenal.

Despite Rhett’s handsome looks and his athletic physique, my mind still drifted to thoughts of Franky’s previous claim of being good at dirty talking. It wasn’t constant, but it happened.

Repeatedly.

Rhett sat upright, causing his stomach muscles to flex while he did so. After a lengthy session of admiration, I tore my eyes away and looked beyond him, toward the pool. “Okay, I’ll get in, too.”

He jumped from his seat and dove into the crystal clear water, leaving almost no splash. His faultless US Navy-inspired SEAL dive left me envious.

I stood up, and while Rhett swam the length of the pool, I dug the bottom of my swimsuit out of my ass crack, and then my crotch. In looking up, I realized Bobby was filming every second of me removing my clothing from my crevices and folds.

In the short time I had been living in the house, I had become so accustomed to the cameras that I often forgot they were filming us. But. They filmed everything.

I flipped him the bird and sauntered toward the pool in my best rendition of a supermodel runway stroll. While the camera lens followed each well-placed step, I wondered if they could include the defiant act in the aired version of the show, and if not, decided censorship would be used to my advantage.

I wanted my dive to look as good as Rhett’s, but doubted I possessed the grace of a trained Navy swimmer. I dove in anyway.

When I surfaced, Rhett was at my side – wet, muscular, and tan. He shook his head, and then swept his hair back. His once gray eyes seemed blue, and it was the first time I had seen them as anything but an assembly of gray translucent flecks.

I smiled, and he smiled in return.

He was an extremely attractive man, and although our botched sexual escapade was still in the forefront of my thoughts, I realized I needed to give him a second chance.

I felt everyone deserved one. In fact, any prison sentence that wasn’t a lifelong term provided an opportunity to the criminal in question for one more shot at life.

And, if a criminal was allowed a do-over, why wouldn’t I allow Rhett a second chance at sex?

I decided I should.

He draped his arms over my shoulders and looked into my eyes. “I wanna fuck.”

I felt I should say something about his lack of intimacy, but instead, reached for his cock. Partially protected from the camera’s view by the motion of the water, I kneaded his dick in my hand. In a matter of seconds, it went from flaccid to rigid. Standing in the chest-deep water eye-to-eye with each other, I began to stroke the entire length of it.

He tilted his head forward.

I did the same.

Our foreheads touched.

“We should fuck out here,” he whispered.

The thought of it was exciting, but I immediately dismissed it as an impossible task. “God that sounds hot,” I whispered. “But, there’s no way.”

He leaned away and lifted his chin slightly. “Why not?”

“Bobby’s twenty feet from us.” I sighed. “And he’s always filming us.”

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