Chapter 11

Though my laughter over teasing cute Jake had long ended, the calm lasted until I arrived home. While I’d seen it before, a little red sports car was once again parked in Pete’s driveway. It had appeared numerous times since the death of his wife. And neither Bobby nor I paid it much attention, assuming it belonged to one of his children or a close friend.

Except that afternoon, it was different. I’d no idea why, but its presence put me on edge. After slipping from my work dress, I was stripping my makeup in the bathroom. Rain was drizzling, sending thin streaks along the glass. The sudden flash when Pete’s basement lights flicked to life caught my attention. With my heart hammering, I moved to the window. Despite the last tinkling droplets, I eased it open. Still reeking of ozone, refreshing post-storm air wafted into the room.

When one of the narrow windows moved inwards, my chest seized. While sliding it wider, Pete noticed my glance. As he pushed it further, a grin spread across his face. With that, my heart restarted its galloping. It raced as his gaze roamed my body, clad only in panties and bra. Once he returned to my eyes, he flashed me a wink and disappeared. The window remained open.

“Well, he must be painting,” I murmured. “Sure, that’s it. The fumes.”

With a sigh, I nodded to myself. Once I’d stumbled back to the mirror, I finished removing my makeup. At the first meaty “thwack” from below, a jolt I hadn’t felt in years shot through my core. When it was followed by a woman’s cry, that jolt became a flare of heat. As I sucked in air, it raced around, igniting every nerve.

Though I rushed to look, I could see nothing. The next sharp impact sent my teeth driving into my lower lip. One after another, each elicited a desperate groan or outright scream from a woman. They also pounded the bolt of electricity further into my center. Soon, I was whimpering in time with her cries. When the strikes and screams sped, I twisted, pressing against the chilly, hard window frame.

“Oh, fuck. Jesus, he’s whipping the...” My forceful whispering ended in another louder moan when the highest-pitched, longest scream tore from the other woman.

At last, just as I pushed my taut soaking lace against the sill, the cries became whimpers. When the whipping ceased, the whimpers became rhythmic moans, then screams of pure bliss. At each one, my lips opened, unleashing sighs, as if it were me.

With my gaze fixed on the window, the only unblurred part of the universe, and pulse pounding in my ears, I didn’t notice Bobby until he stood trembling beside me. Still in his dress slacks from work, his shirt dangled from a shaking fist.

When his wide eyes lifted from Pete’s basement to me, I swallowed. My entire frame tightened as his gaze drifted downwards. He found my hand pressed into the taut lace—soaking wet—over my aching pussy. No, we both discovered it. As my fingers twitched, I didn’t remember moving them there.

From across the way, the screams died.

After the past few days and that “not-painting,” I snapped. With a feral moan, I whirled to my husband. As his arms swept around to hold me, my digits shoved aside my panties and plunged deep.

It was my turn. And my cries, muffled by his shoulder, began. While riding my pumping, sloppy fingers, the entire room faded away. Between wet screams, I sucked, kissed, and gnawed along Bobby’s bare skin.

At last, once my final groan had died, I turned to look down, but the basement lights were off. The only sounds were my panting, Bobby’s heavy breathing, and dripping rain. With a final hitching sigh, I planted a soft kiss on his shaking lips.

“Thanks, babe.” While forcing a grin, I stepped from his grip. “I ... I, uh, needed that. After last night.”

Maybe he thought it was the blowjob. Perhaps the photo shoot. But his eyes tracked me back to the mirror, where I raised my trembling, glistening fingers to my mouth. In any event, Bobby said nothing while sliding past me, with his trousers tented. In silence, he left the room.

But let’s be real. He knew that I’d damned sure just lied. He’d heard what I had. And who knew how long he’d been standing there watching me? Because, of course, the image of Pete fucking the shit out of the lucky bitch he’d just whipped into a moaning ruin had sent me over the edge.

Duh.

After the storm passed, the rest of the week was gorgeous. Nothing but bright blue skies with scudding puffy white clouds. On Saturday, I was drifting in and out of sleep while stretched out on a poolside lounger. Other than the skin covered by three tiny yellow triangles, the sun baked into my glistening frame. As I lay there, of course, Pete’s eyes floated through my mind. As did all of him; what I’d seen and what I hadn’t.

During the week, Jake had been scarce at the office. Any time I moved near him, he flitted away with some excuse. Scared him off? Couldn’t handle my panty-less teasing?

Just as I’d started to chuckle, it died on my lips when Pete’s mower started. Soon, beyond the low shrubs, I caught glimpses of his shirtless, tanned physique plowing back and forth, driving through the yard. Under the sun, the muscles of his shoulders rippled. With his head down and eyes focused, he beat the turf under a whirling blade. The cutting, spinning machine struck each grass stem. Every motion was neat. Efficient. Over and over, he turned. Then yet again. God, how he glimmered.

No longer sleepy, I gulped while sliding a hand into my bikini as I continued to track every one of Pete’s methodical motions. Air hissed from me as my fingers rubbed. For a man of such immense proportions, he moved with an animal-like grace. At a brief nudge of my swollen clit, a moan left my lips. A predator. What a huge pred...