Secret Smiles by the Pool
# Weekend Tides The late afternoon sun slanted through Leo’s bedroom blinds, painting hot stripes across the rumpled sheets. Sasha stood by the window, the fading light gilding the powerful curve of her shoulder, the defined lines of her b
Chapter 1
The late afternoon sun slanted through Leo’s bedroom blinds, painting hot stripes across the rumpled sheets. Sasha stood by the window, the fading light gilding the powerful curve of her shoulder, the defined lines of her back. Her phone, resting on the bedside table, chimed once.
**Garrett:** *Landed. Meetings all day. Miss you already.*
A slow, secret smile touched her lips. Her thumb hovered over the screen before she picked up the device, turning her back to the room. She lifted the phone, capturing not her face, but the view: the king-sized bed, empty save for the impression of a body on his side, the patio doors open to the glittering turquoise of the pool below. She sent it.
**Sasha:** *It’s quiet here. Thinking of you.*
The lie was a sweet, heated flutter in her stomach.
She heard him before she saw him—the soft pad of bare feet on tile. Leo filled the doorway, his tall, muscular frame silhouetted against the hall light. The intricate patterns of his tattoos seemed to shift in the dimness, stories written across his skin. His beard was darker than her husband’s, his brown eyes holding a quiet, predatory patience that made the air thicken.
“He’s gone?” Leo’s voice was a low rumble, not needing to clarify who.
Sasha nodded, letting the phone fall silently to the duvet. She didn’t speak. Instead, she reached for the hem of her simple sundress and drew it up and over her head in one fluid motion. The air kissed her skin, and she felt his gaze like a physical touch, traveling the length of her—the toned muscles of her legs and abdomen, the strength in her arms, all laid bare in submission to his silent appraisal.
He crossed the room, the space between them charged with a potent, unsaid thing. He didn’t touch her. He stopped a breath away, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the pulse at her throat. “Come,” he said finally, his command soft but absolute.
He led her not to the bed, but out to the balcony overlooking the pool. The water was a sheet of liquid sapphire in the twilight. Without a word, he stepped to the edge and dove in, a clean arc that barely rippled the surface. He surfaced, pushing wet hair from his face, and looked up at her.
Her submission was not weakness; it was a choice, a deliberate pouring of her considerable strength into the vessel of his desire. She followed, the plunge shocking and exquisite. When she broke the surface, he was there. His hands, finally, found her waist under the water, holding her with an effortless steadiness. The cool silk of the water contrasted with the searing heat of his palms on her skin.
“Look at me,” he murmured.
She did. And in that look, everything was promised—the slow, worshipful exploration, the surrender of her body to his experienced hands and mouth, the entire weekend stretching before them like uncharted territory. He drew her closer, until their bodies aligned beneath the surface, a slow, sensual press that was a preamble to everything. The first chapter of their story was written not in touches, but in this submerged, breathless tension, with the ghost of her husband a thousand miles away, receiving a photo of an empty, sun-drenched room.
Chapter 2
The water was a cool caress against her heated skin, but the heat radiating from Leo’s body where he held her was the true fire. His palms, broad and sure, slid from her waist to the small of her back, drawing her closer in the buoyant silence.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he murmured, his voice low enough that the words were just for her, a vibration in the air between them.
Sasha’s breath hitched. “I’m thinking this is dangerous.”
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. His thumb traced the ridge of her hip bone, the touch feather-light and maddening. “He’s in meetings. What’s he doing right now?”
“Probably… reviewing a contract,” she said, the image of her serious, confident husband a sharp contrast to the sensual haze enveloping her here.
“And you?” Leo’s other hand came up to cradle her jaw, his touch possessive. “What are you doing right now?”
She met his dark, intent gaze. The water lapped gently around them. “I’m here with you.”
“Say it.” His command was soft, but it brooked no refusal.
“I’m here with you,” she repeated, her voice steadier this time, laced with a surrender that was its own kind of power.
“Good.” He dipped his head, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “This weekend is yours. Every sigh, every shiver. I want to feel all of them.”
He began to move them slowly through the water, a slow, swaying dance with no music but their own breathing. His hands never strayed from respectful places, yet every point of contact—his chest against her back, his thigh brushing hers—was a promise of what was to come. The heat between them was no longer just in the air; it was in the water, in the charged silence, in the way her body arched almost imperceptibly into his.
“Look at the house,” he said, turning them so she faced the glowing windows of his bedroom. “Empty. Waiting. For us.”
She looked, and the vision of the weekend unfolded—a canvas of dark sheets and twilight swims and slow, deliberate exploration. The palpable, aching heat of anticipation settled deep in her core, a slow burn she knew he would stoke for hours before allowing it to finally blaze.
Chapter 3
His hands, still cool from the pool, guided her from the water and up the steps, droplets tracing the valleys of her spine. The evening air was a soft shock against her wet skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with chill. He didn’t rush, letting her feel the weight of his gaze on her naked form as they crossed the tile and entered the shadowed bedroom.
He led her to the edge of the king-sized bed, a dark island in the dim room. With a gentle pressure on her shoulders, he guided her to lie on her stomach. The scent of him—clean cotton and salt—was on the sheets. He retrieved a bottle of oil, the soft click of the cap a punctuation in the quiet.
The first warm drizzle between her shoulder blades made her gasp. His palms spread it, slow and deliberate, from the powerful width of her shoulders down to the tight curve of her lower back. His touch was both clinical and worshipful, finding every corded muscle, every ridge of definition her training had carved. His thumbs pressed deep into the knots along her spine, his fingers spanning the taper of her waist.
He worked in silence for long minutes, the only sounds their breathing and the slick slide of his hands. His touch descended, oil glistening in the low light as he mapped the full, strong hemispheres of her ass, kneading with a firm, possessive rhythm that drew a low moan from her throat. He leaned down, his beard brushing the shell of her ear.
“All weekend,” he whispered, his voice a dark promise. “I’m going to have you just like this. Open for me. Everywhere.” His hand slid down the crease, a teasing pass that made her hips shift involuntarily against the bed. “I’ll taste you by the pool at midnight. Feel you come on my tongue while the water laps at our skin.”
His words were a second, more intimate massage. As he spoke, his hands drifted lower, along the taut muscles of her thighs, then back up, his fingers slicking through the cleft of her ass with more purposeful pressure. He found her heat, not entering, but circling the swollen, desperate flesh of her pussy with oil-slick fingers. The contact was electric, a direct circuit to her core, which clenched around nothing.
“You’re so ready,” he murmured, his breath hot on her neck. He added a second finger, the broad pressure against her making her back arch. “But not yet. First, I want to feel you come just from this.”
His rhythm was relentless, a perfect, circling torture that built a screaming tension in her belly. She was panting into the sheets, her fingers clutching the duvet. The image he painted—of a weekend of slow, stolen decadence—merged with the overwhelming sensation of his hand. The coil snapped.
Her climax tore through her with a silent, breathless violence. Her body bowed, a strangled cry escaping as waves of raw pleasure radiated out from where his fingers worked her, flooding her limbs, leaving her trembling and spent against the mattress.
He slowly withdrew his hand, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth, his dark eyes holding hers as he tasted her. The possessive, satisfied look on his face was her answer. The weekend had truly begun.
Chapter 4
Leo’s lips left a searing trail from her neck down the oil-slick path of her spine. Sasha trembled, the aftershocks of her first orgasm still shimmering through her muscles. He didn’t let her float in the aftermath. His hands, possessive and sure, rolled her onto her back. The dim light carved the hard planes of his torso, his tattoos a living tapestry over his skin.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice thick with approval. He settled between her spread thighs, his weight a delicious anchor. “All that strength, laid out just for me.” He leaned down, his beard scratching gently at the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Tell me what you want, Sasha.”
Her voice was a husky whisper. “I want your mouth.”
“Where?” His eyes, dark and hungry, held hers.
“On me. Please.”
A low, gratified sound rumbled in his chest. “Since you asked so nicely.”
He didn’t descend slowly. He dove, his mouth finding her pussy with an ardent, open-mouthed kiss that stole the air from her lungs. His tongue was relentless, a flat, broad stroke that licked through her swollen folds, gathering her taste. He groaned against her, the vibration traveling straight to her core.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I remembered,” he muttered, his words muffled against her skin. His hands hooked under her knees, pushing them wider, opening her completely to his devouring attention. His tongue circled her clit, then speared inside her, fucking her with slow, deep plunges before returning to that frantic, flickering point.
“Garrett…” she moaned, the name slipping out unbidden.
Leo paused, lifting his head. His chin glistened. “What about him?”
“He’s… he’s texting,” she gasped, her hips lifting off the bed, seeking his mouth again.
“Let him.” Leo’s gaze was fierce. “Let him text while I make you come on my tongue. Tell him you’re busy.” He lowered his head again, his tongue finding a devastating rhythm—suck, flick, plunge. His fingers joined, two slipping inside her, curling forward to stroke that spot that made her vision blur.
The dual sensation was too much. Her hands fisted in his hair, not to guide, but to hold on as the pressure built into a screaming peak. “Leo, I’m… I’m going to…”
“Cum,” he commanded, his mouth sealed over her. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
It crashed over her, a tidal wave of raw, shuddering pleasure that ripped a cry from her throat. Her back arched violently off the bed, her entire body convulsing around his fingers as he drank her in, his tongue gentling to lap her through the endless pulses.
When the last tremor faded, he kissed his way up her body, his weight settling over her. He captured her mouth, letting her taste herself on his lips. “That’s two” he whispered against her mouth. He reached over, grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and placed it in her limp hand. “Now tell him goodnight.”
Breathless and boneless, she typed with trembling fingers, a slow, secret smile on her lips as Leo watched, his hard cock pressing insistently against her thigh.
**Sasha:** *Going to sleep early. Long day. Sweet dreams, love.*
Chapter 5
The soft chime of her phone hitting the nightstand was the only sound in the room besides their shared, heavy breathing. Sasha’s fingers were still curled loosely around the device, the ghost of her text to Garrett lingering in the air like perfume. Leo watched her, a dark satisfaction in his eyes as he loomed over her, his hard cock a thick, insistent pressure against her inner thigh.
“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with need. He caught her wrist, pinning it gently beside her head. “Now you’re all mine. No more interruptions.”
His mouth crashed down on hers, a claiming, desperate kiss that tasted of her own arousal. She moaned into it, her free hand sliding up the corded strength of his back, nails scraping lightly over his tattoos. He broke the kiss, his breath hot against her lips.
“Tell me what you want, Sasha. Say it.”
“I want you inside me,” she gasped, her hips lifting, seeking the blunt head of him. “Now, Leo. Please.”
“Since you asked so nicely.” He shifted, his hand guiding himself to her slick entrance. He didn’t thrust. He pressed forward with a slow, relentless pressure that stole the air from her lungs, stretching her, filling her inch by exquisite inch. A ragged groan tore from his throat as he finally sheathed himself completely, his hips flush against hers. “God… you feel good around me.”
He began to move, a deep, rocking rhythm that was pure sensation. Each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each plunge a claiming that resonated in her very bones. He braced himself on his forearms, his face inches from hers, his dark eyes holding her captive.
“He ever make you feel like this?” Leo gritted out, his pace increasing, the slap of skin on skin filling the room.
“No,” she cried, the truth a liberation. “Never like this.”
“That’s right.” He drove into her, harder, deeper. “This is mine. This weekend is mine. This pussy is mine.” His words were a filthy, perfect counterpoint to the sensual torment of his body. He hooked an arm under her knee, hiking her leg high over his hip, changing the angle. The new depth wrenched a scream from her throat.
“I’m gonna cum again,” she sobbed, the coil inside her winding to a breaking point. “Leo, I’m gonna…”
“Look at me,” he commanded, his rhythm becoming punishing, flawless. “Cum with me. Let go.”
It was an order she couldn’t disobey. Her climax detonated, a white-hot nova of pleasure that shattered her into a million pieces. Her body convulsed around his, milking him, pulling a guttural roar from his chest as he followed her over the edge. He drove deep one last, shuddering time, and she felt the hot, pulsing rush of his release filling her as his own orgasm ripped through him.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breaths mingling in the dark. He collapsed onto her, his weight a welcome anchor, his face buried in the sweat-damp crook of her neck. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew and rolled to his side, gathering her against him. His hand stroked her hair, her back, in slow, possessive circles.
“Three” he breathed into her hair, his voice thick with satiation and something softer. “And the night’s just beginning.” Outside, the pool glimmered under the first stars, a silent promise of the hours still left to steal.
Chapter 6
The heat of their bodies slowly ebbed into a languid, contented warmth. Leo’s fingers traced idle patterns on the skin of her hip. “I’m starving,” he murmured, his voice a rough caress against her temple.
“Me too,” Sasha admitted, her stomach giving a quiet, agreeing rumble.
He shifted, rolling to his feet with an easy grace. He extended a hand, pulling her up. “Come on. Let’s raid the kitchen.”
They didn’t bother with clothes, walking naked through the cool, dim house. The marble tiles were smooth under Sasha’s bare feet. In the expansive kitchen, the under-cabinet lights cast a soft, intimate glow. Leo went to the large refrigerator, the light outlining his powerful back and the dark trail of hair leading down.
“What’s your pleasure?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, his eyes dark and amused. “I have fruit, cheese, some very good prosciutto.”
“All of it,” Sasha said, leaning against the island countertop. She watched the play of muscles in his arms as he gathered items. “And wine. Definitely wine.”
He pulled out a bottle of crisp white and two glasses, setting them on the island before her. He uncorked it with a practiced twist, pouring a generous amount. “To stolen weekends,” he said, handing her a glass.
She took it, her fingers brushing his. “To stolen weekends.” The wine was cold and perfect. She took a sip, her eyes never leaving his as he began to slice pear and cheese, arranging them on a board with deliberate, sensual care. He fed her a slice of pear, his thumb brushing her lower lip as she took it.
“Sweet,” he commented, his gaze dropping to her mouth.
“Not as sweet as you are when you’re being domestic,” she teased, her own confidence blooming in the shared quiet.
He laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Don’t get used to it.” He popped a piece of cheese into his own mouth, then leaned across the island, closing the distance. “This is just fuel,” he said, his voice dropping. “For what comes next.”
They ate and drank standing there, bodies on full display, a simple, carnal communion. Every shared glance, every intentional touch of fingers as they reached for the same slice of meat, was a continuation of what had begun in the bedroom. The flirting was quieter now, woven into the mundane act of sharing a meal, but it was no less potent.
“Ready to go back out?” Leo asked, his hand settling on the curve of her waist.
“Mmm,” she hummed, finishing her wine. “The water will feel good.”
He took her hand, leading her back through the shadowed house to the patio. The night was velvety and warm, the pool illuminated from within, a rectangle of liquid blue light. He didn’t hesitate, walking down the steps into the shallow end, the water rising to his waist. He turned, holding out his hand for her again.
Sasha descended, the water a cool shock that quickly became a silken embrace. He drew her into his arms, their bodies aligning beneath the surface. His hands slid down to cup her ass, pulling her tightly against the hard length of him, which was already stirring back to life against her belly.
“See?” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “Told you it was just fuel.” He kissed her neck, slow and open-mouthed. “I’m not nearly done with you.”
She arched against him, a soft gasp escaping her lips as his teeth grazed her skin. The water lapped around them, amplifying every sensation, every shift of his strong hands on her body. The promise of what was to come hung between them, thick and undeniable, as they stood entwined in the glowing blue heart of the night.
Chapter 7
The playful mood in the water shifted, charged by the promise in his words. His hands, cupping her, became less an embrace and more a claim.
“Turn around,” Leo murmured, his voice dropping into a register that vibrated through her.
Sasha obeyed, the water sluicing between them as she turned to face the pool’s edge. He guided her hands to the cool tile coping. His body pressed close behind her, a solid wall of heat against the night air.
“That’s it,” he said, his lips grazing her shoulder. His hands slid from her waist to her hips, fingers digging in with a possessive pressure that made her gasp. He positioned himself, the hard length of him nudging against her. “You’re mine for this weekend. Every part of you.”
“Yes,” she breathed, the word lost in the soft lap of water.
He entered her in one deep, deliberate motion, filling her completely. A sharp, full moan tore from her throat, echoing into the quiet backyard. His tattooed hands tightened on her hips, anchoring her as he began to move, a slow, powerful rhythm that pushed her against the edge with every surge.
“God, Leo,” she cried out, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick tile.
He leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear. “You like that? Taking me like this while he’s gone?” he growled, his pace increasing.
Her body clenched around him, the intensity coiling tighter with every thrust. “Leo… please…”
“Say my name again,” he demanded, his grip fierce.
“Leo!” she cried out, the name a prayer and a confession into the dark. The world narrowed to the feel of him moving deep within her, the sound of their bodies meeting in the water, the raw possession in his voice.
The coil inside her snapped. Her climax crashed over her in a wave of blinding, shuddering release, her cries muffled against her arm as she trembled against the pool edge, utterly claimed.
He followed moments after, a guttural groan his only warning as his own release pulsed into her, his body shuddering against hers as he held her firmly in place through the final, powerful surges.
For a long moment, they stayed there, connected, breathing ragged into the night. Slowly, gently, he withdrew, turning her in his arms. He cradled her against his chest, the water soothing their heated skin.
“There’s my girl,” he said softly, his voice rough but tender now. He brushed wet hair from her forehead. “You were perfect.”
She leaned into him, boneless and replete, the secret thrill of the weekend no longer a future promise but a reality etched into her very bones. In his arms, she felt no regret, only a deep, satisfying certainty.
Later, wrapped in a soft towel on a lounger, her head on his shoulder, she felt her phone vibrate on the table beside them. A text notification glowed.
**Garrett:** *Thinking of you. Wish you were here.*
Leo didn’t look at the screen, but his arm tightened around her. He pressed a kiss to her temple. Sasha smiled, a serene, private curve of her lips, and closed her eyes. The weekend was theirs, and the tides of desire had found their perfect, inevitable shore.
Chapter 8
The warmth of the pool and the wine eventually pulled them under. They stumbled back to Leo’s bed, limbs tangled, and fell into a deep, sated sleep, the sheets a soft nest around their naked bodies.
Sasha awoke to a profound, silver silence. The digital clock read 3:17 AM. A full moon, huge and luminous, had climbed high, its light pouring unimpeded through the open balcony doors. It painted the room in monochrome, etching the lines of Leo’s sleeping form beside her in stark relief—the powerful slope of his shoulder, the dark trails of his tattoos.
A deep, restless hunger stirred in her core, more profound than any tiredness. She watched him sleep for a long moment, her heart beating with the excitement and anticipation of the evening and day to come. Then, moving with deliberate slowness, she pulled back the sheet and took Marks thick, heavy cock into her mouth. Sucking it slowly and sensually until he was fully erect. His brown eyes opened, finding hers in the moonlight. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, just watched her with a dark, approving intensity. She let his heavy purple head slip from her lips and climbed up to swing a leg over his hips, straddling him, her muscular thighs framing his waist.
“I need you,” she whispered, her voice husky with sleep and desire.
“Then take me,” he answered, his hands coming to rest on her hips, a silent permission and a guide.
She reached between them, her fingers wrapping around his length. Guiding him to her entrance, she sank down, a slow, inexorable descent that made them both gasp. She took him in completely, a deep, full stretch that made her head fall back.
“Oh, God… yes,” Leo groaned, his fingers tightening on her flesh.
Sasha began to move, establishing a slow, sensual rhythm. She rose until he was almost free of her, then sank back down, taking him deeper each time. The moonlight caught the sheen of sweat on her skin, the powerful flex of her abdomen as she rode him.
“Look at you,” he breathed, his voice rough with awe. “My gorgeous girl. Taking exactly what you need.”
She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, never breaking the deep, rolling pace. “It’s so deep,” she moaned, the sensation overwhelming. “I can feel you… everywhere.”
“That’s it. Use me. Make yourself come on my cock.”
His dirty talk, raw and commanding in the intimate dark, sent another shockwave of pleasure through her. The coil inside her wound impossibly tight, her rhythm becoming more urgent, more focused. The room filled with the sound of their skin meeting, her soft cries, his guttural encouragements.
“Leo… I’m close,” she gasped, her movements becoming frantic.
“Come with me,” he demanded, his own control fraying. His hips began to surge up to meet her downward strokes, driving him even deeper. “Let go. Now.”
The command shattered her. Her entire body convulsed around him, a blinding, explosive orgasm tearing through her with a force that stole her breath and voice. A high, broken cry finally escaped her lips as she shuddered violently above him.
Feeling her inner muscles clench and flutter around him, Leo growled her name, his own release erupting in hot, pulsing waves deep inside her. His body arched beneath hers, holding her tightly as he spilled into her, the connection absolute.
For long minutes, they remained locked together, her body collapsed onto his, both of them breathing in ragged, syncopated gasps. The full moon watched, a silent witness to their deeply connected ruin.
Eventually, he stirred, his hands moving to cradle her back. He pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her sweaty temple. “That was perfect,” he murmured into her hair.
Sasha simply nuzzled into his neck, too spent for words, swimming in a sea of moonlight and satiation. The weekend was half gone, but in this silent, silver hour, it felt like forever.