So I sighed again, turning away from the mirror in my childhood bedroom. Yep, the space was exactly as I’d left it last year, a blast from the past. In high school, I’d been really nerdy, studying all the time so that I could get into a good college and the room showed it. The walls were bare but I had a huge bookshelf filled with textbooks and “serious” reading like Charles Dickens and some Russian authors whose names I couldn’t pronounce, then or now. Go figure.
But despite the boring exterior, I’m still a fun girl … it’s just fun of a personal kind. Because I got a Kindle for Christmas and suddenly there was unlimited access to all sorts of naughty stories, steamy times with my hand tucked between my legs, bringing myself to heaven as I devoured the words, ate up the dirty pictures and videos. So I was the proverbial good girl with a bad side – innocent on the outside but filthy within.
But I shook myself, sighing. Right, back to business. This swimsuit. I looked kinda like a pornstar even though it was a modest black one-piece, something that was supposed to cover real acreage, totally appropriate for a family setting. The problem was me, there was so much of me now that the conservative cut was now racy, flesh jiggling this way and that, creamy and exposed. But sighing again, I gave up, tying my brown curls into a ponytail, grabbing a towel and leaving the room. I’d just have to be careful, I reminded myself, padding downstairs to the kitchen and glancing through the back window to the patio outside.
The party was already in full swing, people splashing in the pool, my dad at the grill looking jovial, chatting up a storm. It was mostly older folks, my parents’ friends, middle aged couples in their forties, wrinkled and tired.
But then I saw him. Christopher Jones was my dad’s boss at United Electric, although I think he was actually a few years younger than my dad. I’d always had a crush on him and at this moment, the big man was hauling himself out of the pool, his arms strong as he dragged that muscular torso from the water. I gasped, my breath coming fast, knees literally going weak because the man was like a god come to life, so gorgeous and dominant emerging from the water.
Rivulets of liquid sluiced off his hard muscles, his arms strained and flexed as he pulled himself to hip height, level with the pool’s edge before maneuvering himself out all the way, rising to stand on the deck. He was like a warrior come to life, his body muscled, perfectly proportioned, those broad shoulders tapering into a narrow waist, the thick, heavy thighs. And as if feeling my gaze on him, he turned sparkling blue eyes to me, meeting my eyes through the window, his look knowing, warm. I flushed, growing bright red, forcing myself to stay still instead of instinctively ducking out of sight. Oh my god, had he seen me, or was it just a trick of the light, a reflection of the window pane?
It was impossible to know for sure, but my inner parts tingled suddenly, wetly moist from that masculine stare. Oh god, how did Mr. Jones do this to me? There were boys at school who’d been interested but they did nothing, I’d shared a couple kisses, wet and slobbery, and a few had felt up my boobs, moaning with ecstasy as they grabbed fistfuls of breastflesh, making me squeal with pain, pull away at the manhandling.
But I knew with certainty that Mr. Jones would be completely different. Reflexively, my gaze dropped to his large, square hands, dripping with water and my mouth went dry, a fire lighting within my body. Because those hands would be so smooth, so agile on my curves, stroking me to heaven, making me come again and again, my body moist, open, begging him for more.
And oh god, that package. The big man was wearing board shorts, the kind that looked like regular shorts, coming to his knee. But even through the loose canvas material, I could see a hard edge, an outline of something massive, a promise so hard, hot and hungry that my pussy began to tingle, responding to the call of this male animal.
And as if reading my mind, Mr. Jones grinned at me through the window, winking before turning away to talk to someone, nonchalant, like nothing was wrong. I snapped back to reality. Holy shit, he had seen me, I hadn’t been imagining the eye contact, those blue eyes had read my desire, how I’d grown flushed with heat, needing him, my breasts heaving with excitement. My mind went crazy, spinning into various scenarios, imagining being with him, on him, in him, in all sorts of illicit, crazy positions.
But real life struck. I was a nineteen year old college girl whereas he was an experienced, dominant alpha male. What did I have to offer him? Chris could get any woman he wanted, any female would be happy for a few minutes alone with that hard, male body. So I snapped myself back to reality. What had felt like a slow-mo scene to me, a fantasy sequence complete with flashbacks and flash forwards, had probably been two seconds of real life at most. I’d probably imagined the whole thing, it’d been nothing but a daydream, the fantasies of an inexperienced girl. Because of course, Mr. Jones was already chatting up some middle-aged woman, a skinny blonde chick with an orange tan who looked him up and down hungrily, eyeing him lasciviously while licking her lips, hanging onto his every word, devouring him with her eyes.