At the Billionaire's Beck and Call by Aurora Dupree

Author:Aurora Dupree
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2012-10-21T21:00:00+00:00

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He headed over to the wide bay windows, which afforded a panoramic view of the Olympic sized swimming pool. Down below, he could see who he assumed must be the pool boy, tirelessly working in the summer heat with a skimmer. The guy had his shirt off, and he was ripped, no question about it. Even from here, Alan could make out his ripped abs and tanned body, glistening with sweat. He watched as the pool guy bent over, cleaning the surface of the water, working his taut biceps with the motion of the skimmer. Although Alan had never liked to admit it to himself, he thought deep down he had always been more attracted to men. Especially stunning, Greek-god-like specimens such as the fellow currently cleaning his enormous pool. He'd never acted on these urges, of course—he couldn't imagine the scandal that would ensure at Jacobs Consortium as a result, and he had met Kathy when he was no more than nineteen. So it had never really been in the cards for him. Still, gazing through the windows at the pool boy, he definitely felt a pang of something. Regret? Lust? He didn't know. All he knew was that the guy looked hot, both literally and figuratively, and he wanted to help him out. Alan fetched a tall glass of lemonade from the fridge and went out through the kitchen door, making his way down the deck steps to the pool.

The guy was so busy with his work, he didn't even see Alan approach. Alan stood at the edge of the pool, looking down into the chlorinated blue water. He cleared his throat. The pool boy looked up, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Hey there,” Alan said. “You're doing a good job. Though you might like some lemonade.”

“Thanks,” the pool boy said, taking the glass and downing it in one gulp. Up close, Alan could see this guy was even more ripped than it looked from the kitchen. Working on these pools all day must do a great job of sculpting the body.

“I'm Alan, by the way,” he said. “You've probably already met my wife.”

“Ernesto,” said the pool boy, extending his hand. Alan shook it, marveling at his firm grip.

“Probably another hour or so, then I'll be finished,” Ernesto continued.

“You're doing a good job,” Alan said again. “Take your time.”

He paused, as if he was about to say more. Ernesto nodded and went back to his work. Alan headed up to the kitchen once again. He thought about what it would be like to run his hands over Ernesto's chiseled body, to press his lips against his. Better not to think about it, he reasoned. Instead, he headed into the living room. The heat had made him sleepy. Without even realizing it, he collapsed onto his expensive couch and settled into a comfy mid-day nap.

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