"Let's go swimming," Tom suggests. They're having a night in at his flat, tucked on the sofa feet-to-feet, listening to Leonard Cohen and reading.
"Swimming." Sybil raises a skeptical eyebrow. It is beastly hot, though, even this late. "Where would we go swimming?"
"I know a place close by. We can ride there," Tom says, gesturing at the three bicycles propped on each other against one wall of the lounge room, bike shop rejects he's fixed up for himself.
"This is why you've got so many bicycles, isn't it?" Sybil teases. "In case you have a guest and you get a sudden urge to take a field trip."
"It does come in handy."
Five minutes later they're riding through the balmy night, Sybil pedaling hard to keep up. It's after midnight and the streets are nearly deserted, especially once they turn into a residential neighborhood. It occurs to her that they don't have swimsuits or towels, but they're going too fast for her to talk.
Tom comes to a stop at a four-storey block of flats built hacienda-style around a central courtyard. It sticks out like a sore thumb next to its aged red brick neighbors; the flats look like they were built as luxury housing, but the building is only about ten years old and already on the decline. Tom goes right up to the gate and pushes it open - it's unlocked - and walks in with his bike.
Sybil follows with some trepidation. There's a pool in the courtyard, surrounded by deck chairs. The underwater lights are off and it looks cool and inviting. "We're not going to get dogs set on us or anything?" She asks, looking up at the dark, curtained windows of the flats above them. She wonders who lives here. Graduate students? Civil servants and third-tier white collar workers? Quiet and sober types, from the look of it.
Tom laughs. "Don't worry. I've been here plenty of times." Sybil would like to know who with, but doesn't ask, even in jest. He removes his shoes and starts shucking off his t-shirt and jeans. "Aren't you coming?" He asks when he's down to his pants and about to jump in. Sybil's still standing on the pool deck fully dressed.
"Sure." She strips down herself, until she's in just bra and knickers. Tom's already in the water, stroking toward the other end of the pool.
"Goddamn, that feels good!" he crows, after diving down and coming back up, water sluicing off his hair.
"Shhh!" Sybil shushes with a look up at the windows.
"Oh, stop worrying and get in already!"
Sybil jumps into the deep end feet first, sinking down to the bottom and pushing off to rise back up. The water does feel wonderful. She rolls over onto her back and floats, gazing up at the sky framed by the rising walls of the building. Suddenly Tom pulls her underwater: he's swum up silently to startle her.
"Oh, you bastard," Sybil yells when she comes up with water in her nose. She laughs and begins splashing him furiously, chasing him to the shallow end.
"Mercy! Mercy!" He's laughing too, he can't stop. She gets too close and he splashes her back, grabs her wrists and pulls her toward him, pulls her arms around his neck, pulls their bodies together. He kisses her lightly on the mouth before nuzzling her wet neck, just barely brushing her skin with his lips.
Just like that, she thinks. Her heart speeds up, her flesh rises in goosebumps. He pulls back to smile into her face, to run his eyes farther down to where her nipples are clearly visible through the sheer fabric of her wet bra. He traces one with his thumb, and Sybil can feel his cock stirring against her under the water. She thrusts her hips into it, giving him a naughty-girl smirk.
"Ohhh, you are bad," he murmurs. She smiles wider and dips her head to sweep her tongue around his nipple, tasting chlorine; it stiffens and he moans softly. Suddenly shivering, she presses her cold body against his warm one, absorbs his heat. His arms go around her, his warm hands rubbing her back, his hot mouth on hers. They stumble across the shallow end until Sybil feels the pool's concrete edge dig into her back.
She looks up at the silent windows, wondering if anyone's watching. Let them watch, she thinks, and a little thrill starts in her lower belly and ends as a throb between her legs. It makes her gasp; or maybe that's his hands on her arse, lifting her up, bringing her legs up and around him under the water. She winds her arms around his neck and they kiss, tongues and hands smoothing away the water droplets on each other's skin. Tom moves one hand from the back of her thigh so he can peel down the cup of her bra, letting her breast spill out of the top, then does the same with the other cup. He inspects his handiwork with a roguish little grin. "You should walk around like this all the time," he tells her, his tone light, but his eyes dark with arousal.
"You think so, do you?" she glitters back, but her cheeky facade is already starting to crack: his mouth is wet on her nipple, sensation rippling from the spot. He laughs a little at the sound she makes, flicking with his tongue, enjoying how he can kindle her. Something seems to occur to him and he drops beneath the water; a second later Sybil feels his lips on her upper thigh, he pulls aside her knickers and slips his tongue between her legs, making her jerk and giggle loudly in surprise.
Of course he can't stay down there for long. He comes up for air a couple of times with a shit-eating grin on his face, and it's fun but awkward and Sybil is getting a little impatient. So the next time he goes under she boosts herself out of the pool quickly, dancing across the pavement toward a lounge chair that's screened by a potted tree. When she glances over her shoulder Tom's still standing in the water, smiling and shaking his head. "Aren't you coming?" she asks, deliberately making her voice low and husky.
"I certainly hope so," Tom replies in his own sexy-beast tone, breaking Sybil up. He unhurriedly pulls himself up and advances across the deck. His act of studied casualness is somewhat spoiled by his tented boxer shorts, and Sybil can't help but giggle harder. She poses on the chair, twisting her backside in Tom's direction and throwing him an exaggerated come-hither look over her shoulder, and it's his turn to laugh. But he does walk faster.
Sybil thinks he's going to get on top of her, but at the last second he scoops her up, eliciting a squeal from her. He plops down heavily on the chair with her in his lap and pulls her close; his hands slide up her back and undo the clasp of her bra, slide the straps off her arms, slide up her ribs and over her breasts and back around her to guide her down with him as he reclines.
Sybil twists around to straddle him and hovers long enough to help tug his pants off, then lets herself down and leans over him. He strains upward, trying to kiss her, but she barely touches her lips to his before she shoves her breasts into his face, laughing. He laughs too and takes them into his hands, burying his face in them. "You're so beautiful," he mumbles, looking up at her in mingled horniness and adoration, his expression almost reverent.
"So are you." She finally leans down and kisses him. She moves her hips, rubbing him against her clit through her damp knickers, moaning deep in her throat. He gasps when she wraps her hand around his cock, stroking it in rhythm with her movements, and he grasps her thighs to make her speed up, until she feels the cotton of her knickers getting wetter and bunching up and chafing her rather deliciously and suddenly she's coming, hard and fast, whimpering and thrusting against him and he can't keep his hips from bucking off the chair, and he throws his head back and lets out a long groan and spurts out onto their pressed-together bellies.
He drops his arms and sighs heavily in mock exhaustion. Sybil gets up, uses his discarded pants to wipe herself off and gives him a look.
"What?" Tom asks innocently. He holds an expectant hand out for his pants, so he can clean himself off as well. She pretends to hesitate before tossing them to him.
"You planned this, didn't you," she accuses.
"If I remember right, you were the one who attacked me."
She raises her eyebrows. "Well, whoever started it, I'll bet we woke up half the people who live here," she says, glancing up at the still-dark windows.
Tom gets up and goes to put on his jeans, noting the way her gaze follows him as he walks naked across the pavement. "Probably the most excitement they've had in a while," he jokes, and further notes the gleam that comes into her eye at that. Well, well. He tosses his pants into the trash bin. "I think those are a total loss," he says regretfully.
Sybil picks up her bra and comes over for her own clothes. Tom feels himself stir again at the way her breasts bounce. I'd better calm down or I won't be able to ride a bike, he thinks, but reaches out and pulls her toward him anyway. He slips his tongue into her mouth and she accepts it, running hers along it slowly. Her clever hands slide down his back and up his chest and his thoughts are not at all conducive to being in a state to bicycle.
"Mmm, ready for round two?" she murmurs, her eyes flicking downward, the corners of her lips rising.
Suddenly Tom just wants to be home where he can take his time and fuck her properly. He breaks away. "Put on your clothes," he says hoarsely. "Let's see how fast we can get back."