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Jake wants to lick him. Wants to walk right out there and drop to his knees, taste every bead of salt and sweat from the stranger’s broad chest down to his belly, and— Jesus. Maybe Jake should pour the rest of his water bottle over his head rather than drink it.
God, he feels like such a fucking cliché, leering at the man skimming his pool like a desperate trophy husband. Never mind that Jake is the one who works seventy-hour weeks to afford this place.
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aka the pool boy bradley au
