Chapter Fourteen
Eagle
Three hours later my cell pings and I slide out from underneath the Camaro I’m working on. I wipe my hands on the towel hanging from my waist and then get up, walk the few feet to my tool box and grab my phone. There’s three messages from Serafina, all with attachments. I open the first. She’s wearing a light blue bikini, and she’s got angel wings on her back and a silver halo on her head. I laugh. Must be from her work catalogue. I was hoping for something new, a picture meant for my eyes only.
I open the next file.Fuck.She’s topless, but her arms are crossed over her chest, squeezing her tits together. It’s a profile shot and her beautiful mouth is parted. My gaze follows the curve of her body, her perfect stomach and thighs, all the way down to her five-inch fuck-me heels. Beautiful. Innocent in some ways, blatantly sexual in others.
I rake my fingers through my hair, my cock standing at full attention. Why didn’t I ask her to meet me tonight? I slip out of my coveralls, grab my wallet, and head for my house—saving the third attachment for when I’m alone.
My home is a typical Holly Beach elevated stilt house, rebuilt after the last storm. Reinforced by concrete and designed to withstand flooding or any other natural disaster, it’s more like a bunker. I climb the two flights of stairs to get to the observation deck where my front door is located. The water is right across the street and I turn around for a quick peek. It’s warm and overcast, and after all the years I’ve lived here, I never grow tired of seeing the Gulf of Mexico and the outline of the fishing boats in the distance.
I unlock my door and step inside. The main area has a vaulted ceiling, thick beams, and skylights. The kitchen, dining room, and living room are wide open. Windows line the south-facing wall.
I kick my boots off and head to my bedroom, eager to see the last picture. Stripping off my cut, T-shirt, socks, and jeans, I lean against the doorframe of the en suite bathroom, navigating through my texts. I open Serafina’s last attachment. This one is different. She’s curled up on her bed and wearing a pair of white panties. The scrap of fabric covering that perfect pussy is smaller than a Wheat Thin.
I swallow, admiring the matching lace bra that’s two sizes too small for her luscious breasts. She’s holding a notecard and I squint to read it:FUCK ME, EAGLE.
I groan. She’s killing me. I reply immediately.
Coming over now. Be ready.
What???
I grin: it only took three seconds for her to answer.Need to feel you, Baby. Want to be inside you.
Did you like the photos?
I’m naked and getting ready to take a hot shower and masturbate. What do you think?
OMG.
Don’t believe me?
I believe you, Eagle.
You’re beautiful, Serafina.
So are you.
My first thought is to video chat with her and let her watch me jack off. Not sure if she’s into it though. I set the cell on the bathroom vanity and go to my walk-in shower, big enough for five linebackers to fit in. I turn on multiple sprayers and turn the music up. There’s nothing like Black Sabbath; Ozzy belting out “Dirty Women.”
Steam rolls over me and I let the water cascade down my head and shoulders, picturing Serafina in my bed, wearing her little white panties that I want to rip off with my teeth. I fantasize about the diamond studs in her nipples and the matching belly-button ring. The way she shakes her tight little ass—her well-defined thighs and those calves. Nothing turns me on more than the way a woman’s calves pop in a pair of heels.
I grip my cock and start out slow—my hand sliding up and down. I visualize my fingers tangled in her long dark curls, holding her while I kiss and fuck her. Lick and bite my way down her body. Even her voice gets me hot. It has a rasp to it, not one of those high-pitched ones that could shatter a beer bottle.
I lather some soap on my hand and squeeze my dick harder than before. I throw my head back and close my eyes. “Serafina,” I whisper. “Drop-dead gorgeous, fucking Italian perfection.”
Serafina
At first I didn’t believe Eagle was about to get into the shower and masturbate. But my phone has gone silent. I’ve texted him a couple more times over the last fifteen minutes and there’s no answer. The idea of him getting off while he’s thinking about me is so hot. I can almost feel his lips on mine and smell him. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was standing behind me.
Instant goose bumps.
I stretch out on my bed, still wearing the same underwear and bra I took the picture of myself in. I’ve never done that before, shared such an intimate shot with a man. Sure, my boss keeps an online catalogue of all of his dancers available for the public, but we’re in costumes.
My eyes start to get heavy, but my cell rings before I fall asleep. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and check caller ID. Its Eagle. Should I answer?
“Hello?” I ask.
