his palm. The heat and nervous dampness that had reached him.
“Son-of-a-bitch.” If he put on his thickest pair of gloves when it was ninety degrees outside would she notice? He yanked the door open and got out and headed inside. Better to get the DVD dug out and plugged in like it’d been that way for years before she got there.
The box was in the back of the closet, tucked in behind his rarely used set of golf clubs with a layer of dust over the top of the box. He’d just gotten it plugged in and checked when he heard the whine of an engine. Being he lived out of town on a fifty acre lot with his house tucked in the center of his property, it had to be her.
He tossed the empty DVD box out the backdoor and headed towards the front of his house. Maybe if he saw her first at a distance rather than opening the door and having her just there, he’d warm up to her and be able to keep his hands to himself. Or at the very least, not maul her to the tile floor.
He adjusted his nonstop hard dick and tugged his shirt down in the best attempt he had to hide it and jerked the door open. Oh, hell.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
She was jogging up the front of the steps. Her tits were bouncing in her shirt. No, he couldn’t see the swells in her high-cut cotton shirt, but hell, he’d seen them yesterday. And it didn’t take an artist to paint in the image. He glanced to her face as the wind took her hair and whipped it out to the side. The summer heat had her skin flushed. A smile was on her lips. A bag was over her shoulder.
A bag? An overnight bag?
He swallowed and pushed the door open wide to give her plenty of room.
She walked past, a chuckle purred from her throat as she patted his chest. “Relax, Mike. It’s a just a movie. You’re not going to die from relaxing.”
Her fingers slid across his chest and she continued in. Her nails scraped over the thin fabric, the touch barely a whisper against his skin crawled all over his body in shuddering waves.
No, he wouldn’t die from relaxing. That was for damn sure. The honey scent of her skin filled him anew. There would be no relaxing so long as she was here. There was a very good chance he’d die from all his blood leaving his body to throb in his cock.
He shut the door and followed after. Having been in his house before, during campaign parties and other gatherings, she knew her way around. He found her in the kitchen.
Bent over into the refrigerator. The door hid her body. Or most of it. Her ass was showing along with her legs. And legs. And legs... in her tight jeans. Since when were jeans made that fucking tight? She stood and looked at him.
Her brow was pulled down in puzzlement. “You don’t have any coke?”
He shrugged. “There’s tea.”
She rolled her eyes. “Goodness. How can you eat popcorn without coke?”
She pulled the tea out and shut the door and stopped suddenly. “You do have salt for the popcorn, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Maybe that’s what he needed. Pour a salt shaker down his throat to remove the imagined taste of her sweet skin.
Physical relief swept over her. “At least we have that.”
He reached for the red sack with the movie. “What did you get?”
She slapped his hand away. “Wait and see. Get the drinks and I’ll do the popcorn.”
He pulled a glass out of the cabinet. He turned back, and the plastic cup slipped from his fingers. Tiffany pulled her pink shirt over her head and revealed a tight, white shirt on underneath. She shook her head. Long hair swept from side to side. The white undershirt cut low. The edges of her pale satin bra peeked above the shirt. Her tits were pressed together and gave her a cleavage his tongue wanted to explore. The shirt hugged her tiny waist and she might as well have been naked and just wearing paint.
She turned for the microwave. Her foot tapped the floor and she punched buttons, unaware he stood there frozen. She dropped her hands to her hips as the microwave started. The strap of her
“Son-of-a-bitch.” If he put on his thickest pair of gloves when it was ninety degrees outside would she notice? He yanked the door open and got out and headed inside. Better to get the DVD dug out and plugged in like it’d been that way for years before she got there.
The box was in the back of the closet, tucked in behind his rarely used set of golf clubs with a layer of dust over the top of the box. He’d just gotten it plugged in and checked when he heard the whine of an engine. Being he lived out of town on a fifty acre lot with his house tucked in the center of his property, it had to be her.
He tossed the empty DVD box out the backdoor and headed towards the front of his house. Maybe if he saw her first at a distance rather than opening the door and having her just there, he’d warm up to her and be able to keep his hands to himself. Or at the very least, not maul her to the tile floor.
He adjusted his nonstop hard dick and tugged his shirt down in the best attempt he had to hide it and jerked the door open. Oh, hell.
Worst. Timing. Ever.
She was jogging up the front of the steps. Her tits were bouncing in her shirt. No, he couldn’t see the swells in her high-cut cotton shirt, but hell, he’d seen them yesterday. And it didn’t take an artist to paint in the image. He glanced to her face as the wind took her hair and whipped it out to the side. The summer heat had her skin flushed. A smile was on her lips. A bag was over her shoulder.
A bag? An overnight bag?
He swallowed and pushed the door open wide to give her plenty of room.
She walked past, a chuckle purred from her throat as she patted his chest. “Relax, Mike. It’s a just a movie. You’re not going to die from relaxing.”
Her fingers slid across his chest and she continued in. Her nails scraped over the thin fabric, the touch barely a whisper against his skin crawled all over his body in shuddering waves.
No, he wouldn’t die from relaxing. That was for damn sure. The honey scent of her skin filled him anew. There would be no relaxing so long as she was here. There was a very good chance he’d die from all his blood leaving his body to throb in his cock.
He shut the door and followed after. Having been in his house before, during campaign parties and other gatherings, she knew her way around. He found her in the kitchen.
Bent over into the refrigerator. The door hid her body. Or most of it. Her ass was showing along with her legs. And legs. And legs... in her tight jeans. Since when were jeans made that fucking tight? She stood and looked at him.
Her brow was pulled down in puzzlement. “You don’t have any coke?”
He shrugged. “There’s tea.”
She rolled her eyes. “Goodness. How can you eat popcorn without coke?”
She pulled the tea out and shut the door and stopped suddenly. “You do have salt for the popcorn, don’t you?”
“Yes.” Maybe that’s what he needed. Pour a salt shaker down his throat to remove the imagined taste of her sweet skin.
Physical relief swept over her. “At least we have that.”
He reached for the red sack with the movie. “What did you get?”
She slapped his hand away. “Wait and see. Get the drinks and I’ll do the popcorn.”
He pulled a glass out of the cabinet. He turned back, and the plastic cup slipped from his fingers. Tiffany pulled her pink shirt over her head and revealed a tight, white shirt on underneath. She shook her head. Long hair swept from side to side. The white undershirt cut low. The edges of her pale satin bra peeked above the shirt. Her tits were pressed together and gave her a cleavage his tongue wanted to explore. The shirt hugged her tiny waist and she might as well have been naked and just wearing paint.
She turned for the microwave. Her foot tapped the floor and she punched buttons, unaware he stood there frozen. She dropped her hands to her hips as the microwave started. The strap of her
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