“Any news?” I grunt.
“The same. They’re looking … but they’ve got no idea where you are. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Hmm.”
“How are you spending your days?”
Tricky question. Since coming into hiding, I’ve been scouring the internet for weak points in the operation. Reaching out to contacts I trust and who wouldn’t dare to betray me.
But yesterday was a different story. Rose wouldn’t leave my head. Her curves made a home there. Then my body thrummed and my thick steel became rock-solid. Tension that wouldn’t stop until I gripped my base and rubbed so furiously a hot stream of cum blew.
I focus. Try to, anyway.
“Lifting weights mostly,” I lie. No need to share information recklessly.
I hang up. Pace my bedroom. I can hear her in her backyard even through the closed window. She’s been out there for hours, grunting, moaning.
No—not moaning. Fucking hell.
But whatever she’s doing, it’s easy for my obsession to turn her labored sounds into pleasure-laced shudders. I press my hand to the front of my pants. Bite down, try to stop this impossible lust.
Easy boy.
I can’t take it anymore.
Going to the window, I peel back the curtain. She’s in the yard, shovel in hand, sweat making her baggy T-shirt stick to her in all the right places. Her peaks tease through the material.
Fuck.
Is she kidding me?
She’s not wearing a bra.
I can see her nipples. They look thick and ready for my attention. My teeth chatter as I think about softly nibbling them, urging lust to swell inside of her just like it expands in my balls. My shaft aches as release rushes up and down. Precum leaks unstoppably out of my end.
Before Rose, I didn’t know I had this much precum inside me.
It’s a warm day, especially for the East Coast. Summer at its height. And she’s out there working herself silly, grunting with determination.
I should leave her be. I’ve already risked too much by intervening with that developer jerk.My condolences. That’s what he said. She’s lost someone. Her mom, I’m pretty sure. The developer threw it in her face.
Stop.
I don’t stop.
This is a mistake.
I make it anyway.
Through my house, out into my yard, I lean against the chain-link fence and look over at her flawless form. She’s wearing shorts again. A lighter material this time, the kind that flutters around her thickness and makes me think of slipping my hand between her thighs.
How wet would she be? Would I have to tease her at first, softly caress her lips, until she starts dripping? Or would she be a fucking fountain for me?
I look across her yard, at the other yard. Nobody there. Nobody watching from the window either. If somebody else sees her without a bra on …
She tugs on the shovel, falls back. Gasps.
I leap over the chain-link fence in one efficient bound. She turns, eyebrows shooting up. Cute mouth forming an ‘O’ of shock made for kissing and making my thick pole ache.
