The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,54

spent, before collecting himself and rising onto his arms.

I didn’t understand the expression he was wearing. Was he ashamed of how rough he’d been?

Oh.

My breath caught as he sank down my body, making the sheets beneath us rustle as he shifted over them. Was he going to—

Yes.

He was.

I arched my back, bowing off the bed in surprise when he nuzzled his face between my thighs. Holy shit, it was fucking dirty.

And I loved it. My hands speared into his hair, holding onto him as he worked to complete his task. Every flick of his tongue was a jolt of bliss.

My voice was heavy, weighed down with debauchery. “Oh, God, yes. Make me come again.”

He issued a sound of approval, and hearing him enjoying what he was doing was all it took to send me flying.

The orgasm ripped through me as fire and I was left blissfully tingling in its aftermath. As soon as I stopped shuddering, he dropped a line of kisses across my belly, working his way back to me.

He’d gone from reluctant submissive to dominant and back again, and I couldn’t tell which version of him I enjoyed more. I liked playing either role myself. We were so perfectly matched in the bedroom and in music, and if I could be honest with myself for once, I would admit how I wanted to know where else we aligned.

If I could have ordered the universe to send me the perfect man, custom made just for me . . . how close did Troy come to that?

FIFTEEN

Troy

My disoriented eyes blinked open. Where the fuck was I? The bedroom was unfamiliar, and then my gaze went to the empty spot beside me in the bed. Erika’s bed. I’d passed out after the mind-blowing sex and now I had no idea what time it was or where she had run off to.

The clock on her side of the bed said it was nearly two a.m.

I was parched, and I needed to find her, so I kicked off the covers, pulled on my underwear, and headed for the kitchen. Hopefully she’d gone there to get a drink and that was all. She wasn’t hiding from me in some other room of the house, freaked out by what we’d done and that I hadn’t left yet.

It was possible, because I was a guy, and I didn’t always understand what a girl was thinking, or if I’d made a mistake.

The kitchen was empty, though.

I figured out where the glasses were, filled one with water from the dispenser in the fridge door, and then drank it in large gulps while I stood in the dark room. Fucking her had been a workout and I needed to hydrate.

When I went back for a refill, the dispenser lighting up my glass, I heard music coming from somewhere else in the house. It was only a few chords before it stopped, and I tilted my head, trying to determine where it had come from.

Like a weird game of Marco Polo, I got snippets from a guitar to help guide me in the right direction. I carried my glass down the hall and toward a set of French doors. Only one side was cracked open, but it didn’t matter. They were made of glass, so I could see inside the music room.

Erika sat on the edge of a leather couch with an acoustic guitar in her lap. She wasn’t wearing anything but her long reddish-brown hair, and the guitar teasingly hid her nakedness. The sight of her like that squeezed my lungs.

She looked down at the strings as she searched for the right chord, ignoring the open journal beside her on the couch, and she was lit by the moonlight pouring in through the arched window.

She was fucking gorgeous.

Shit, she was going to ruin other women for me.

Maybe that was a stupid thought. I was kind of convinced she already had.

Like an idiot, I stood in the shadows of the hall and watched as she plucked her way through another measure and looked satisfied with the results. She picked up her pen, scribbled something in the journal, and then dropped it with a hurried thud like she was eager to get back to the strings.

Whatever she’d been struggling with, apparently it’d been solved, because she didn’t start and stop this time. Erika straightened her shoulders, adjusted her grip on the neck of the guitar, and began to play. Even if I didn’t know a thing about song structure, I would