Fast Girls

That was the thought I had as I watched him from my bedroom window, the muscles in his back rippling as he plunged the shovel into the moist ground, over and over again. I’d never considered watching a man do garden work a sexual experience before, but as I watched him, my body grew warm in places it hadn’t been warm in a long time. I couldn’t help thinking of him plunging something else into a very different moist place.

Perhaps he sensed me looking, because he looked up suddenly. I should have stepped away from the window to avoid getting caught staring but I didn’t. At thirty-seven, I was entitled to peer out my window without being shy.

And that’s when I stepped away from the window, wondering what the heck I was doing. Flirting? With a twenty-year-old?

Ogling was one thing. I didn’t have a problem about visually appreciating his body. But flirting was…well, it was ridiculous, and would certainly lead to disappointment.

But still, as I made my way downstairs, I was unable to pull my thoughts from him. His name was Miguel and he was from Cancún, but he didn’t speak with a Spanish accent as he’d come to Dallas when he was a couple of years old. I knew this from his parents, who lived several houses down from mine. We weren’t very close, but we stopped to chat from time to time, and attended neighborhood cookouts and such less often since my husband and I had gotten divorced two years ago, but we were still friendly.

I wondered if Maria knew that the women in the neighborhood considered her son the resident hottie. He was steadily employed to do various yard work, mostly because the neighborhood women—like myself—enjoyed a little eye candy with our morning coffee.

Finished with my first cup of coffee, I strolled into the kitchen and poured myself a second. It was still early—the best time of day for a person to do any kind of yard work in Dallas in the summer, before the sun’s heat became unbearable. I didn’t expect Miguel to work beyond noon.

Just as I was about to add cream and sugar to my coffee, my doorbell sounded. I hurried to the door, wondering who it might be at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.

He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of cutoff denim jeans. His olive-colored skin was glistening with a sheen of sweat, and I couldn’t stop the racy thought that popped into my mind. I wondered what it would feel like to have that hot, slick body pressed against my own.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m sorry. I should have offered you something.” It was the first day he’d started working for me, and I’d been so obsessed with ogling him that I’d forgotten to be courteous. “I have sweet tea. Would you like some of that instead?”

I left Miguel in the foyer and hurried to the kitchen, where I poured him a tall glass of sweet tea. Less than a minute later, I was handing it to him.

He took the glass and drank the entire contents. I watched as his Adam’s apple worked up and down with each swallow. Then my eyes went lower, to his muscular pecs and incredibly defined biceps. When he finished drinking, I quickly raised my eyes from his hot, hard body back to his face.

Miguel handed me the empty glass, and I expected him to turn and leave. But when he didn’t, I made some small talk. “How’s the garden coming along?”

“Wonderful.” I liked his strong jawline. I liked his full lips. Hell—I liked a lot more than that.

Miguel took a step toward me, one that was tentative but also purposeful. I drew in a sharp breath but didn’t back away.

That was a loaded question, one I was surprised he was asking. “You’re very attractive,” I admitted. “Women like looking at attractive men.”

“I like looking at you, too.” Miguel’s eyes swept over my body, from head to toe, leaving my skin hot. I was wearing a simple blouse and skirt, but his eyes made me feel as sexy as if I were wearing skimpy lingerie. “You’re hot. The hottest woman on the block.”

Hottest woman. Those words, although flattering, reminded me of our age difference, reminded me that thirty-seven-year-old women didn’t flirt with twenty-year-old boys.

In other words, my age didn’t matter to him. A tremor of longing rocked my body. I was trying to do the right thing—stop this flirtation before it went too far. But Miguel’s words were weakening my resolve and leading me down the road of temptation.

When I didn’t speak, Miguel took my hand in his and raised it to his naked chest. He placed my palm over one hard pec. I liked the way my dark brown skin looked against his pale brown complexion, but what I wanted most was to feel my naked breasts pressed against his hard chest.

He moved my hand lower, down his ripped belly. Slowly. Letting my fingers appreciate the feel of his body.

Shamelessly, I felt the length and girth of him—and a shuddery breath oozed out of me. No hint of a boy here. His cock felt strong and powerful.

Miguel suddenly pulled me into his arms, kissing me deeply, showing me just how hungry he was for me. I kissed him back, my tongue mating with his fiercely. He wasn’t a boy, not at all. He was a man who knew what he wanted.

Easing me backward as he kissed me, Miguel led me to the nearby living room, where he tore his lips from mine only as we neared the sofa. His lips soon returned to make contact with my neck, kissing a path from the underside of my jaw, near my ear, to the hollow at my neck.

His warm hands slipped beneath my blouse, and damn, it felt so good, like an electric shock of pure pleasure.

When Miguel’s hands pushed my bra away and covered my breasts, I gasped from the intense pleasure, gasped, then bit down on his shoulder blade.

In a flurry of motion, we got naked. Miguel pulled my shirt and bra over my head. I unfastened the clasp on his jeans. He got onto his knees and dragged my skirt and thong down my hips.

And then there he was, on his knees before my naked body, his face so close to my pussy that I could feel the heat of his breath on my clit. I held my own breath and looked down at him. He glanced up at me and smiled—the way he had smiled when he’d looked at me from the window.

I was so aroused—from his words, from the heat of his eyes, from the heat of his breath—that I almost came.

He circled the pad of his thumb over my clitoris, then slipped a finger into my moist, slick place. He groaned, a deep, lustful sound. And then he couldn’t hold back, didn’t hold back. He buried his face in my pussy, licking my clit, sucking it, gently grazing it with his teeth. All the while he was finger-fucking me, making me delirious with delicious sensations.

“Come in my mouth,” Miguel urged me. Then he sucked on my clitoris steadily but gently, swallowing my essence and groaning with pleasure.

I looked down at him and watched his lips and tongue devouring my swollen clit. It was all I could stand. My entire body trembled as my orgasm began to build, and within seconds I was digging my fingers into Miguel’s shoulders and shaking from head to toe. He swallowed my orgasm, ate me until my body went limp and I collapsed onto the sofa.

Miguel stood, and my eyes went to his cock. The head was thick, his girth and length impressive. I wanted to ride him, wanted it more than I had wanted anything.

He took a moment to pull a condom from his jeans pocket, unwrap it and slip it on. Then he settled between my thighs. Using his hand, he guided the head of his penis along the opening of my vagina.

I locked my legs around his hips and kissed him. His tongue entered my mouth at the same moment his cock plunged into my pussy. I cried out, the pleasure far more intense than I could have imagined. With Miguel’s hard body pressed against my soft one, we fucked with the unbridled passion of two people giving in to temptation for the first time.

We came hard, my legs and arms locked around Miguel’s body, his cock deep inside of me. We were drenched with sweat, and the scent of sex filled the air. The neighbors might have been wondering where Miguel had disappeared to, but I didn’t care. I wanted to stay on the sofa with our bodies entwined.

He was right. “Yes, I guess you should.” But I tightened my arms around his chest, not yet ready to let him go. “But thank you. I…I needed that.”

I knew this wasn’t about love, but I couldn’t help thinking about what would happen next. One taste of Miguel suddenly didn’t feel like enough.

That was the thought I had as he slipped back into his shorts and I got back into my clothes. Dressed again, we faced each other.

I couldn’t stop grinning as Miguel exited the house—because I kept thinking about the promise of tomorrow.