An entry from Wet Straps: The League of Legends Swimsuit Collection

Malcolm seldom stared during his shifts.

It should have been tough not to; the temptation was always there. Being a lifeguard of the main pool situated on the top floor of the city's most expensive five-star hotel usually meant a lot of high-class ass strutting about, hour in and hour out. And the fact that his eyes were always hidden behind the opaque azure of his sunglasses ensured that he would get away with it.

But even so, Malcolm seldom stared.

Call it professional courtesy. Malcolm called it boredom.

He'd had his fair share of pristine views during his time at the hotel. Hell, he'd partaken in more...hands-on appreciation of said views numerous times during afterhours; he'd had enough bikini bods to last a lifetime.

Needless to say, the pretty young thing that captured his attention that day was anything but the typical tanned, pampered, Instagram-famous broad.

So in the shade of his lifeguard perch's umbrella, Malcolm stared.

And regardless of her exotic looks, it would have been difficult to ignore a woman who stared back.

Hard.

From the moment Malcolm's eyes had casually glanced over once he had taken notice of her, this mystery woman's eyes had locked themselves onto him. Whether she was tanning on a lawn chair on the opposite side of the pool, or getting a daiquiri from the bar, or floating around on the lazy river, her cool blue eyes drifted over to him.

It was obvious she was checking him out, prompting him to do the courtesy of returning the favor.

Luckily for him, there was a lot for him to check out. Enough to get him a little too hot under that shade, and making him regularly check his G-Shock to see if it was close to the end of his shift or not. The multitude of other people, the kids running around when they weren't allowed to, the groups of titillating upper class sorority girls playing chicken in the center of the pool, none of them mattered anymore. It was just him and this woman.

She was affluent, that was obvious. Not only due to the fact that she could even swim in this pool, but all of the jewelry that adorned her pale skin. Gold anklets, gold bracelets, a gold armlet, a gold band wrapped around her thigh. The wealth translated itself into more than jewelry; she carried herself with all the poise of a noble, confidently showing off soft curves that obviously didn't see much sun.

She had the body of a Greek statue. Cliche, but it was all Malcolm could liken it to, especially when her bikini left practically nothing of this woman's qualities to the imagination. Plump thighs, legs that go on for miles, hips that flared out wide, an ass that jiggled like fluffy pudding with every strut, breasts that hung heavy and mature.

She was no girl, nothing like the majority of the young tail that pranced around here with their rich nest egg boyfriends. No, she was a woman.

She was probably around his age. Late 20s to early 30s, at least. But the more Malcolm stared, the harder it was to tell just how old she was.

He was pretty sure she wasn't a teenager; that body of hers was something cultivated by age and experience, not just puberty. But then again, she was most definitely at least half Asian, and in his experience, trying to determine age with Asian women was a crapshoot. And there were details other than her ethnicity that threw him off.

Her face was demure and almost innocent, a sinful compliment to those eyes and those curves. The cute little bows on her otherwise classy and mature bikini, nestled atop the uppermost curve of her ample, ample breasts. Her hair, done up in twintails with large golden clasps, and dyed a soft, chilled aquamarine. And to top it all off, there was a ribbon tied around her neck, tight with a little bow, a choker.

She was a mystery to Malcolm, a girl, a woman, he couldn't read. Usually just from the first impression, he could tell what a woman was about, who they were. Here, with this woman, he had no clue. Whether she was younger than him or older, whether she was a career woman or a product of her daddy's nest egg.

But the more Malcolm stared and stared, taking note of how she never really swam in the pool, never went in deeper than her waist, there were two things that were certain:

1. He wanted her. He wanted his mouth, his hands, the erection that bulged in his swimming trunks on her skin, inside of her heat. She might turn out to be a pompous bitch, but he's fucked his fair share of them, and he wasn't going to turn down this glorious piece of ass if she turned out to be another.

2. She wanted him. That fact just made itself even more obvious with the way she made her staring at him so projected, at how her eyes flickered up to his perch as if to check if he was still looking at her. Those cool blue eyes running up and down his tanned skin, sizing him up as much as he was doing the same to her.

It was only a matter of time until someone made a move. Malcolm waited a little longer, Watching her languid pacing back to the bar for another daiquiri. Along the way she "accidentally" dropped the towel she carried around on her forearm. Once again her cool gaze drifted behind her shoulder, expectant for his eyes on her. Then, she bent down, jutting out the full cheeks of her plump, plump ass for his eyes to ravish, taking her sweet time to pick up the towel. She stood back up again, and gave another look to Malcolm. She grinned, and brought a hand to readjust her bikini bottom, letting it snap into place with a soft jiggle.

The show continued when she came back to her seat. After setting down the drink, she took her time spreading herself out onto the poolside chair, stretching out lazily like a cat, the creaminess of her skin winking enticingly in the sun. Then, satisfied, the woman began to drink-no, the better word here is savor her daquiri. She sipped slowly, and made sure that her intent wasn't just enjoying the liquor; her real treat was how the soft maneuvering of her mouth made Malcolm sweat harder in his seat, tied him harder around her finger.

Malcolm took off his shades then, letting her know for certain he was looking, he was staring, he was wanting. As a reward, the woman upped the ante, letting her lips wrap around her straw ever-so-slowly, her eyes peeking over the precipice of her glass with a gaze that made him hard. With their gazes locked, she flicked her tongue out from between her lips, running it along the honeydew green of her straw, before pursing her mouth, and sucking. Malcolm salivated.

Malcolm was not a patient man. And when the woman pulled the straw from its glass, letting drops of daquiri softl drip into the luscious valley of her breasts, he let her know that this game of covert gazes over the shimmer of chlorine had taken long enough.

If she wanted him to make a move, he was going to make it.

He climbed down from his lifeguard perch, making sure her eyes were still on him. He reached over for the walkie-talkie slung around the seat, brought it to his mouth, and with a click told a coworker to cover his shift. The woman obviously couldn't hear what he was saying, but he got the message across. He didn't let the coworker finish his very vocal complaints before he slung the walkie-talkie back onto his perch.

Malcolm kept standing there, looking at the woman as she continued sipping on her daiquiri. It was her move now, they both knew it.

So, she smiled, placed her daiquiri on the little table next to her chair, and stood. Malcolm didn't hide the way his eyes appreciated the delicious shudder of her curves from the impact of her heels on the poolside floor. And she didn't hide the fact that she reveled in his attention.

Then, as soon as she slipped into her platform shoes, the woman turned, giving him a smoldering look over her shoulder, and strutted away to the far corner of the pool. Malcolm folllowed.

He found himself in front of the public restrooms, a line of a dozen or so single-occupancy lavaratories with showers placed beside each door.

The woman stood in front of the door farthest from the pool.

She had her hands clasped behind her back, coyly, while her lips curled in a smirk that beckoned for Malcolm more effective than any crook of a finger, mischievously.

A short moment lasted were they stared at each other one last time, probably the last time before the groping and roaming of their eyes were replaced with hands. Then, the woman turned the handle to the door of the restroom, and, giving Malcolm one last look, slipped inside.

Malcolm strode over before the door could click shut.