Chapter 16: Poolside Revelation
The roof of The Strathmere was a shared fantasy: terracotta tiles, a narrow strip of turquoise water shimmering under heat-lamp glow, and a vista of the city's twinkling grid. Expensive, useless succulents in white pots dotted the perimeter. The air smelled of chlorine and grill smoke from the bistro downstairs.
Clare had suggested the pool. “To wash the boutique off,” she’d said, a playful glint in her eye. Evie had known it was a test.
She sat now on the edge of a teak lounger, her legs dangling in the cool water. She wore a pair of borrowed navy swim trunks—Clare’s again, this time an old pair from some forgotten boyfriend—and one of her own oversized linen shirts over them, unbuttoned. The shirt was damp from a previous, frantic dip meant to cool her skin. It hadn’t worked.
Inside the trunks, she was half-hard just from the memory of Clare’s mouth, the shock of the salesgirl’s face. The fabric clung, revealing a shadowy, unmistakable outline whenever she moved.
“Evie, right? We met at the firm’s summer thing.” The voice was light, melodic. Sophie leaned against the edge of the pool bar, a glass of prosecco in her hand. She wore a bikini the colour of burnt honey, triangles of fabric that seemed more suggestion than coverage. Her red hair was piled messily atop her head, trailing damp tendrils down her slender neck.
“Sophie. Hi.” Evie tried to smile, pulling her shirt tighter.
Clare emerged from the water, a sleek, dripping apparition. Her one-piece was black and cut high on the hips, plunging dramatically at the front. Water sheeted off her, highlighting the powerful lines of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts. She shook her head, flinging droplets, and joined them, her gaze sliding from Evie to Sophie with languid interest.
“Sophie was just telling me about her disastrous Tinder date last weekend,” Clare said, reaching for a towel. She didn’t dry herself, just draped it over her shoulders. “Apparently the guy showed up with his mother.”
“As a chaperone!” Sophie laughed, a bright, tinkling sound. “I mean, sweet, but also… deeply un-fuckable.”
“Sounds like a common problem,” Clare murmured, her eyes on Evie.
Sophie followed her gaze. Her green eyes, sharp and curious, landed on Evie’s lap. The linen shirt had fallen open. The navy trunks were dark, but the way they strained against the substantial, semi-erect flesh beneath was not subtle. Sophie’s smile didn’t falter, but it changed. It softened at the edges, became more focused.
Evie wanted to sink into the tiles, to vanish. But another part of her, a part that felt swollen and heavy and alive, wanted to preen under that gaze.
“Swimming suit fit you okay?” Sophie asked, taking a slow sip of her drink.
“It’s fine,” Evie muttered, her voice thick.
“Doesn’t look fine,” Clare said, moving to stand behind Evie’s chair. Her hands came down on Evie’s shoulders, a claiming weight. “Looks a bit… restrictive. Poor thing.”
Sophie set her glass down on the bar with a deliberate click. She took two steps closer. The rooftop was mostly empty; a couple whispered in a far corner, absorbed in each other. The hum of the city was a distant sigh.
“You know,” Sophie said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I’ve heard rumors.”
Clare’s fingers dug into Evie’s muscles. “Oh?”
“Around the building. Whispers. About the hot-pink-haired girl in 12B with a… secret.” Sophie’s eyes were locked on Evie’s groin. “I thought they were just jealous bullshit. Clare’s mysterious, gorgeous girlfriend.” She tilted her head. “But looking at you now… I’m not so sure.”
Evie’s breath hitched. The blood was rushing south, pulsing, filling her until the trunks were a torturous prison. She could feel the seam straining.
“Why don’t you settle the rumor for her, Evie?” Clare suggested, her voice dripping with false nonchalance. Her thumbs rubbed circles on Evie’s collarbones. “Let Sophie see what’s real.”
“Clare, please,” Evie whispered, a plea with no conviction.
“She wants to know,” Clare breathed into her ear. “Don’t you, Soph? Think you can handle what she’s packing?”
Sophie didn’t answer with words. She closed the final distance and knelt on the sun-warmed tile between Evie’s spread knees. Up close, Evie could see the faint freckles across her nose, the mascara clinging to her red lashes. Her scent was coconut oil and champagne.
“Show me,” Sophie whispered, her gaze unwavering.
With trembling hands, Evie fumbled for the drawstring of the trunks. She loosened it, the knot giving way. The fabric, already tight, did nothing to spring free. Sophie made a small, impatient sound in her throat. Then she leaned forward and took the waistband in her teeth.
Evie froze. The sensation of sharp incisors against the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen, the warm puff of Sophie’s breath through the fabric, was insane. Sophie gave a firm, sideways tug. The seam at the front of the trunks split with a crisp, tearing sound.
The warm evening air hit Evie’s cock. It twitched, fully engorged now, freed from the constricting cotton. It rose thick and heavy, curving up towards her navel, the head a flushed, darkened purple. A translucent bead of pre-cum glistened at the slit.
Sophie’s eyes widened. Her breath left her in a sharp, audible gasp. “Holy fuck,” she breathed.
Evie’s cock, released, swayed with the motion of her pounding heart and then, with a soft, heavy slap, fell against Sophie’s cheek. The damp warmth of it left a faint streak on her skin.
Sophie didn’t pull back. A slow smile spread across her face, transforming her expression into one of sheer, avaricious wonder. She turned her head and nuzzled the thick shaft, rubbing her cheek against it like a cat. She inhaled deeply. “Jesus, Clare. You’ve been holding out.”
Behind Evie, Clare’s hands slid from her shoulders, down her chest, under the open shirt. Clare’s fingers found her nipples, pinching them roughly through the wet linen of her own swimsuit top. “I don’t share my toys with just anyone,” Clare said, but her voice was thick with arousal. Evie could feel the hard press of Clare’s pelvis against her back.
Sophie looked up at Evie, her green eyes glazed. “Can I?” It wasn’t really a question. Her small, cool hands were already wrapping around the base. Her fingers didn’t meet. She had to use both hands to form a ring, and even then, her thumbs didn’t touch. She gave an experimental stroke, her touch tentative at first, then firmer as she felt the solid, veined weight of it. “It’s so hot. Like it’s alive.”
Then she leaned in and licked the bead of moisture from the tip. Her tongue was hot, pointed, clever. She swirled it around the sensitive corona, eliciting a groan from deep in Evie’s chest.
“That’s it,” Clare whispered, her own breathing becoming ragged. One of her hands left Evie’s breast and slipped beneath the terrycloth of her towel, down the front of her own black suit. Evie could hear the wet sound of Clare’s fingers moving against herself. “Taste her, Sophie.”
Sophie opened her mouth. She took just the head inside, her lips stretching into a tight, pink ‘O’. She suckled gently, her tongue working the frenulum. Then, with a desperation that mirrored Clare’s in the boutique, she pushed forward, trying to take more.
She gagged immediately, a wet, choking sound. She pulled back, eyes watering, a string of saliva connecting her lip to Evie’s cock. “Fuck, it’s big.”
“Try again,” Clare commanded, her fingers moving faster on herself. “Relax your throat. You want it, don’t you?”
Sophie nodded, dazed. She wiped her mouth, took a breath, and dove. This time she took maybe three inches before her throat locked. Her eyes screwed shut, tears leaking from the corners. Her small hands, still wrapped around the base, gripped tighter, as if to control the invasion. She managed a shaky, shallow bob, her throat fluttering wildly around the intruding flesh.
The sight was devastating. The beautiful, confident redhead on her knees, struggling to accommodate her, was a narcotic to Evie’s shame. It transmuted it into a dark, towering pride. She looked over her shoulder at Clare. Clare’s head was thrown back, her eyes closed, her lips parted. She was biting her own lower lip, her fingers a frantic blur beneath her towel.
“Fuck her face,” Clare hissed, without opening her eyes. “She wants it. Use her.”
Evie’s hips jerked forward of their own accord. Sophie made a gurgling sound of surprise but didn’t pull away. Evie did it again, a shallow thrust, guiding herself deeper into that tight, convulsing heat. Sophie’s nails dug into her thighs.
“Yes,” Clare moaned. “Like that. Make her choke on it.”
Evie set a rhythm, short, testing pumps. Each forward push met the resistance of Sophie’s tense throat, then yielded with a gagging swallow. The sounds were lewd, mortifying, exhilarating. Sophie’s mascara was running in black trails down her cheeks. Her fingers scrambled from Evie’s thighs to her own bikini bottoms, yanking the tiny fabric aside. Evie watched, mesmerized, as Sophie began rubbing her clit in furious, chaotic circles, her hips bucking against her own hand.
It was too much. The coil, so recently wound in the boutique, tightened again with brutal speed. Pressure built at the base of her spine, immense and unavoidable.
“I’m going to—” Evie choked out.
Clare’s eyes snapped open. “In her mouth. Do it. Fill her up.”
The command was the trigger. Evie’s body locked. A raw, guttural noise was torn from her throat as the climax detonated. It was dry, as before, a series of brutal, muscular contractions that racked her frame without release, a phantom ejaculation of pure, nerve-shredding sensation. Her hips pistoned forward, holding her deepest inside Sophie’s spasming throat as the waves crashed through her.
Sophie felt it. She felt the throbbing pulse, the rigidity, the final, deep push. Her own body convulsed in response; a high, thin whine escaped her stuffed throat, and her back arched, her fingers stilling on her clit as her own orgasm shook her.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing and the distant splash of the pool filter.
Slowly, Evie softened. She slipped from Sophie’s mouth with a wet, sucking pop.
Sophie collapsed back onto her heels, coughing, wiping her mouth and eyes with the back of her hand. She was a mess of smeared makeup, spit, and pool water. She looked dazed, ruined.
Clare removed her hand from her swimsuit, brought her glistening fingers to her mouth, and sucked them clean, watching the two of them with a heavy-lidded, possessive satisfaction. “See?” she said to Sophie, her voice hoarse. “Not a rumor.”
Sophie finally looked up at Evie. There was no horror in her gaze. No disgust. There was a kind of awed hunger, a re-evaluation. “What… what are you?” she whispered, not unkindly.
It was the question Evie had been asking herself for weeks. She had no answer. She looked from Sophie’s wrecked, beautiful face to Clare’s triumphant one. The shame tried to creep back in, cold and familiar, but it was drowned out by something new, something vast and terrifying.
It felt like power.