Night Swim (One)
1853 Words
The rooftop pool shimmered like black silk, the water catching slivers of moonlight with each ripple. At this hour, the hotel was dead quiet, all the late drinkers passed out or f*****g behind closed doors. She slid the glass door open slowly, barefoot and wrapped in only a towel, and stepped out into the heavy warmth of the night.
The city stretched beneath her, golden and drowsy. But up here, there was only the water. And him.
She didn’t see him at first—just the distant wake of movement at the far end of the pool, as if the water breathed differently over there. Her towel fell in a quiet hush, pooling at her feet. She was naked beneath it. No one was supposed to be up here.
She dipped one toe in. Warm. Perfect. She stepped down the steps slowly, not rushing. Letting the heat swallow her inch by inch. Shoulders. Breasts. Thighs. She sighed—half from relief, half from the thrill of exposure—and floated backward.
That’s when she saw him.
A man, broad-shouldered, his arms spread out on the pool ledge behind him. He sat submerged to the chest, watching her. His face was unreadable, lit only by the glow of the city below and the pale wash of moonlight. He didn’t speak. Neither did she.
Their silence became its own language.
She floated closer. He didn’t move. Just tilted his head slightly, eyes dragging over her wet, glistening body. Her n*****s had already peaked in the cool breeze, and the water lapped at the swell of her breasts with every motion.
When she got within arm’s reach, he finally spoke.
“Can’t sleep either?”
His voice was low. Gravel and heat.
“No,” she said softly, her lips close to his ear. “But I could be dreaming.”
His mouth twitched at that. Still not touching her. The restraint felt more dangerous than a grab.
“You don’t wear suits to midnight swims?” he asked, his voice calm, but his eyes fixed on the way droplets slid between her breasts.
She shrugged. “You’re not wearing one either.”
His grin showed just enough teeth. “Fair.”
A silence bloomed again. This time, heavier. Thicker.
Then she drifted closer, chest almost brushing his, her hand finding the ledge beside his, close enough for their fingers to graze underwater.
“Let’s play a game,” she whispered. “No talking. No sounds.”
He looked at her, eyes dark and full of hunger. “And what happens if we lose?”
She smiled slowly. “We don’t.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, his hand disappeared beneath the surface—and brushed her thigh.
Her breath hitched.
His fingers moved like they knew her already.
Not groping—just barely there. A feather-drag of skin to skin under the surface. He slid along the inside of her thigh, almost to the crease, then backed off. Teasing and Waiting. She didn’t flinch or move away. Instead, her legs parted just enough to make her answer clear.
He came closer.
The water moved between them, slick and hot now, carrying heat from his chest to hers. Their bodies didn’t touch—only the current, the tension, the slow agony of distance. She locked her eyes on his, Refusing to blink.
Then his palm slid fully onto her thigh.
It was bold now. Like he was Claiming her. She swallowed hard, lips parting—but no sound escaped. The rules were still on.
He was reading her. Watching how her n*****s stiffened further, how her hips twitched toward him involuntarily, how her hand dug silently into the pool’s edge.
His other hand joined the first, and then both of them were under the water, tracing the curve of her ass, sliding down to the backs of her thighs, then up, dangerously close to her slit.
When his thumb grazed her, her mouth dropped open—but she said nothing. Her breath came faster, chest rising and falling in tight, shallow pulls.
He smirked.
She wanted to slap it off.
Or ride it.
He leaned forward finally, just enough to press his mouth against the side of her neck. No kiss or suck. Just the burn of breath and stubble against her wet skin.
She arched her neck without thinking.
And his fingers moved.
Slid beneath her and inside her.
His fingers moved between her slick folds like he’d been there before. Confident. Deliberate. Two fingers dipped in, slow, as if testing how tight she was. She was soaked—and not from the pool. He curled them just right, found the soft spot inside her, and pressed.
Her body jolted.
She gripped the pool’s ledge hard, fingernails scraping wet tile. Her thighs spread wider on instinct, inviting him deeper.
He slid in again—deeper this time—then out. Then in. A slow, dirty rhythm under the water, while his thumb rubbed circles over her c**t, round and round in maddening, perfect pressure.
Her face tilted toward the sky, mouth wide open, gasping silently.
Still playing the game.
Still not making a sound.
But f**k—she wanted to.
Every stroke inside her dragged her closer to the edge. Her walls clenched around his fingers like they didn’t want to let go.
"Look at me," he growled—quiet but rough, deep in her ear.
Her eyes snapped to his, wide and wild.
“You’re f*****g dripping,” he whispered. “Your p***y’s sucking my fingers in like it’s starving.”
She whimpered, trying to suppress a moan, her throat tight with the effort.
He leaned closer. “You want to come, pretty girl?”
She nodded—fast and frantic.
He picked up speed. Fingers pounding into her now, slapping against the water, pushing her higher.
"Then f*****g come."
That did it.
Her whole body tensed—hips jerking, legs locking around his waist. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came hard, waves crashing through her, her orgasm tearing out of her like lightning.
She grabbed the back of his neck and bit his shoulder just to stay quiet, shaking in his arms.
He didn’t stop—kept his fingers moving inside her through every last spasm until her legs finally went limp.
She collapsed against him, breathless, soaked, her cheek pressed to his chest.
He chuckled darkly. “Still think this is a dream?”
She smiled, still panting.
“If it is, I’m not f*****g waking up.”
The water clung to her skin like sweat, trailing between her breasts, down her belly, dripping from her thighs. Her legs still trembled as she climbed out of the pool, toes gripping the wet tiles. He followed close behind, muscles slick and shining, his c**k bobbing hard and proud, leaking.
No words. Just a glance.
Just that look in his eyes like he was about to f*****g devour her.
Towels lay abandoned on the lounge chairs nearby—thin, white, useless. She reached for one, not to dry off, but to drop it over the seat as a barrier between them and the warm plastic.
He sat.
She straddled him without hesitation—knees planted on either side of his head, p***y already dripping onto his chest. Her hands gripped the backrest behind his head. She looked down at him, lips parted, cheeks flushed.
“Eat,” she whispered. “Now.”
He didn’t need to be told twice.
His tongue was on her in seconds—broad and flat, dragging from her entrance to her c**t in one long, filthy lick.
She moaned. Out loud this time.
Game over.
He didn’t just eat her—he devoured her. Face buried between her thighs like he hadn’t tasted p***y in months. His tongue circled her c**t, then sucked it, then flicked it with maddening precision. Each motion rough, intentional, dirty.
Her thighs clenched around his face, hips rocking forward as he sucked harder. She didn’t even try to stay quiet now—she was gasping, swearing.
“f**k. f**k, yes—right there. Don’t stop.”
His arms wrapped around her thighs, pinning her down. His tongue lapped hungrily. He moaned into her—deep, low, the sound vibrating straight into her core.
Her head fell back. Her grip on the chair tightened.
“You like that wet p***y?” she panted. “You want me to soak your f*****g face?”
He groaned in answer, licking harder, faster. His nose nudged her c**t while his tongue dipped inside her.
She ground against him—harder, riding his face like she owned it.
“You’re gonna make me f*****g squirt,” she warned.
And he didn’t stop.
He didn’t f*****g stop.
Her thighs locked tighter around his head, as if trying to trap his face where it already lived—in her dripping, swollen p***y. And he was addicted. Lost. Tongue buried inside her, lips wrapped around her c**t like it was his only source of oxygen.
He moaned again—louder this time, more desperate—and the vibration rumbled through her core, straight to that ache pulsing just beneath her belly.
She lost it.
“f*****g hell, don’t stop—don’t f*****g stop,” she gasped, nails digging into the backrest, hips grinding faster against his mouth.
She could feel how wet she was. Sloppy, sticky, her slick covering his chin, running down his neck, dripping onto the towel beneath them. His face was f*****g drenched in her.
He gripped her ass, pulled her tighter against his mouth, and started flicking his tongue over her c**t with ruthless precision.
Every swipe made her body jump. Her breath came out ragged.
“You want it?” he growled into her cunt between licks. “You wanna f*****g explode all over my face?”
She whimpered. Nodded. Couldn’t speak.
“Then ride it, slut,” he snarled. “f**k my face like it’s your cock.”
Her brain short-circuited. She grabbed the sides of his head and rode.
Hips moving in raw, hungry circles. Her juices smeared across his face, the sound of it so nasty, so wet, it echoed under the stars. She could hear herself moaning—loud now, shameless.
“That’s it,” he growled. “Come for me. Drip all over me. f*****g flood my mouth.”
She was right there—right f*****g there.
Every lick sent a jolt of lightning through her spine. Her toes curled. Her vision blurred. Her whole body clenched.
And then—she shattered.
Her scream ripped into the night. Her thighs shook uncontrollably. Her body convulsed over his face as she came—hard. p***y gushing, thighs slick, her orgasm crashing through her like a tsunami.
He didn’t stop.
He kept licking, drinking her down like he couldn’t get enough.
She collapsed forward, chest heaving, body twitching.
His face? Slick. Glazed in her. Eyes dark, c**k harder than steel.
She looked down at him, breathless. “You hungry fuck.”
He licked his lips. “You taste like sin.”
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