I hear Alessandre clear his throat before he stands on his toes to create space between us, his member no longer poking my lower back, and only then do I release my breath slowly. I take a peek through the wall to see who has just entered. It's Atlas. Just like the man behind me, he's in his boxer shorts, though they're not fitted. What is he doing here at this hour? There's a towel on his shoulder. He takes it off and places it on the glass table, and my hand immediately finds its way to my agape mouth when he suddenly slips out of his boxer shorts, exposing his long, limpy member hanging between his muscular legs.
“Who is it?” Alessandre asks in a whisper.
“A-Atlas,” I stutter.
“I forgot he always comes here at this hour to swim.”
Atlas goes to the edge of the pool. Raising his hand
