“What are you doing?” she asks, standing …
Brushing dirt from her shirt. When she does it, her hands flatten against her curvaceous tits. My cock pushes against my jeans. The zipper strains. An image of her breasts slick with her spit punches into me, then my cock slipping between them …
“Helping,” I grunt, picking up the shovel. “What’re you digging for?”
“Mom always wanted a pool. But she never had the time.”
I grit my teeth. Something strange, alien even, punches into me – emotion? “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “From what that jerk said yesterday, I’m assuming she passed?”
“Yeah,” she murmurs. “This was her final wish. Make this house something to be proud of.”
“She’d be proud of you, Rose.”
She walks to the edge of the small pit. Looks at me in shock as I heave out a giant mound of summer-hard dirt and toss it to the edge. “You make that look easy, Lex.”
“I like working with my hands.”
And this isn’t the first hole I’ve dug.
“I’ve only got one shovel,” she says.
“Then you better get us some lemonade and take a seat. I’m not going to watch you work yourself ragged.”
“Are you sure?” she asks nervously.
Those nerves … they ignite the savage in me. Light the fuse and sizzle until I threaten to explode. I’d grab her and drag her inside, tear off her clothes with my dirty hands and smooth them all over her young clean body. Suck and bite and excite until she was ready for me to part her lips with my pole and make her shake and shiver with release.
“I’m sure,” I growl, turning my back. Looking at her is difficult.
“Okay. Thank you.”
She goes inside. I hear the door click, then click again. Not enough time to calm myself down.
“So, are you really a secret millionaire or what?”
“My business is complicated.”
Lying to her feels wrong.
But telling the truth could get her killed. Or both of us.
“You think I can’t handle it?”
I turn. She’s sitting now, legs crossed. Her shorts have ridden up her legs to hint at the folds of her naïve pussy. My head clouds.
“I think you could take every damn thing I’d give you,” I snarl.
4
ROSE
When he tells me I could take everything he’d give me, I know he’s not talking about the truth. He’s talking about something way steamier.
He’s wearing a tank top that shows his huge muscular arms. Sweat slides down his body. Making him glisten. His jeans hang loosely, no belt, but they’re held up by the stiffness in his pants. He seems incapable of even looking at me without getting hard. And it drives me crazy.
I sip my lemonade, hand trembling.
For a while, he digs without saying anything. My legs press together as lust flows through me. It all feels like too much. Like I’m going to erupt into a surreal orgasm just by sitting here.
