Andrew
I hope to God I have not sent my sexy little neighbor into a complete tailspin. I’ve never seen anyone look as shocked as she did when I asked her out. I don’t understand why she was so legitimately stunned. Now, I’m wondering if she has low self-esteem.
It’s not warranted, if it’s true. She’s a looker. I know I’m not the only man who does a double take every time I see her. And damn, but she’s got her own style and personality.
I don’t mean to exactly spy on her, but our back patios are connected. There’s a tall, solid, wood-slatted wall between them, but that doesn’t give us much privacy.
If I’m sitting on my deck reading or just enjoying the weather and she’s on hers talking on the phone, I can hear her. Not that I’ve listened in on specific conversations. Her voice is muffled enough to keep her chats private, but her voice. God, I love listening to her. She has a light, fun, easy-going voice that makes my dick hard.
Granted, she only uses that magic, lyrical voice with other people. When she speaks to me, she’s usually defensive and ticked because I’ve done something nice for her. I don’t know why it gets under her skin. Nor do I know why I find it endearing. I love a challenge, and Avery Slater definitely falls under that category.
I can’t count how many times I’ve walked across my small lawn to pretend to do something in my shed just so I can walk back and see her on her deck or in the kitchen.
I know she notices me because she gives me that little finger wiggle of acknowledgment. I’m aware she’s a teacher at the middle school, but I don’t know what she teaches. What I do know is that she’s either young at heart or she’s seriously influenced by the tween girls in her school because half the time I see her she’s dressed like she’s in middle school herself.
For whatever reason, that makes my cock hard, too. She likes vibrant colors, and in the summer, she often wears something similar to what she had on this morning. Something simple. Sleeveless. Elastic at her waist. Almost too short.
She doesn’t leave the house in those outfits, but I’m betting she changes into her preferred style the moment she gets home. Now I also know she’s a bit embarrassed that I caught her rather underdressed this morning.
I don’t know why that would bother her. She’s a conundrum. It’s not as if her private parts weren’t covered. Even if half of me wished they weren’t.
I learned two things about her this morning. She thinks she’s too old for me, and she isn’t as comfortable in her skin as I thought. Her body is all luscious curves, which is nine-tenths of the appeal. If I date one more woman whose ribs are visible or who has no flesh on their rear-end…
And don’t even get me started on their eating habits. What’s with these women and their salads with dressing on the side? It’s like they think they’re impressing me because their mothers told them men like slender women.
That’s not true. Not for me. I want soft curves to run my hands over, not bones and sharp edges.
I don’t think Avery wears a bra when she’s at home either. Another thing that makes my cock hard. I’ve closed my eyes and imagined what that woman looks like naked more times than I’d be willing to admit. Usually while my hand is wrapped around my cock.
I hope the flush I saw on her cheeks means she’s also interested in me. It took me two solid years to ask her out. I kept telling myself it was a bad idea. What if things went south and we still had to live next to each other?
Something snapped this morning. All kinds of rubber bands popped loose on my self-control. When I saw her standing on her deck with her hands on her hips in that barely existent romper thingy, her hair in messy braids, I nearly ran over my own foot with the lawnmower.
God, I love it when she’s all riled up because she doesn’t want anyone to help her out. I’m half tempted to bring in her mail, take out her trash cans, and rake her leaves just to force her to stomp outside and bitch at me about it. I can’t help myself. She’s so fucking cute when she has her little tantrums about how she can “do everything herself.”
My favorite of her tantrums was when she caught me shoveling the snow from her walkway. She opened the door with her hair in a messy bun, some kind of soft, one-piece sleeper, and giant Elmo slippers. She looked over at me leaning against my shovel and told me she didn’t need me to shovel her snow because she wasn’t going anywhere until it melted, and stomped back inside.
I chuckled the entire time I shoveled, but I didn’t stop.
I know she’s not actually mad at me, she’s just fiercely independent. She’s made it clear she feels beholden to me, but I’m just being a kind neighbor. Albeit one with an ulterior motive, which is to get her to date me.
Does she really think I’m too young for her? Seven years isn’t much of a gap in my opinion. I’ve been dating older women for years. They usually know what they want and aren’t as wishy-washy as younger women.
Plus, and I hate to seem like a sexist dude, but older women are more in touch with their bodies. They know how to take care of themselves, they aren’t afraid to do so, and they shake the roof when they come.
I wish that wasn’t the last thing in my mind as I walk from my front door to hers, but it is, and now I’m standing on her porch trying to talk my dick into standing down before I knock. All I can picture is Avery’s fucking sexy body spread out beneath me while she cries out her release. Fuck.
I’m startled when the door swings open.
“Were you just going to stand there, or were you going to knock?” she teases in a sweet voice she’s never before directed at me. It’s the one she uses on the phone, the one that drives me crazy. She’s smiling. All evidence of her earlier frustration with me is gone. Blessed angels.
I grin and step inside, handing her the bouquet of flowers I’m carrying. I went to three stores before I found the most brightly colorful bunch in the area. Avery is not a pastel gal.
She stares at me in shock for a moment and then reaches out. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”
“They reminded me of you.”
“You know me well then.” She spins around. “I’ll put them in water.” She’s wearing a deep purple dress with a wide black belt and black flats. The sleeves are narrow so I can see the strap of a black lace bra. The skirt is full and reaches about halfway down her thighs.
Her skin is creamy white, and I have the urge to wrap my arms around her so I can see the contrast of her skin against mine. Hell, I’d rather wrap my entire naked body around hers. Lights all on. My tanned palm flat on her bottom, or her stomach, or her breast.
I draw in a breath and shake my dirty thoughts to the side. This isn’t a race. I want to get to know her better. Woo her. Convince her I’m not too young or too… athletic? I practically facepalm as that idea wiggles itself into my psyche. Maybe she thinks I have nothing in my head because I’m a fitness instructor.
I may be a jock, but I’m not a dumb flunky. If she thinks that, I’ll be proving her wrong. After all, she’s obviously college-educated and incredibly smart. Not to mention brave. Who wants to work with middle school kids? God bless teachers.
I’m not cut out for working with children at all. I have a business degree. I am a personal trainer, but it’s a business like any other. It requires desk work and crunching numbers the same as if I owned a restaurant. The only difference is my overhead is lower.
She’s putting the flowers in a vase with her back to me, but I’ve closed the distance so I’m right behind her. I smile when I see the plate of cookies on the counter. Chocolate chip. My mouth is watering. The scent of recently baked cookies is overpowering whatever she has in the oven for dinner. I can see a covered dish through the glass door, but that’s my only clue.
“Am I permitted to have dessert first?” I ask as I reach out and snatch a cookie off the plate.
She giggles as she turns around, looking pleased. “Of course. I’ve already had a few myself. Life’s no fun if you don’t eat dessert first on occasion.” She watches me closely as I eat half the cookie in one bite. Her grin is odd and her eyes are narrowed.
“What?” I glance down at my shirt, wondering if I’ve got crumbs on me.
“I’m just waiting to see you swallow all those carbs and sugar and fat.” Her grin is infectious.
I shove the rest of the cookie in my mouth and grab another, devouring it too as I step closer and then dramatically swallow before opening my mouth for her inspection. “See? I do indulge in treats.”
I’m going to melt on the spot if she keeps smiling at me like that. In fact, I take yet another step toward her, so close now that our clothes are brushing against each other.
I didn’t plan on being this pushy or forward with her, but now that I’m here, I want to clear the air and make sure she knows what page I’m on. I lift my hand up and gently cup her face.
She’s nearly a foot shorter than me so she has to tip her head back significantly to meet my gaze.
“Thank you for having me over for dinner,” I murmur.
She swallows. “I believe you invited yourself, and you might want to wait to taste it before you thank me.”
I smile. I can’t not smile when I’m around her or think about her for that matter. “I tasted the cookies, so you’ve already won me over even if your main course sucks. And now I’m going to taste your lips, so it won’t matter if we eat dinner or not.”
Her breath hitches, and I give her about a second to deny me before I lower my mouth over hers. My racing heart calms the moment our lips touch. There’s an odd, instant connection I’ve never felt before. It’s so powerful that I slide my other hand up her back and angle my head to the side to fully consume her.
I slide my tongue along the seam of her lips and whisper, “Open for me, honey.”
She whimpers and leans into me, her hands going to the loops in my jeans as her lips part.
I can’t get enough of her. I lick, nibble, and suck her lips and tongue until neither of us can breathe and we’re forced to part in order to drag in oxygen.
I inch closer, pinning her to the counter as my hand slides from her back to her cheek so I can hold her face right where I want it. Exactly positioned so I can look in her eyes and she can’t turn away.
“Am I still too young for you?”
She sighs. “Probably.”
I smirk. “Do you have a thing for older men?” I joke.
She licks her full, swollen lips, blinking those adorable blue eyes at me. “Honestly? Yes.”
I widen my eyes. That was slightly unexpected. “Mmm. Are you concerned about my maturity?” I tease. Bantering with her is fun.
She squirms and glances away. “Can we not talk about this?”
I furrow my brows. Interesting. There’s a story here, but I won’t pressure her to tell me right now. I release her face and slide my palms down her arms, enjoying the goosebumps that rise all over her pale skin.
Shifting my gaze to where my hands are rubbing against her biceps, I muse, “I’ve wanted to see the contrast of our skin touching for a long time.”
She glances at our connection and bites into her bottom lip.
“You’ve thought about it too.”
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she suddenly ducks down and slips free of me. “I need to check on dinner,” she murmurs, opening the oven.
Now I can smell the main course. “Mmm. That smells good. Chicken?”
“Yes. You said you didn’t have allergies. I hope you like chicken and rice. I made a salad too.”
When she grabs the pot holders, I step forward and take them from her. “Let me.” I lift the hot pan out of the oven and turn to set it on the trivet in the middle of her kitchen table.
She’s staring at me when I turn back around. The expression on her face is so confusing. She might be smiling, but she’s also shocked, and maybe a little aroused? Her eyes are wide. She’s fidgeting. “Thank you,” she whispers as if I just saved a kitten from the sewer.
“You’re welcome.” I cup her face and kiss her again, wanting more, but forcing myself to exercise restraint. I can’t strip her naked and maul her in the middle of her kitchen before we eat. Maybe after, but not before.
I could swear she’s practically swooning. Score one for me. And since she seems to be slightly dazed, I reach for the fridge, find the salad, and add it to the table.
“Anything else?” I ask, amused by her apparent lust. She looks like a teenager who just got her first kiss. I can’t resist pulling her against my chest and kissing her again. Longer this time. I’m so close to saying fuck dinner; it’s not even funny.
This time when I release her lips, I have a half-joking question. “Surely you’ve been kissed before?”
She slowly grins and flattens her palms on my chest. “I should hope so. I was married for twenty years.”
This shocks me. “No shit?”
“Yep.”
“You must have been very young.” How on Earth did I not know this?
“We were twenty. I moved here when I got divorced.”
Fuck. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about you, aren’t there?”
“You have no idea.” She slips away from me again and seems to need something to do, so she fills our glasses with ice and water.
I pick up the bottle of red wine on the table. “Would you like me to open this?”
“Oh. Yes. If you like red wine. I wasn’t sure if you liked wine at all. I picked that up and some beer, just in case.”
“Well, what do you like, Avery?”
She shrugs. “I don’t drink much, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to have on hand.”
I chuckle and set the bottle back down. “I do enjoy red wine, and beer, for that matter, but let’s leave it for another night.” I’d rather we both have all of our faculties because if we end up rolling around between her sheets, I want to know for sure she made a conscious decision to be with me.
“Okay.” She points to a chair. “Sit.”
I pull out hers instead and push it in close to the table after she lowers onto it. “It smells delicious.” I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “I know I railroaded you into making me dinner, but I’m not sorry.”
She bites her bottom lip again and smiles at the same time. “I’ll admit, I’m not sorry either.”
“But you’re surprised,” I point out.
“Well… yes.”
I reach for the spatula and her plate at the same time, serving her before I serve myself.
She pulls in a breath and holds it as she watches my every move.
“Sorry. I can be high-handed. Or at least I guess I come off that way here in the Northwest. Like I told you, I’m from the South. My mama made sure I was a gentleman through and through. It’s not a habit I can easily break.”
She sets her hand on mine this time. “I like it.”
“You’re not going to argue with me?” I tease. “I’m not allowed to mow your lawn or shovel your snow. I’ve often wondered what you might do if I brought in your mail.” I dramatically duck as if she is throwing her plate at me.
She giggles. “You’re not like I imagined.”
“You mean nice?” I smile.
She shrugs. “No. Not that. I knew you were nice. But…”
“If you suspected I was being extra nice so I could get you naked, you were right.” I hope she isn’t offended by my boldness. I want to know where we stand.
Her cheeks flush delightfully, and a sudden shyness seems to overcome her as she ducks her gaze and reaches for her fork with a shaky hand.
I lift her chin with one finger. “Too forward?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
Thank God. I take a bite of chicken, making sure to get rice on my fork at the same time. “Mmm. This is delicious,” I tell her after swallowing.
“Thank you.” She’s still flushed. Something has changed about her. She’s lost the snarky edge. Now she’s almost meek. I can’t put my finger on it.
“Why did you get divorced?”
She coughs, nearly choking on her bite before she grabs her water and takes a long drink.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to pry. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just figured it was almost half your life. Surely there’s a story.”
She nods. “Craig was in the Army. He was often deployed.”
“That would be hard on a marriage.” I eat another bite and then go for the salad.
“We probably could have survived it, but we both changed and grew into different people who didn’t mesh well anymore. It was totally amicable. He understood. In the end, we wanted different things, and I was lonely.”
“I see. But you’ve been here in this condo alone ever since. Aren’t you still lonely? I never see a date pick you up. Though you do go to a mysterious location on Friday nights.” I wink at her, hoping she knows I’m teasing.
She stares at me a moment, seemingly thinking about how she wants to respond. “It’s not easy to find the right person to spend your life with. There are specific qualities I want in a life-partner. I know myself better than I used to. I won’t mess it up a second time.”
“That makes sense. I’m sure you know your mind. So, let’s see. You’re looking for an older man who refuses to mow the lawn and sits on the couch while you stand on top of a ladder trying to change a lightbulb. Do I have that right?”
She giggles. “Not even close.”
I lift a brow as I keep eating. “Seems accurate to me. You told me yourself you want an old dude with gray hair and a potbelly. Plus, I know you hate when people help you out, so…”
She giggles again, which I love so much I want to shove this food on the floor, lay her on the table, and push that dress up her body so I can find out if she’s wearing black lace panties that match the bra I glimpsed.
“Now you’re exaggerating. I never said anything about gray hair, or a potbelly.”
“Well, since you aren’t impressed by a fit guy with little body fat and a full head of brown hair, I just assumed.” I shoot her another smile, glad her eyes are twinkling.
“Who says I’m not impressed with muscles and brown hair?”
“Just a guess. Although you did say I was a chiseled statue of male perfection,” I repeat yet again. “So… Maybe you do find me attractive.”
She groans. “Lordy. I wish I’d never said that.”
“But, am I attractive?” I push, just to needle her. “I mean, could you see yourself with a younger guy who’s strong enough to throw you over his shoulder and swat your bottom while carting you helplessly to the bedroom? Maybe you could close your eyes and pretend I’m old and gray.”
She gulps, her eyes wide as saucers, her cheeks flushed a deep red that runs down her chest. I wonder how far it extends, but the way she’s looking at me, I think I blew my chance to find out. I’m thinking I’ve gone too far.
I reach out and grab her hand. “Sorry. That was too forward.” I hope I didn’t just fuck this up.
She swallows, her chest rising and falling with every breath. “On Friday nights I go to a fetish club. I belong to a few of them. Often I go to one called Surrender.”
I hold her gaze, my heart racing. This is incredibly important to her. I need to choose my words wisely. “Okay. I’m not a stranger to BDSM. I’ve been to a few clubs myself.”
Then I realize what I said before that to elicit this revelation. About tossing her over my shoulder and spanking her. Careful, man…
Avery pushes away from the table and carries her plate to the sink. After it clangs into the basin, she grips the edge of the counter, not moving.