Kayla
Fifteen minutes later, I’d dried the kitchen floor and ceiling by standing on the shaky counters, changed my clothes, and poured myself a glass of merlot to decompress. I couldn’t stay in a house that didn’t have a properly working kitchen sink, even temporarily, so that would have to be first on my To-Do List. Luckily, the groceries I’d bought were mostly fruit and stuff to make sandwiches, so I wouldn’t need the sink tonight.
After dinner, a PB&J paired with a banana, I poured myself another glass of wine and headed upstairs. I settled into the guest room with my luggage, unable to bring myself to go into Tabitha’s room. Propped on the gigantic bed (Tabitha had splurged on some stuff, at least) and drinking wine, I scrolled through my phone, looking for repairmen within twenty miles.
Yes, I’d managed to shut off the water in the kitchen, but I wasn’t skilled enough to fix what was wrong with it. Whether I sold the house or not—and once again, I was pretty sure selling it was my only option—I still needed a working kitchen sink.
I clicked on a local contracting company that had gotten the highest Yelp rating—the Fix-It Guys. The company website displayed two uber-handsome models to market their services. Cut abs, tight shirts around bulging pecs and biceps, gleaming smiles…the whole nine yards.
“Yeah, okay.” I giggled. “The Fix-It Guys,” I added in an overly dramatic voice laced with wine. The real workers were probably old and flabby with butt cracks showing out the back of their pants. As long as they did their jobs well, that was all that mattered. And as long as I got to drool over images of hot guys marketing construction services, all the better.
I clicked on the number and hit “Call.” A guy who identified himself as Taylor answered. I explained I was new in town and needed someone to come fix a kitchen sink.
Silence filled the line, then the man asked, “Where are you located?”
“In Fosterman.”
“Whew.”
“You okay?” I asked, wondering why the guy was chuckling under his breath.
“You’re calling from a New York City number. It would have cost you a small fortune for me to come out there.” Taylor’s voice sounded like he was smiling, which made me smile. He was funny and had a great, deep voice that didn’t go with my mental image of Flabby Butt-Crack Plumber Dude I had in my head.
I laughed out loud, probably my first time in weeks. “No, sorry, you won’t be getting an all-expenses paid trip to NYC. I’m calling locally.”
“Address, please?”
I told him the address and waited while he mumbled it back to himself.
“Tabitha Vanderzee’s home?”
“Yes!” My heart lit up knowing that someone knew my great-aunt. Coming from a city of twelve million people, it was easy to forget that small town folks knew everybody. “She is—well, was my aunt. You knew her?”
“Yeah, sure. She was a fixture in town. Funny lady. Sweet, too.”
“She was, yeah.” Suddenly, it occurred to me…could Taylor be the contractor Tabitha had used to get the house in its current state? I frowned. If so, this would never do. “You never, uh…worked on her house, did you?”
“No. She always went for the more…uh…shall we say, economical repair guy.” There was that smile in his voice again.
“Ah, yes, I can see that,” I said. Tabitha, you went for the cheapest company, didn’t you? At least the Fix-It Guys weren’t the ones who’d half-way destroyed her lovely home.
“It’s a great house,” Taylor continued. “The kind that makes guys like me dream of restoring the entire thing.”
“You do full-on restorations, too?”
“Yep, focusing on historical renovations. Are you looking to restore the place?” he asked hopefully.
I wish. “Not sure yet but I’m keeping my options open. Anyway, do you think you can come tomorrow for the sink?”
“I can come at nine AM. That too early?”
“No, that’s perfect, actually.” I’d get out of bed at a decent time to start my job search, tidy up the house, and wait for the movers to deliver my few boxes of stuff.
Taylor asked a couple of questions about the leak, and from what I told him, determined that the faucet needed a full replacement. Replacement wouldn’t be too difficult, he said.
“That house…” Taylor added with hesitation. “It needs a lot of work.”
“You’re telling me,” I said, my voice laced with amusement but also a weariness I hadn’t meant to disclose.
“Tell you what. I’ll bring my business partner with me, and we’ll do a full-home inspection. Give you a quote on what it needs. Sound good?”
I hesitated. “What’s that going to cost me?”
“Nothing. The inspection is free. We’ll come out and do a visual assessment. Afterward, I’ll send you a quote. You decide what you want to do after that. No pressure.”
I liked that Taylor was easygoing and not pestering me for money. “Sure, that’d be great. It’d be good to know how much it would take to fix it before I sell it.”
“Oh, you’re selling the place?” He sounded disappointed.
“Maybe. Can you recommend a realtor to me?”
“I have a few names I can pass a long. Too bad though. Tabitha talked about you a lot. She always said you loved her house.”
“How do you know it was me she talked about? She could’ve had several nieces.”
“Your name’s Kayla. And you’ve got the New York City area code. Two-twelve. She couldn’t have been talking about anyone else. She said you used to visit her in the summers. You loved baking.”
Wow, Tabitha really did talk about me. “Yep, that was me,” I said, then suddenly felt guilty for even thinking about selling the place. I wish I could keep it, Tabitha, but I don’t see how.
“Hey, you okay? I wasn’t trying to upset you. You know, a lot of people in town loved her.”
“Thanks.” I bit back tears. I didn't mind him thinking I was sad because Tabitha had passed—that was true. But I was also sad that I didn’t have the finances to restore her beautiful home, although Taylor didn’t need to know that. Times like these made me regret taking journalism in college instead of becoming an engineer or a lawyer, or…I don’t know…a plastic surgeon. Money could sure come in handy sometimes.
“And you’re a good niece for coming out and seeing to the property yourself. Anyone else would’ve called someone local handle it. Trust me, I’ve seen it happen a few times. You flew across the country. That says a lot.”
My heart melted at the compliment. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. So nine AM, bright and early then, Miss, uh…”
“Pratchett. Kayla Pratchett. Hey, uh…how much do you think you’ll charge to fix the sink?” I hated to ask that up front but I honestly needed to know if it was even worth his time to come out. Knowing my bank account, I might need to call “the more economical guy,” too.
Taylor threw out a number lower than I’d expected and relief coursed through me.
“Of course,” he added, “if you wanted to bake something and throw a few goodies my way, I wouldn’t complain.”
I didn’t know if the wine had made me loopy, drowsy, dreamy, or what, but it dawned on me that this guy didn’t just have a nice voice, he had a really, really nice voice. My mental image of an old guy with a sagging tool belt was rapidly fading. I didn’t know what kind of man I’d see in the morning, but at the very least, I’d sure enjoy listening to him. And besides his nice voice, and great taste in people because he’d really liked Tabitha, any guy who wanted me to bake for him was a good guy, in my book. “Sounds like a deal. See you in the morning.”
Task 1—call a repairman. Complete.
Task 2—get some rest.
Task 3—make bets with myself over what Taylor from the Fix-It Guys really looked like.
After I hung up with Taylor, I puttered around the house a little before exhaustion hit. I’d wanted to take a shower but my legs had turned to rubber and standing was no longer an option. I crawled back into bed, every fiber of my being craving sleep.
But sleep eluded me.
I lay staring at the ceiling, listening to the crickets and frogs in the cool night, worries swirling around my head. What was I going to do about the house? About my lack of employment (and funds)? How could I let this place go, knowing Tabitha had wanted me to have it? Was it possible fixing it might be cheaper than I thought? Should I try and find a “more economical” contractor, after all?
But no, the house deserved better. A real contractor. One who was an expert at historical renovations. Maybe even one who’d known Tabitha and how important this house was to her. And me.
The memory of Taylor’s deep, sexy voice came back to me. He’d been so nice on the phone and, for a moment, as unlikely as I knew it was, I had fun imagining that he looked like one of the sexy stock photo guys on the Fix-It Guys’ website banner. In fact…
My pulse revved up. The men in that photo had been beyond hot…
Still wide awake and restless, I sat up in bed and grabbed my phone. In seconds, I had the Fix-It Guys’ website up on my screen, and I admired the images of the two men. I stared closely—one of the models seemed broody, with that whole dark, handsome, and mysterious thing going on. The other model appeared more open and trustworthy, with a bright smile and sparkling blue eyes that seemed to hold no secrets but instead the promise of good things to come. So different. So yummy.
How would they be in bed?
I licked my lips and took a shaky breath as my imagination kicked in. I’d gone to some intriguing places in my own fantasies and had imagined myself in a threesome before. I’d never told Grant or any of my other lovers before him. Hell, Grant had thought I was a freak for wanting to experiment with sex toys. The last thing I’d wanted was for him to tell me how good girls didn’t do bad things in bed, and that wanting two men at the same time was certainly bad.
What a crock. Whether I was a good girl or not, I did whatever I wanted in my fantasies.
No one here but you, Kayla. Might not be able to enjoy a threesome in real life, but you can sure enjoy one in your mind. Go for it. After the month you’ve had, you deserve the fun. And the release.
So I did. I let my mind go there—to what it would be like to have the two male models from the website in my bed. Together. Because why not? It was my fantasy.
I closed my eyes and let my hand trace over my stomach into my panties as I stared at the photo on my screen. Both models had hair I wanted to run my hands through. Muscles firm beneath their shirts. Narrow hips. Thick thighs.
My fingers slipped lower, and found I was already wet simply thinking about the two men. Likely the memory of Taylor’s deep voice had helped, as well. I found my clit and began to rub in small, circular motions. I focused first on the smiling model’s azure eyes, his gleaming wide grin—Mister Trustworthy.
And the model with the hooded expression—Dark and Broody—he seemed slightly shorter but equally built, with those aloof brown eyes that made me want to dive into them and soothe his pain. Of the two, I imagined he’d be the rougher one in bed—pulling my hair, spanking my ass, flipping me around to change positions whenever he desired. He’d fuck me on every surface of this house, pinning me up against the wall and getting out all his aggression. He’d carry me to the kitchen, drape one of my legs over his shoulder, and slide slowly into me while he sucked on my nipples.
My fingers began to work faster. Yesss… Dark and Broody would be forceful.
And Mister Trustworthy?
He would be totally different—dominant, too, but not until he was ready to explode. Until then, he’d be playful with all that good-boy charm, cracking jokes about which nipple he’d want to suck first and which one tasted the best. I’d toss my head back and laugh, and he’d kiss my neck before biting it to claim me. Eventually, he’d grow more controlling. Binding my wrists to the top of the bed. Sliding between my legs. Eating me out until I was trembling and begging him to let me come. Making me plead for mercy. Intense. Classic good boy on the outside, bad boy on the inside.
My fingers moved in a flurry as I imagined Mister Trustworthy pinning me down in bed, kissing me softly as he fucked me hard. I bucked into my hand, lifting my hips and grinding. My fantasy became so fucking vivid, with each one of the men taking me precisely the way I wanted. But suddenly, I didn’t imagine them separately.
I imagined the three of us together—Dark and Broody, Mister Trustworthy, and me.
The phone fell out of my hand, lost somewhere tangled in the covers as my legs thrashed.
Dark and Broody sucking my clit while Mister Trustworthy kissed me and played with my breasts.
Each of them taking me into their mouths in different ways until I came.
Flipping me around and fucking me hard, taking turns between my pussy and my mouth.
Cocks filling me from different angles, until I couldn’t tell who was where in my mind, but it didn’t matter anymore.
Fucking me, filling me, dominating me.
I cried out, unable to take anymore as the orgasm overcame me, bent my insides, and radiated waves of energy all throughout my core. Warmth spread down my legs and up my torso, making my nipples harden and giving me that hot flush on my neck. The shock waves echoed over my body, curling my toes. Gasping for air, I froze until the last of the waves had dissipated.
Oh, yeah, I’d get some sleep now.
I lay there, hand still in my panties, listening to my ragged breath. It took a long time for my breathing to return to normal and even then my head still rang with images of the three of us in this bed.
As I drifted to sleep, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to get those images out of my mind. In fact, why would I ever want to? I was done with real men for the time being. New start and all that. When I got lonely—when I got horny—I could escape into fantasy again. Even though I’d never meet them in person, I’d have Dark and Broody, and Mister Trustworthy at my beck and call.
Maybe next time, I’d even add Mr. Fix-It-Guy Taylor’s voice to the mix, imagining him whispering all kinds of dirty things to me.
And if that made me the freak in bed Grant had accused me of being?
I was going to embrace it.