The door clicked behind us, and that was when I finally opened my mouth. “Bianca, five minutes better be up now, because I got a lot of fucking questions.”
She turned in a circle as she took in her surroundings, arms spread wide like a figure skater, before she pulled them against her chest. Admittedly, the pool facility was banging. They’d torn down the old one and just finished construction at the beginning of the semester. An eight-lane pool took up most of the area, and then there was a smaller, deeper pool with three diving boards of different heights. My shoes squeaked on the wet floor, and I inhaled the humid, chlorine-filled air.
“Bianca,” I began, but my voice dropped out when she toed off her shoes, the flat soles smacking the tile floor as she peeled her coat off to reveal nothing but a tight white A-shirt tank top. Her hands went to the top of her jeans, and in a flash, she had them wriggled down over her hips, revealing nothing but a tiny scrap of baby blue cotton.
My mouth went dry as the Sahara. Her bra was the same color of her skin and nearly sheer, so I could see the outline of her dark nipples. “Uh,” I said as she began to walk toward me barefoot, her hips rolling, tits bouncing with each step.
“Lavin?”
Her voice was seductive, and I was pretty sure in that moment, I would have done literally anything for her. Jump off a cliff? Sure. Run a marathon? Get my shoes. Kill a man? With my bare hands.
“What’re we doing here?” I managed to croak out.
“I wanted to go for a swim.”
I stared at her, my entire body like a goddamn furnace that was about to blow. Was I hard? Enough to pound nails. Was I also terrified out of my mind? As if Jason in a ski mask was on my damn heels.
“Y-you wanted to go for a swim,” was all I managed to say.
She nodded, like it wasn’t fucking crazy that we were at the pool, after hours, where we were most definitely not allowed, and she’d used her uncle’s stolen card to get us in.
“Do you want to swim?” she asked, her head tilted, teeth biting into her bottom lip.
She knew what she was doing. That sexy head cock, the lip nibble. Christ, I was going to come in my pants. I opened my mouth but no sound came out. Not a single thing. All I could do was follow her with my eyes as she turned around, giving me a view of her perfect ass, which wasn’t even close to being confined by those panties. Oh hell no, her ass cheeks were all freeedoommmm and jiggled as she walked.
With one last look at me, she raised her arms over her head, one hand on top of the other, and dove into the deep pool. Her body arced under water like a mermaid, hair streaming behind her in a black sheet.
She surfaced with the elegance of a dolphin, wiping the water off her face as she twirled to face me. Her bare legs kicked under her, keeping her afloat. This entire fucking scenario gave a new meaning to wet dream.
“Come in,” she said, her eyes flashing. “The water’s warm. And I’m all wet.”
False 9 is a standalone romantic comedy with some sports, a bit of action, and a whole lot of sarcasm. HEA and no cliffhanger.
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