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The midday sun hung heavy over the resort pool, its glare fracturing into jagged diamonds across the turquoise water. Wendy adjusted the straps of her emerald-green bikini—just enough to keep the swell of her breasts from spilling free—and leaned back in the lounge chair, the heat pressing into her skin like a lover’s palm. The air smelled of coconut oil and chlorine, the occasional laugh from nearby sunbathers blending with the clink of ice in someone’s cocktail. She exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing idle circles over the condensation on her piña colada glass, the sweetness of the rum already warming her veins.
Then she felt it—the weight of a gaze.
Not the casual, glancing kind from the other middle-aged couples dotted around the pool, but something sharper. Hungrier. She didn’t turn her head, just let her eyelids flutter open a fraction, her peripheral vision catching the outline of a young man standing near the pool’s edge. Early twenties, maybe—tall, with the kind of lean, sun-bronzed physique that came from hours in the gym and even more on the beach. His swim trunks rode low on his hips, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the shape beneath. Wendy’s throat went dry. She knew that look. The way his fingers twitched at his sides, like he was fighting the urge to reach for her.
She took a slow sip of her drink, the straw catching between her lips, and finally turned her head just enough to meet his eyes.
Bill didn’t bother hiding his stare. His irises were a startling, clear blue, the kind that made her think of shallow Caribbean waters—transparent, inviting, dangerous. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, just shy of a grin, like he’d already won a game she didn’t know they were playing. “Mind if I join you?” His voice was smooth, deeper than she expected, the kind of tone that would rumble against her ear if he leaned in close.
Wendy arched a brow, letting her gaze drag over him with deliberate slowness—the defined lines of his chest, the way his trunks hugged the thick outline of his thighs, the bulge straining against the fabric. Her pulse kicked up, heat pooling low in her belly. She wasn’t some blushing girl anymore; she knew what that meant. Knew what it would feel like to have all that youthful hunger directed at her. “Depends,” she murmured, setting her glass down on the table beside her. “Are you planning on talking, or just staring?”
Bill chuckled, low and rich, and dropped into the lounge chair beside hers without waiting for an invitation. The movement made his thigh brush against hers, just for a second—accidental, but not. The heat of his skin seeped through the thin fabric of her cover-up, and Wendy had to press her knees together to stifle the traitorous throb between them. “Both,” he admitted, leaning back, his biceps flexing as he stretched his arms along the top of the chair. “But I figure you’d prefer the talking first.”
She laughed, a throaty sound that made his eyes darken. “You’d be surprised what I prefer.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered there like he was imagining how it would feel to taste her. “Yeah?” The word was rough, almost a growl. “What do you prefer, Wendy?”
The way he said her name—like he’d been savoring it, rolling it around on his tongue—sent a shiver down her spine. She reached for her drink again, more to give her hands something to do than because she wanted it. The ice had melted, the cocktail watery now, but she took a sip anyway, letting the straw drag against her lower lip. “Honesty,” she said finally, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “I prefer men who don’t play games.”
Bill’s smirk deepened. He shifted in his seat, the movement deliberate, and Wendy’s breath hitched as the bulge in his trunks twitched, the fabric pulling tighter. She could see the outline of him now—thick, heavy, the head already swelling against the confines of the suit. Her fingers curled into the cushion beneath her. God. It had been so long since she’d seen something like that. Felt something like that.
“No games,” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave. “Just… curiosity.” His knee bumped hers under the table, not an apology in his eyes. “You’re not what I expected to find here.”
Wendy tilted her head, playing at innocence even as her nipples tightened beneath the bikini top. “And what did you expect?”
“Women who pretend they don’t notice when a guy’s hard for them.” His hand dropped to his thigh, fingers splaying just inches from the straining fabric. “Women who’d slap me if I told them I’ve been jerking off thinking about them since I saw them by the bar last night.”
The words hit her like a physical touch, her inner walls clenching at the filthy honesty of it. She should’ve been offended. Should’ve called him out, told him to fuck off. But the way he looked at her—like she was the only thing in the world worth wanting—made her feel alive in a way she hadn’t in years. “And what makes you think I’m not that kind of woman?” she challenged, though her voice had gone husky, her body already leaning toward him.
Bill’s grin turned wolfish. “Because you haven’t told me to fuck off yet.” His fingers twitched again, this time brushing against the inside of his thigh, right beside the thick ridge of his cock. Wendy’s gaze snapped to the movement, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. “Because you keep looking at my dick like you’re trying to memorize the shape of it.”
She should’ve denied it. Should’ve laughed it off, played coy. But the heat between her legs was a living thing now, her panties damp with something that had nothing to do with the pool water. “Maybe I am,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Bill’s breath hitched, his chest rising faster now. “Fuck, Wendy—” He leaned in, close enough that she could smell the salt on his skin, the faint musk of his arousal. “You’ve got no idea what you do to me. I’ve been walking around with a fucking tent in my shorts since I saw you this morning.”
Her gaze dropped again, unable to resist. The bulge was impossible to ignore now, the fabric stretched so thin she could almost make out the veins, the way the head pressed against the side. She swallowed hard. “And what do you want to do about that?”
His nostrils flared. “Take you to my room. Bend you over the bed and fuck you until you forget your own name.” The words were raw, unfiltered, and Wendy’s pussy pulsed in response, her thighs slick with need. “Let you ride me while I grab those tits of yours—” His hand lifted, like he was already imagining it, his palm hovering just above her chest. “—until you’re screaming so loud the whole resort hears.”
A whimper escaped her before she could stop it, her body betraying her. She was soaked. If he reached down now, slid his fingers under the fabric of her bikini bottoms, he’d find her dripping for him. The thought made her squirm in her seat.
“Say yes,” Bill urged, his voice rough with desperation. “Just once, Wendy. Let me—”
“There you are.”
The voice cut through the haze of lust like a blade. Wendy jerked back as if scalded, her heart hammering against her ribs. Bill froze, his hand still hovering near her breast, his cock still straining against his trunks. Slowly, they both turned their heads.
Brian stood a few feet away, a towel slung over one shoulder, his sunglasses perched on his head. His expression was unreadable, but his jaw was tight, his fingers flexing around the plastic cup in his hand. “Been looking for you,” he said, his gaze flicking between them. “Didn’t realize you’d made a new friend.”
Wendy’s mouth went dry. She could see the way Brian’s eyes lingered on Bill’s groin, the way his throat worked as he swallowed. There was no mistaking what he’d walked in on—the way she was flushed, the way Bill’s cock was still tenting his trunks, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Bill didn’t bother hiding his erection. If anything, he shifted, making the outline even more obvious, his smirk returning as he leaned back in his chair. “Brian, right?” he said, like they were all just old pals catching up. “Yeah, Wendy and I were just… getting to know each other.”
Brian’s knuckles whitened around his cup. “I can see that.”
The air between them crackled, charged with something dark and electric. Wendy’s pulse roared in her ears. She should’ve been embarrassed. Should’ve covered herself, made excuses, played the dutiful wife. But the way Brian’s gaze kept darting to Bill’s cock, the way his own breath had gone shallow—it sent a fresh wave of heat through her.
She wasn’t the only one turned on by this.
And God, that made her wetter.