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This story contains explicit adult content involving fictional characters, all 18 or older. All intimate scenes are consensual. Reader discretion is advised.
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(This story is part of the "Fixing Desires" series. New readers can start here or find earlier chapters on my profile.)
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Friday's afternoon sun baked the concrete around the pool until it felt like walking on a stovetop. Brian stood near the shallow end, squinting through the glare off the water. He leaned over the edge with a skimmer net in hand, angling awkwardly to fish out a rubber toy wedged near the drain. A kid had dropped a toy--or maybe launched it--and now it was wedged against the drain cover.
His navy colored work polo shirt clung to his back, soaked through in patches. Sweat dripped from his temple and ran down into his collar. One hand gripped the net; the other braced against his knee for balance.
His foot slipped just an inch on the wet tile. He wobbled. Nearly lost it. The net slapped into the water with a flat, defeated splash.
"Careful, now," came a voice from across the pool. "You fall in, I'm not diving in after you."
Brian looked up.
Jada was stretched out on a lounger, her long legs glistening with sunscreen, her dark brown skin catching every drop of sunlight. She wore a black two-piece bikini that didn't bother pretending to hide much. Her hair was pulled into a high braided ponytail.
A cold can of Sundra Seltzer sat sweating in her hand. Her toenails were painted white.
Beside her, lounging with one leg tucked under the other, was someone new. Petite. Cinnamon-toned. A gymnast's build. Her afro was pulled into a playful bun, a few curls bouncing loose with the breeze. Her bikini was a bright pink that clung to her curves like it was made just for her, and for a second, Brian forgot what he was doing--his breath hitching, his mind short-circuiting at the sight.
She watched him with amusement, then gave a small wave. Her smile was sweeter than Jada's--less practiced, more curious.
"This is Kyra," Jada called. "I told you she was coming."
Brian blinked. "You did?"
"I did," Jada said, lowering her sunglasses to meet his eyes. "She's crashing with me for the weekend."
Kyra lifted her can in a mini-toast, tilting her head with a sly little grin and a raised brow, like she already knew she'd be trouble. "She told me about you too."
"You're the maintenance guy," Jada added, grinning.
Brian flushed. "Uh... yeah. That's me."
He retrieved the toy--some kind of rubber dinosaur--and held it up like it might excuse his presence. But his eyes kept drifting. Back to Jada's legs. The soft, oil-slick shine of her thighs. The way her bikini top stretched slightly as she leaned over to sip her drink.
A sharp pulse tightened in his shorts, his cock stiffening uncomfortably against the fabric as if it had a mind of its own. He tried to shift his stance casually, angling one leg forward, but all it did was press the swelling harder against the inside of the fabric.
"You doing anything tonight?" Jada asked casually, eyes hidden behind mirrored lenses. "We're ordering in. Pasta, breadsticks, and I've already got bottles of wine. You should come up."
Kyra leaned in. "She said you fixed her shower."
Jada smirked. "I told her I've never been wetter thanks to the maintenance guy."
Brian's ears went red.
He cleared his throat. "Dinner sounds good."
He forced his hand to his side, resisting the urge to adjust himself. His shorts suddenly felt too tight, the waistband digging in. He shifted again, trying to make it look like nothing.
Jada smiled like she'd already won. Brian's throat worked in a hard swallow, his eyes darting down briefly before he forced himself to look away, cheeks burning. "7PM, Come hungry."
Brian nodded a little too quickly. "Y-yeah. Sure. I will."
As he walked away, he could still feel their eyes on him. And his cock stayed stiff the entire walk back to the utility closet.
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Brian stood under the weak stream of the shower in his apartment, scrubbing his chest like he was trying to wash off nerves. He didn't have much body hair, but the water still clung to the round swell of his stomach before trailing downward in wide, meandering streams.
He dried off, dressed, swished around some mouthwash, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. Not great. Not terrible. His cheeks were still a bit red from the sun, and the collar of his black polo shirt tugged slightly around his neck. But he looked... presentable.
He shaved, just the little he needed to, and applied a bare whisper of cologne--more out of hope than confidence.
No work shirt this time. Clean shorts, non-scuffed shoes. He was a man heading to dinner. With two beautiful girls. In one of their apartments.
He sat on the edge of his bed to gain some composure. His shirt clung slightly to his still-damp back, and his thighs spread naturally under his weight. The bedsprings groaned beneath him.
Then he thought of Jada--her long legs stretched out under the sun, her voice low and teasing. He remembered how she tasted just a week ago, how tight she'd felt wrapped around him. He'd come inside her. That thought hit like a freight train.
His stomach knotted--not with arousal, but panic. What if she'd called him there to say she was pregnant? He rubbed his face. No way. Not Jada's style. She would've teased him with something wild and sarcastic, like "Guess who's buying diapers?"
Still, the image clung to him.
Then came Kyra--burning into his mind like a fresh brand. The glint in her eyes when she watched him nearly fall into the pool. Her petite, gymnast-toned body shimmering in the sun. Legs folded beneath her, skin golden and slick. That teasing little smirk. He couldn't shake the image.
And he kept wondering--what could she taste like? Is it just like Jada?
His cock stirred again, already aching. He adjusted himself and stood up.
"Fuck it," he said, tucking his keys into his pocket. "Dinner's dinner."
He didn't know what they'd be expecting from him. He didn't know what these young women wanted with a man like him. But they'd invited him--and he wasn't about to say no.
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Brian knocked twice, then stood back, heart thudding in his chest. He could hear muffled laughter inside, the low murmur of music, the faint clink of glassware. His palms were already damp again.
Jada's door opened with a smooth click.
She stood barefoot in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Her dark skin practically glowed in the warm lighting, and her low-cut rouge satin lounge set clung to her hips, riding up ever so slightly when she shifted her weight.
"Hey there, maintenance guy," she said, smiling. "Right on time."
She looked him up and down and smiled.
"Well damn," she said, leaning against the doorframe. "You clean up for us?"
Brian cleared his throat. "Just figured I'd, uh... try to make a good impression."
Jada stepped back, waving him in. "You made one last week already."
Brian swallowed and stepped into the soft lighting, his gaze involuntarily drawn to her long legs. His eyes trailed upward--her shorts hugged her ass with such perfect tension, he caught a glimpse of the wedge between her cheeks. Her shape displaying her commitment to squat workouts.
The apartment smelled like garlic, pasta, and something floral--maybe candles or lotion.
"Smells amazing in here," he offered, voice dry.
Kyra was already in the dining room, barefoot in her cream camisole and shorts, a glass of wine in one hand. Her afro was still pulled into a bun, but looser now--like she'd been lounging comfortably. The shorts sat high on her hips, and the top clung softly to her chest, teasing at her small, perky breasts.
She smiled. "There he is."
Brian laughed nervously. "I, uh... didn't want to miss dinner."
"You didn't," Jada said from the kitchen, setting out plates on the glass table. "Pasta's from that new spot near the gym. Kyra picked the wine, Chardonnay."
She held up the bottle. "You want a glass?"
Brian nodded. "Yeah. Please."
Jada poured smoothly and handed it over without looking, her attention already back on arranging the table--but the side glance she gave him as he took it said everything.
Brian nodded, trying to stay cool--but everything felt warm. The table. The candles. The air. His face.
And beneath all that, the low, rising pressure in his shorts hadn't gone away since he got out of the shower.
The plates were generous--chicken pasta dressed in a creamy white sauce flecked with herbs, a rich aroma. A pile of warm breadsticks sat between them all in a large bowl.
They settled around the square glass table. Brian took an open seat on one side, the girls seated to his left and right. He struggled not to think about the fact that his erection was still fighting for room in his shorts.
Brian tried to focus on his food. He really did.
But every time he lifted his gaze, there was something waiting for him: Jada leaning back in her chair, the satin of her top shifting to reveal a generous glimpse of cleavage. The table light painting her dark skin in honeyed tones, catching the curve of her breast, the slope of her collarbone. Her expression was cool, almost amused, like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had on him. Kyra lifting her wine glass, the thin strap of her camisole slipping slightly off one shoulder. The soft scrape of a bare foot brushing the underside of the table.
He crossed his ankles. Then uncrossed them. There wasn't room.
Kyra reached for her wine again, her fork idling in her other hand. "You really do a bit of everything, huh?"
Brian nodded, chewing slowly. "Pretty much. AC, leaks, toilets, elevators that groan, doors that stick--if it's broke, I've probably stuck my hand in it."
