The Pool Guy Came Tuesdays, and by July It Wasn't the Pool novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Top Step

On the top step of her pool she lets him kneel in the water and eat her out, tells him slower and lower, comes in the open air, and laughs for the first time in a year.

"Sit," Nico said, "on the top step."

I sat.

The stone was warm under me, with a few inches of water over it.

The sun was already hard on my shoulders.

The pool was green around us.

It was Tuesday, June 9, a week since I'd kissed him in this same water.

I had thought about nothing else for seven days.

I had worked, billed forty-one claims and eaten dinner standing at the island.

Every night I'd lain on top of the sheets with the air conditioner roaring and thought about his hands on my hips.

Today I had put on my black bikini bottoms and a loose white shirt over nothing at all.

He had looked at the shirt, and then at the gate, and then at me.

"Nobody can see over the wall," I'd said. "Except the neighbor, and she's at her sister's in Flagstaff."

"Mrs. Doerr..."

"Take your boots off, pool guy."

He took them off.

Now he stood in front of me, waist-deep, with his polo wet and his curls dripping and his ears bright red.

"I haven't done this a lot," he said.

"Done what?"

"Anything that matters."

I looked at him for a moment, at the medal on its thin chain, at the freckles on his nose.

My chest did something I did not have time for.

"Then I'll tell you what I want," I said.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Take off my bottoms."

His hands came to my hips.

They shook once, then steadied.

He hooked his fingers under the edge of the bikini, and I lifted.

He drew it down my legs and over my feet and held it dripping in his fist.

He didn't know where to put it.

I took it from him and threw it onto the deck.

"Now kneel."

He went down into the water between my knees.

It came up to his chest, and the green made his shoulders look bronze.

I leaned back on my hands on the warm upper step and opened my legs.

I watched him look at me.

I'd had a husband for ten years who looked at me like a form he was filling out.

Nico looked at me as if he couldn't believe he was allowed.

"Joelle," he said, and I didn't correct him.

"Put your mouth on me."

He bent his head.

The first touch of his tongue was so careful that I laughed.

"That's it?"

"I'm trying not to..." he said.

"Don't try. Lick me. Slow, from the bottom, and don't stop till I say."

He groaned, low in his throat, right against me.

Then he did it exactly as I'd said.

One long wet stroke from my entrance up to my clit, flat and slow.

I felt every inch of it in my spine.

"Again."

He did it again.

I hooked my right heel over his shoulder and pulled him in, and the water slapped softly against the wall.

His curls were damp against my thighs.

"Lower," I said. "Use the tip. There. Right there."

He found it.

He circled, with just the point of his tongue, and my hips came off the step.

"Slower."

"Yes, ma'am."

He said it into my thigh, and I felt his breath.

I knew he was smiling, and I loved feeling it.

He slowed down.

He went around my clit in a lazy circle, over and over.

Every time he passed the top he pressed harder, and I started to make sounds I hadn't made in years.

My hand found his hair.

I fisted it.

He moaned.

"You like that."

"Yes," he said, muffled.

"Tell me what you like."

"You taste like..." He stopped, and swallowed, and tried again. "I like when you hold on."

"Then I'll hold on."

I tightened my fist in his curls and pulled his mouth flat against me.

He went still for half a second and then groaned again and licked me in long hard strokes.

I let my head fall back.

The sky was white-blue and the sun was in my eyes.

I could hear a leaf blower three streets over and a mourning dove on the wall.

Underneath it was the wet, sure sound of his mouth.

"Two fingers," I said. "Inside me. Slowly."

He slid them in, thick and careful, and I gasped.

"Curl them. Toward you."

He curled them, and I saw white.

"Oh my God. There. Don't move your hand. Just your tongue."

He kept his fingers where they were, pressing up.

He sucked my clit into his mouth and flicked it, and I could not breathe.

It built so quickly that I was frightened of it.

I hadn't come with another person in the room since before the divorce.

Maybe not before it either.

"Stop..." I said, because my body didn't know what to do with itself, and he did.

He lifted his face.

His mouth was shining, and his eyes were black.

He looked up at me with water running down his throat.

"Did I say stop?" I asked.

"No, ma'am," he said.

"Did I say stop?" I said.

"No."

"Then I didn't. Keep going."

He put his mouth back on me, and now he was hungry.

He ate me in the open air with the water lapping at his shoulders and his free hand locked on my hip.

I rode his face on the top step with my heel in his back and my fist in his hair, telling him everything.

Faster.

Harder.

Harder, God, yes, like that.

Don't you dare stop.

I came with a shout that hit the wall and came back.

My thighs clamped around his head and my whole body pulled tight.

He kept licking through it, gentler and gentler, until the last shudder left me.

Then I was laughing.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed with my head back and my hand still in his hair and tears running into my ears, because it had been a year.

I had forgotten what my body was for.

Nico raised his head and stared at me.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist.

"Was that okay?" he asked.

"Okay?" I said. "Pool guy, I'm going to have to sit down."

"You are sitting down."

"Then I'm going to have to lie down."

He grinned, a quick, wide, shy grin with a chipped front tooth I'd never seen because he never smiled all the way.

I touched the chipped edge with my thumb.

"Thank you," he said, quietly.

I frowned.

"For what?"

"For letting me."

It was the way he said it that undid me, plain and flat, with no flirting in it.

I didn't have an answer.

I pulled his face up and kissed him, and tasted myself on his mouth.

He made a hungry noise and gripped my thighs.

"Joelle," he said against my lips.

"Say it again."

"Joelle."

I was still shaking, and I wanted more.

That was a new feeling too.

"Go back down," I said.

His eyes widened.

"Already?"

"I'm not done, and neither are you. Kneel."

He sank into the water again.

This time I didn't lean back.

I slid forward until my ass was on the very edge of the top step and put both feet on his shoulders.

I held his head with both hands.

"Lap it," I said. "All of it."

He groaned, and his tongue went flat and wide and wet against me.

I was so sensitive that I jerked.

"Slower."

"Sorry," he said.

"Don't be sorry. Be slower."

He slowed down, and I felt every ridge of his tongue.

I reached down with one hand and spread myself open for him with two fingers.

"There," I said. "That little spot. Just there. Make it count."

He made it count.

He sucked my clit between his lips and rolled his tongue over it, steady and patient.

The sun burned my face and the water ticked against the tile.

His fingers came back inside me, two, then three, slow and deep.

I heard how wet I was, and I didn't care.

The second one came on faster than the first.

It wasn't a roar this time.

It was long and low, and I bit my own wrist so I wouldn't wake the whole street.

My feet pressed down on his shoulders and my back arched off the stone.

"Oh, fuck," I said. "Pool guy. Don't you stop. Don't you..."

I didn't finish the sentence.

I came with the word stuck behind my teeth.

He held me through it, murmuring something I couldn't hear against the inside of my thigh.

When I could see again, he was resting his cheek on my knee.

His eyes were closed.

He looked, I thought, completely happy, and it scared me more than anything else that had happened that morning.

"Joelle," he said.

I held his jaw in my hand.

"You do that again next week," I said. "Exactly that."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And I'm going to want longer."

He looked down.

Between us, under the green water, I could see that he was hard, straining in his wet work shorts.

He hadn't touched himself or asked.

"What about you?" I said.

"It's fine."

"I didn't say it was fine."

"It's your pool," he said, and his ears went red all over again. "It's your turn. I'll make up the time."

He took his phone out of his pocket on the deck with a wet hand and checked the screen, and his face changed.

"I'm forty minutes over," he said.

"On a booked hour."

"Forty minutes over." He pushed his hair back. "My boss is going to..."

I took the phone out of his hand and set it facedown on the warm stone.

"Next Tuesday," I said.

"Next Tuesday," Nico said, and he said it like a promise.

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