Poolside Stranger

Evely spread her hips wide, her knees rising instinctively. Still she cried, but she smiled too, her hands around his neck, holding him there as they kissed over and over again. He settled deep into her, taking his time about it, staying still, just enjoying the grip of her around him.

He slid a hand under one of her tanned thighs, loving the feel of her soft flesh. She brought the knee higher, almost to her breast, and he kissed her again as they began to rock against one another. His other hand slid down to her clit, rubbing it as she'd been doing earlier, not fast, but with a steady pressure that she loved.

Their bodies moved together as though they belonged that way. How long it took before Serge's pace began to quicken, neither were entirely sure. Their need for one another slowly took over, and Serge drove harder into Evely, filling her deeper and deeper as she clutched his ass, moaning right into his ear, her hot breath spurring him on.

She began to buck harder against him, her mouth dropping to the meat of his shoulder, and she squeezed his ass hard, whimpering and nipping down all at once. Her body rocked once more and she thrust up at him, accidentally biting him as she came again.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she gasped. He chuckled throatily and kissed her again. She moved her hands to his pecs, then pushed him away. He got the idea and they rolled together, Evely on top, rocking on his cock, grinding her clit against him. He let his hands roam, squeezing her ass, playing with her clit, giving her breasts the obvious attention any guy in his position would have done.

The later the hour grew, the more feverish and desperate the sex became. Evely became incensed, not so much rocking anymore as bouncing, her breasts bobbing in time. He sat up to suck at her nipples, and the pleasure caused her to lose her balance, dropping down onto him. He gripped her ass and they fucked each other then, hard, fast, her laying right on top of him, kissing him fervently, her eyes bright and almost afraid.

Serge wound up on top again, this time with her knees bent and her feet nearly touching her head. She was balanced on her shoulders as he drove down into her, gasping for every hard breath as he tried desperately not to come. Every thrust drove his cock against her g-spot and made it so good for her. She came with a muted cry, hoarse, exhausted. Despite their intense need for one another and the voice whispering in the back of Serge's head that Evely would be gone in the morning, he needed to come. Needed to finish this.

He helped her down, and in the end, they wound up in each other's arms in a simple missionary position, Evely whispering Serge's name against his lips, whispering for him to come, to fill her up. He plunged into her a few last times, and before he finished, he breathed, "Evely."

"Yesss," she hissed.

He came. If he had doubts earlier about the unprotected finish, they had been banished an hour ago. It felt as good and right to finish inside her as it had with Sierra. He wanted to create something with this woman, with this near total stranger.

Her hand fell to him as the last of his warmth spent inside her. She helped guide him out, and they fell together, curling up in each other's arms. He stroked her ass, kissing her as she worked out whatever was going on in her mind.

* * *

He woke alone, wondering if it had all ben some crazed fever dream, but the bed was wet and messy where they'd made love. And then he heard the blast of the shower, and a soft humming, and leaned back, smiling to himself.

After a minute, he rose and joined her. They spoke nothing to one another, but once he'd brushed his teeth and stepped into the shower, she kissed him gently, stroking his soft, tender cock.

"That was..." she breathed, and chuckled.

"I know." He cupped her cheeks and kissed her again before pulling back. "Evely, what do you need?"

She sighed. "I have to try to get my things. My purse. My phone. Some clothes, if he hasn't burned them all."

"Would he?"

Evely nodded without hesitation. "I hate to ask this, but would you come with?"

"Of course."

They finished the shower and dressed. Both of them were too nervous to eat. There was nothing really in the house he could use as a weapon aside from the gun, and he wasn't about to go into this situation armed. If things got ugly, he didn't want a reason for someone in the house to shoot.

Her lingerie and dress were dry by that point, and she dressed in them out by the minibar. Serge sucked in his gut involuntarily when he saw her in the figure-hugging sleeveless dress. She caught him staring and blushed again.

They drove.

She told him simply she lived on the Hill, and there was no need to define that any further. There was only one place in the city you could call that without definition, a private gated community at the top of the tallest bluff. Sierra's clothing deals landed them an upper middle-class house that was definitely nothing to sneeze at, but the Hill was where the wealthiest of the wealthy lived.

They drove up a series of slow-rising switchbacks before arriving at a massive, ornate gate hemmed in by a stone and metal fence stretching all around the Hill. A guard in a kiosk leaned out, frowning until he recognized who was in the passenger seat. That frown turned to a smile in a hurry.

Evely leaned across Serge as he rolled down his window. "Has he had me removed from the registry yet?"

"I heard there was some commotion," the guard drawled. "Sorry, Evely, but he has."

"Ten minutes," she said. "That's all I need. I'm just coming to collect a few things." The guard hesitated. "Please. That's all I'm here for."

"Your gentleman friend, he'll need to stay in his car," the guard said.

"I can't do that," Serge said quietly. "The guy she's with put her in a bad spot last night. I swear, I'm not here for revenge or to burn the place down. But she needs someone with her through this."

The guard groaned, "Oh, hell, this is going to mean my job." He sighed, and he must have pressed a button or something, because the gate swung open without so much as a squeak. "Ten minutes."

They drove through pas a stunning selection of modern houses. It was surprising how little room there was between them, hardly more than the space between Serge's garage and his house. He followed the finest paved road he'd ever seen around a long curve leading past a dozen houses. They turned down another street, ending in a cul-de-sac. The house she pointed out with a low, hoarse voice was at the very end, tucked away in a corner. Out in front, parked haphazardly on the driveway, was a dark blue Jaguar sedan. Serge parked beside it, and Evely took his hand.

"You don't have to come in," she said, not quite meeting his eyes.

"I love you," Serge said in response. Evely glanced at him sharply, and he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing it. "I'm a barista, Evely. I have enough money from Sierra that I'll live a comfortable life, but I'll never be..." He gestured vaguely at the house.

"That's not what I care about," she murmured. "And I'm not much better. I've never had a real job. I've been... pampered since my eighteenth birthday. I'm tired of it. I want..." She glanced aside at him. "I want you. Because I love you too."

They kissed, and he squeezed her hand. When she broke away, she let him go, and they stepped outside.

Whatever Serge was expecting, the squat, snow-haired man walking out the front door wasn't it. He had to be in his late fifties, maybe even older. His hand came up, and he pointed at Evely. "You're name's off the list. What are you doing here?"

"I'm grabbing my things, then I'm gone," she said.

"And who are you, asshole?" the guy said.

"Just here to make sure she gets in and out okay."

The man sniffed. "Uh huh. That why she had her tongue down your throat a minute ago?" He snorted. "Wouldn't whore out last night, but today's a-okay?"

Evely shivered at his words. She saw Serge stiffen, and shook her head slightly. He followed her up the sidewalk, the older man following like a dog ready to bite.

The glass-paneled front door opened into a living room tiled the same exact color as the Jag. Not a shade of difference. One or the other had been painted to match, such an absurd sign of wealth that Serge shook his head. On a black glass coffee table was a small mirror topped in traces of white powder. Evely saw it and shook her head, sighing. The ex-boyfriend ignored her and came around to settle into an armchair that looked more like a torture device. He gestured at a matching loveseat.

"Whoever you are, fuck-buddy, sit. You want a bump?"

"I don't do that," Serge said.

Evely squeezed his arm. "Neither do I. He was six months sober until last night."

The man grinned lazily. "But candy's so sweet. Almost as sweet as her, am I right?"

"I'll just be a minute," Evely promised Serge. He nodded, and she hurried to a bedroom.

The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, making sure Serge got a good view of the scarred knuckles. "She offer to suck your cock for coming here? Maybe let you fuck that wet ass pussy?"

Serge ignored him. From deeper in the house, Evely let out a sob, and Serge started towards her. The man rose shockingly fast, and came at him, his big hand out and on Serge's chest.

"Staying right there, hoss," he said. His breath stank like rotten fruit. "What did she do for you, hm? What did she promise you?"

"Let me go," Serge said. "Now."

"You know what she is?" the man asked, shifting side to side on his feet, almost dancing. "She's a high-class whore. Never been with anyone worth less than eight digits. She's sucked me off on a yacht in front of people whose bathrooms are worth more than you, asshole."

Serge stared down at him. Taking the verbal attack meant Evely didn't have to. Fair trade. He wanted to hit the other man, wanted this to get ugly, but he wouldn't. For her.

His silence and inaction only seemed to incense the man. "You know what she's going to do when she gets bored enough? She's going to come back here and beg me to let my friends use her. And I will. Last night it could have just been her pussy and her mouth. But now I'll tell them to take her ass, and she will. Because she'll want a new fucking dress or a vacation to Turks or Dubai. She's a gold digging whore, my friend, a lowdown slut." Still Serge was silent, and from the bedroom, he heard Evely's sobs grow. She must have heard from in there. The place was too narrow not to.

"What?" the man asked. "Too much of a pussy to do something? Huh?" He shoved Serge, but Serge barely moved. "Come on then. Say something. Do something. Fucking dickless. That's what you are. Little bitch." His eyes narrowed, and he shoved Serge again. "Come on then. Take a fucking swing. Do it. Do it!"

Serge said, "Evely, you-?"

The fist crashed into the side of his temple, almost right against the eye, and Serge stumbled backwards, colliding with a bookshelf and snapping one of its boards when he fought for balance. He crashed down with a pile of never-read books, the leather spines showing no cracks. Evely shouted something, but Serge's mind fuzzed. He started up, but the ex hit him again, drilling him across the cheek with a right that seemed more like steel rebar hitting his skull. Serge dropped back down and the man was on him, hammering down with sure lefts and rights, giggling in a high pitch.

Serge stood no chance. He wasn't a fighter and this guy had clearly seen a few dozen scraps. Dark red strangled the corners of his vision, and he waved his arms uselessly, trying to get them up and in the way. Evely was there, shouting, trying to pry the ex off him, but nothing doing. Serge tried to tell her to run, to get in the car and get away, but all that came out was a burble.

Evely dug her fingernails into the guy's cheeks, meaning to go for the eyes but she was grabbing what she could get. The man whirled on her, laughing even harder, but his laughter cut off. "Who-?"

Someone stepped between Evely and Serge. Petite, well-muscled, In a dress that was all too familiar to Serge, because it was the one she'd been buried in. She rose a hand, fingers splayed out, and the man looked at her, confused.

"The fuck-?"

Serge kicked up. It was the one great equalizer, the thing that could even out every fight between two guys. Cheap? Absolutely. But there was no doubt in his mind if he didn't, the man would turn those fists on Evely next.

He didn't so much kick the man in the balls as punt him. And it worked.

Evely's ex screeched. His hips slammed together, his knees buckling, and he fell. His hands went to his groin and he cried out, rocking side to side. Evely ran to Serge, trying to help him up, but he could barely stand. He struggled for a long minute just trying to find his balance, and she hugged him tight. They finally started for the door, but a hurk behind them caught their attention. Evely looked over her shoulder, and gasped.

Her ex's mouth foamed. His eyes strained hard to roll back in his head, and his whole body rocked with spasms. Evely and Serge looked at each other, and she hurried through her purse, trying to dig out her phone to call 911. But before she got on the line with a dispatcher, her ex stilled, and breathed no more.

* * *

An overdose combined with the pain of the kick to the balls was enough to send Harris Tomlinson into cardiac arrest. The cops kept Evely and Serge around long enough to get their story, but security cameras inside the house were all they needed to know Serge acted in self-defense. They were given a ride back to the house.

Harris had trashed almost everything of value to Evely, mostly pictures of her estranged family and a few keepsakes from a different time in her life. His family demanded all the jewelry, all the finer things left, and Evely was only too happy to give them up.

She moved in with Serge. There were no tears on her part for Harris, but for Serge, there were plenty. He needed a few stitches and was watched for a couple days for a concussion, but came away pretty unscathed, all things considered. Evely celebrated his release with a round of joyous lovemaking that left both of them panting, sweaty messes before they ran and hopped in the pool together, naked as the surreal night Evely came into his life.

Serge never mentioned seeing Sierra. Not once. But months later, when they found out four months later that Evely was pregnant, she gripped his hand and brought it to her stomach. Her eyes searched his, and she smiled faintly. "Sierra."

"Sorry?"

"That's our baby's name."

He grinned. "We don't even know if it's a boy or a girl yet."

"It'll be a girl," Evely said, not a hint of doubt in her voice. "And her name will be Sierra."

"Okay," he said. "You know I love that name. But I have to ask why."

"Because," Evely said, leaning up to kiss him gently. "She's the one that told me to come here. And she's the one that saved you."