He met my eyes, his smile turning into a mischievous grin.
I gave him back my coldest glance. I was resigned not to give him the pleasure of getting a reaction out of me. I would not play into his hand. I took my seat without so much as looking at him.
As we passed the dishes around, I made it a point to take a bit of everything except his couscous. That dish was passed to me and I passed it right to him, meeting his eyes when I did it. I didn’t care how wonderful it was. It meant more to me to put him in his place.
Instead of taking the dish from me, he scooped out a spoonful onto my plate, then his own. “This is a recipe I picked up in Morocco,” he said. “The secret is the smoked cumin. Regular cumin will get you most of the way there, but in comparison it fades, like a jilted lover.” He took the dish and placed it on the table.
The nerve! I wanted to fling his precious couscous right in his face, but I wasn’t going got start drama. I enjoyed the other foods on my plate, but left the couscous untouched.
I felt a hand on my knee. I played it cool, not wanting to upset the other guests or my parents.
“I understand if you’re not too fond of me, Tina, but what did the poor couscous do to deserve such neglect?” he said, giving my knee a squeeze.
I laughed at some joke from across the table and slid my hand down below, resting it on his thigh. Two could play this game, asshole. I saw his eyes bug out slightly, and I turned to face him. “Maybe the couscous should take a hint,” I said, quietly to him.
“Now that’s a mixed message if I ever felt one,” he said. His hand squeezed a little bit higher on my leg.
I gasped. I could feel myself getting wet. Blood rushed to my pussy, my lips and clit aching to be rubbed, to be crushed, to be under him. My legs throbbed, and a tiny tremor went up my thigh, under his grip.
He felt it and got his shit eating grin back.
That wouldn’t do, so I brought my hand up higher on his thigh and squeezed. Something from below brushed against my fingertips through his pants. His cock! I pulled my hand back in shock. It felt huge. There was no way.
“You’re going to be trouble,” he said, quietly to me. The “R”s rumbled in his throat, almost like a growl. His hand released my thigh. He joined in laughing at something my father said.
I bounced my thigh under the table, trying to lose the feeling that I missed his touch already. How was that even possible? I set out to shut him down cold, but a simple hand on my thigh made my pussy gush.
“Earth to Tina,” my mom said.
“Hmm?” I said.
“Mr. Connor asked what you’re majoring in,” my mom said.
“Oh! Organic chemistry,” I said.
“Hey, that’s great,” Mr. Connor said. “We try to eat organic all the time.”
“No, that’s not,” I said, but let it go. Out of the corner of my eyes I saw Conrad staring at me. Undressing me with his eyes no doubt. I met his leer and gave him a disappointed look. He looked back down at his plate.
After clearing up dinner, we all retired to the living room. Mr. Connor was trying really hard to engage with me.
“So what’s the difference between organic eggs and cage free eggs?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I said, hoping that would kill the conversation.
“Ahh, well, maybe they cover that next semester,” he said, walking off to talk to my dad.
I sighed and walked back into the kitchen. I stood next to the makeshift bar, looking out of the kitchen window. Outside, the sun had gone down, and an orange-purple light was shimmering through the trees.
“Are you the bartender tonight?” Mr. Hoover said, walking into the kitchen.
“Beer’s in the fridge,” I said, still looking out the window. “It’s so beautiful,” I said.
“None of us spend enough time looking at sunsets and sunrises,” he said. “Not interested in a beer. I’ll take an old fashioned.”
“Huh?” I said.
He sighed. “I guess tonight we’ll begin your real education. An old fashioned is a cocktail made with bourbon, bitters, and water. Ice is an acceptable addition, but if someone asks you to add sugar or fruit to it, you have met a person of low class.”
“Low class?” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“True, they aren’t totally to blame. Their parents bear some blame in how they turned out, wanting to ruin the perfect cocktail with candy flavors,” he said, standing next to me. “Well? Chop chop, young lady.”
I shrugged, picking up a glass.
“I’ll have mine on the rocks,” he said, watching me.
I scooped some ice into the glass, then picked up the bottle of bitters. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed it. It smelled nice, like a deep citrus mixed with woody notes. I shook the bottle into the glass once, then at Mr. Hoover’s nod I shook it again.
I added a splash of water, then picked up a bottle.
“That’s rum,” he said.
“Oh,” I said, picking up the next one.
“Bingo,” he said. “A traditional pour is two seconds.”
I tipped the bottle into the glass and counted. One. Two. Three. Four. I smiled and handed him his glass.
“Trouble,” he said, walking back into the living room.
“You’re damn right,” I said under my breath.
He paused momentarily in his tracks, then kept on walking.
As it got later, my parents insisted that everyone go back to their places and change into their bathing suits. We were going to break in the hot tub in the back yard. The realtor had insisted that it was clean and in full working order, so tonight we’d see if she was telling the truth.
Back up in my room, I stripped bare and put on my one piece bathing suit. I looked at myself in the mirror, pleased with my curves. What I wanted to do was give myself a quick little diddle before the hot tub party got started, but I told myself that I had more class than that.
Glancing out my window, I looked out over the backyard. Mr. And Mrs. Connor were already in the hot tub, chatting with my parents. I looked over at Mr. Hoover’s house. It looked like his lights were off.
Maybe he had another party to go to. Probably. Some kind of rocket scientist chef party or something. I hated that I missed him. What the fuck, Tina? Seriously.
I wrapped a towel around myself, doing the boob tuck and walked downstairs. I took my time going through the house. This was the first night where we acted like a more normal family, doing normal family things in the new house. Sure, it was rushed, but it had been a great time.
I emerged out into the backyard, the summer night still clinging onto the heat from the day. I could feel a slight chill and I knew it would be best to get into the tub sooner rather than later.
“There she is. Come on in honey,” my mom said. “The water is fantastic!” She giggled, trying not to spill her glass of wine as she kissed my dad on the cheek. “Thank you for buying this place, dear.”
“Like you would have let me live if I didn’t,” he said.
I got into the water, enjoying the rush of hot water as my legs sank into it. It felt like a wonderful hot massage. The water jets kicked will full force and I closed my eyes as the jet of water pummeled my back.
My mom shrugged. “If we’d ended up somewhere else, what can I say. It might have been the ol’ one-two murder suicide,” she said, nonchalantly.
We all burst out laughing. My mother could be one crazy lady when she wanted to be. I guess that’s where I get it from. My father faked a look of shock, but it didn’t last as my mom attacked his face with her mouth.
“Eww,” I said.
“I hope I’m not too late for the party,” Mr. Hoover said as he walked over from his yard. “I spent a long time picking out my outfit.” His blue swimming trunks were as plain as could be.
“Mamma,” I said. I let my eyes take in his strong, thick calves. A light dusting of hair went up his legs. His quads were like slabs of iron, his tight skin showing every flex and stretch.
I could out the swing of his cock through his trunks. A mesmerizing sway from left to right. He had a washboard stomach, the kind you want to eat breakfast off of.
He walked around the hot tub and got in next to me. Not too close, but my body was definitely reacting to his presence again. He slid down into the water next to me and I felt the water cascade over my shoulders.
“Lovely evening,” he said, looking at me. “And the night is still young.”
“It is,” I said. All around me, the bubbling jets erupted, churning the clear water so nothing could be seen underneath it. I got out of the water. “Anyone need anything while I’m up?”
“I appear to be empty handed,” Mr. Hoover said, “So a beer would be ideal.”
“One beer, coming up,” I said as I sauntered back into the house. I let my hips sway with a little more oomph, knowing that he was checking out my ass.
In the kitchen I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. “What are you doing?” I asked myself. I was not acting myself. Something about this man was making me act like an infatuated teeny bopper.
But I didn’t care. Fuck decorum, this was something more important. This was about connecting with a part of myself, about having flirtatious fun. It was about beauty.
And working my vibrator so hard later that night that I might snap it in half.
I rested the cold beer against my chest, grinning to myself as my nipple became rock hard. I moved it to the other nipple and watched as it went erect and stuck out through the fabric of my bathing suit.
Back in the yard, I got into the hot tub next to Mr. Hoover and handed him his beer. I made sure to lean in very close to my hard nipples rubbed his arm.
For a brief moment he paused before taking the beer, then brought it to his lips while looking at me. I needed those lips elsewhere.
Some funny banter was being exchanged between my parents and the Connors, and I joined in on the laughter. I looked down at the churning water, at how it blocked sight to everything below. I wondered if Mr. Hoover’s cock was hard. Probably not, because if it stood straight up it would probably poke out of the water.
But there was only one way to find out. Under the cover of the churning water, I stretched my hand over next to me and let it find Mr. Hoover’s leg.
“Don’t,” he said, softly so that no one else heard.
“Why not?” I said, giving him pouty lips. My hand went further up his thigh, giving it a nice squeeze to repay him for the torture during dinner.
“Because it’s not nice to start something you won’t finish,” he said. His eyes closed, and he leaned back, breathing slowly and deeply.
My hand went up even higher, and I found his prick. It was snaked down his far leg, thick and solid like a sunken log. I couldn’t fit my hand all the way around it, and it wasn’t even fully hard yet.
He gritted his teeth and looked away.
As hot as it was to have this kind of power over this stud, I knew that I was being cruel. I gave his johnson one last squeeze, a little something for him to think about while he’s laying awake in bed. Suddenly the thought of him working his cock in his bed next door while he fantasized about me…
It was too much to take.
I excused myself and went into the house. I went upstairs to the second floor bathroom, flicked on the lights and locked the door. In a frenzy I leaned against the counter and looked into the mirror. With one hand I pulled my swimsuit aside, baring my hot and hungry slit to the cool air.
My other hand went to my breast, mauling myself as I rubbed tiny circles in my clit. I watched as my face contorted in ecstasy, and I imagined Mr. Hoover behind me, that washboard stomach flexing as he worked himself hard. I imagined him holding his massive cock in his hand, hard and needing the relief only my pussy could offer.
I dipped three fingers into my soaking wet pussy, imagining him plunging his fat cock into me. Stretching me to the brink, he would fuck me from behind while we both watched in the mirror. I needed him so badly. My other hand twisted my nipple and I came.
My pussy clamped down on my fingers, wanting to milk them for their nonexistent seed. Hot fire exploded inside me, and I had to stifle a moan. I clamped my mouth shut and breathed in and out through my nose. As my orgasm faded, I spun around and leaned against the counter, savoring the relief.
After a minute I washed up, checked myself out in the mirror, and opened the door to go back downstairs.
Mr. Hoover was standing right at the door.
I jumped back in fright, putting my hand to my chest.
He was looking at me, but not like normal. He was looking at me with a hunger, with a burning need.
I looked down and his cock twitched in his trunks.
“Hi,” I said, trying to recompose myself.
I saw his eyes drop to my pussy, his nostrils flared wide. He pressed up against me, his eyes looking down at me. His cock strained against his trunks, lifted so that the shaft lay against my slit.
“You are trouble,” he said, then he pushed past me and went into the bathroom. The door bumped into me as it closed and I was standing in our second floor hallway, not really sure what had happened.
I walked back downstairs and got into the hot tub, pretending to be interested in what the others were saying. More questions about me starting college, and of course everyone else sharing their boring stories of college. I eagerly waited for Mr. Hoover to come back downstairs, and after what seemed like an eternity, he did.
“I’m sorry to be a party pooper, but I’ve got to get to bed,” he said. “Thank you for the lovely evening. Welcome to the neighborhood!” he said as he walked past the hot tub and into his yard.
Everyone in the hot tub waved. I sat there, crestfallen. Had I done something wrong? Did I cross a line? Well, it was abundantly clear that I had crossed lots of lines, but I thought he wanted me to. To have him leave the party early really made me sad.
I passed the rest of the time in the hot tub in a rut. I was grumpy and embarrassed. I thought about how awkward it was going to be whenever we saw each other. I dreaded it. Basically, in one fell swoop I’d turned a comfortable new life in a new area into an exercise of walking on eggshells.
Just wanting to go to bed, I was relieved when the Connors went back home. They said they had to go check on Conrad, but I had a feeling he would be passed out from an all night spunkiest. I wrapped myself in my towel and made my way upstairs, letting my parents shut down the hot tub.
I got up to my room and turned on the light, closing the door behind me. I peeled off my wet bathing suit and laid it on a hook behind my door. I walked over to my bed and flopped onto it.
My face hit something stiff and crinkly. A piece of paper.
I lifted my head and opened my eyes. It was a note.
A note from Mr. Hoover.
Dear Tina,
Most people don’t spend enough time appreciating the beautiful things. If you’re the kind of person who does, then meet me in the park down the street at midnight.
Yours,
Richard
I couldn’t resist the cliche move of bringing the note to my face and sniffing it. It smelled like him, like confidence and mahogany. I laid back on my bed, imagining a rendezvous with Mr. Hoover late at night. But that’s just crazy.
My alarm clock read 11:50 in blinking red, so I gave myself another once over in the mirror. I wore a dark dress, something simple and dark in case we had to be discreet. I liked the way it hugged my hips and showed off my ass.
Out in the hallway, I tiptoed past my parents’ door and down the stairs. Slipping out into the cool evening, I quietly made my way down the porch and walked down the street toward the park.
The park was bordered on three sides by thick trees, extending out into a forest preserve. The park had the typical stuff for kids, a slide, swings and jungle gym. I sat on the swing and swayed back and forth, waiting.
I faced the street and looked at the line of sleeping houses across it. This neighborhood
didn’t stay up late. The windows looked like dead eyes, not witnessing anything. I began to wonder what Mr. Hoover had in mind? I hope he had a lot in mind, but this was a fairly public place to get to know one another.
Why didn’t he just have me over to his place that night? Suddenly the night was getting colder, the park getting darker. I started to re-think this whole idea. I got up from the swing and looked down the street towards my place.
That’s when I saw it.
Matthew (BBW Country Music Bear Shifter Romance) (Bearly Saints Book 1) Page 78
