The Lifeguard!

The sun burned my skin, branded it. So did his gaze. Sure, his delectable baby blues were hidden behind aviator shades, but I knew he was watching me. I could feel it.

A chill raced across my skin, cooling it even as the heat from the August sun blazed. His gaze was as powerful as actual fingers, trailing over my exposed flesh every time I walked, reapplied sunscreen, snacked on grapes. Those were a purposeful tease, brought to tempt him into wishing it was his fingers, his toes I sucked on. It worked, too.

He licked his lips when I swirled my tongue along the firm skin of the grape, showing off skills I knew he wanted to test.

Soon.

It was inevitable, a dance we'd been engaged in since the first day of CPR training. He'd offered to be my partner for the mouth-to-mouth, his breath hot on my shoulder in the break room. He tried to hide his half-mast behind the thin fabric of his red board shorts with the white cross emblazoned across his mid-thigh, but it was futile. I saw what he had to offer and I wanted it then, even when his smile faded along with his erection at the sight of the mannequins the higher-ups brought in.

Still, the dance began. And I was a willing partner.

I crossed my legs, grabbed the lotion from my bag and lathered up, running my hands over a fresh wax. I spent time making sure my fingers slipped just beneath the hemline of my one-piece suit along my thigh, then again along the top of my chest.

I peered over the top of my D&G sunglasses and watched his chest expand, deflate. He ran a hand through his dirty-blond hair, licked his lips. As bait, it was a pretty weak gesture on my part, but it worked. I caught his sharp intake of breath as I bent to apply lotion to the tips of my toes, exposing what little cleavage the modest suit would allow. He was mine, hook, line, and sinker.

The only problem was her. The girlfriend, the hanger-on, the mousy-blonde who brought him attention in the form of a brown paper bag filled with inedible contents every day. Her eyes told a different story than his. Jealousy. Hatred.

Ha! If she only had a clue how his hand had felt on my hip at the staff meeting the week before, when all of us were smashed together in the office like sardines. His thumb had rubbed along my suit line, making me wet without even needing to dip into the chlorinated office we called our second home. She'd throw daggers with her eyes if she'd seen that.

When she looked at him, though, it was nothing but sad puppy love that remained unrequited. He never kissed her at work, didn't even let her hold his hand. It was sad, really. Water filled the bottom lid of her eyes and I swear she looked just like my dad's labradoodle when she left, the brown bag lunch she gave him, sappy note and all, already in the trash bin, unopened.

I didn't care much either way, so long as she realized he was just an end-of-the-semester crush that had lingered a little longer than he wanted.

He'd said as much in the breakroom, his eyes on my tits, his lips wet with desire.

She needed to be gone so I could get what I wanted. His hands where his slutty gaze fell every time we were alone. His half-hard cock at full-mast and available for me to suck off. His ass bared naked for me to graze my teeth across.

I shuddered as a chill tickled my skin.