The Painters

by Robin Stone

  I put the flowers in the water and admired them.

  “Alex made me stop and buy them,” Ben said. “He took forever picking them out.”

  “Shut up,” Alex muttered. “Listen, Red, we got somethin’ to say.”

  “No, I have something to say first, before I lose my nerve.”

  I picked up my paper that read Dear Ben and Alex. “I started this letter to tell you why I couldn’t see you anymore.”

  They both stilled, and my heart pounded in my throat.

  “Ben, you’re too young. You make me feel sexy, but sometimes…I feel so old! When I make jokes you don’t get, I feel so old! You don’t know anything about my favorite music or books and movies.”

  Ben crossed his arms and frowned. “So you think the only thing we have is sex. That’s it. Nothing else?”

  My neck heated. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I heard what you said.”

  “What’s your problem with me?” Alex put his hands on his hips. “Bad boy? Too rough, too loud?”

  “All of the above.”

  “I don’t fit in here, in your pretty house and your pretty neighborhood. My bike’s too loud. I’m too loud. Only good for a romp in the hay.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Stop putting words in my mouth!”

  They moved closer, their scents washing over me. My body reacted to their nearness: my nipples tightened, and a heaviness filled my pelvis.

  “We care about you,” Ben said. “But if we’re not good enough for you, we get it.”

  “You are good enough, I just…”

  Alex put his warm hands on my face and kissed me. His scruff dug into my chin, and his tongue slid against my lips until they parted. My fingers clutched his leather jacket, and his body shifted against mine until I bumped into the chair. The chair fell over, and he pushed me against the wall, grinding his hips against me.

  His hands went beneath my ass, hauling me against his chest. I gasped and kissed him harder, feeling his cock grow in his jeans. His mouth was hot and he tasted like cinnamon, and I wanted him more than I wanted my next breath.

  He pulled away suddenly, leaving me gasping and disheveled.

  “We want you,” he said. “If you want us in your bed, that’s good enough for me. Who cares about anything else? We like each other and we like to fuck, isn’t that good enough?”

  I nodded. He put his forehead against mine, his breath warming my cheek. He hugged me tight. I wanted him so much, my hands shook.

  Ben made a noise, and we looked up. He was holding my letter in his hands.

  “A paper letter,” Ben said. “How cute. I have a few of those from my grandma.”

  I groaned.

  “Goddamnit, Ben, that ain’t sexy!”

  “I’m just kidding. Jesus, lighten up.” He picked up my other paper. “What’s this?”

  “Ohgod,” I said. “Don’t look at that.”

  Alex kept me pinned to the wall. “What is it?”

  Ben scanned my list. His mouth opened, and he started breathing faster.

  “Fuck, you gotta see this.”

  Alex grabbed the paper from Ben’s hand. He turned his body, keeping me pinned to the wall while he read it. My face burned. Alex grinned and handed the paper back to Ben.

  “Let’s see,” Ben said. “Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes to most of these, but did you see seventeen?”

  “Sure did. I call dibs.”

  “No way. I’m doing that one.”

  Alex released me. His heated gaze traveled up and down my body.

  “Well, Red. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “I want to finish that list.”

  “You do, huh? Then what? You gonna toss us out on our asses?”

  “No. I want you.” I ran my hands through my hair. “I want to keep fucking both of you silly. Ben, I want you to camp out between my legs and make me come over and over.”

  Ben grinned. “I’m on it.”

  “Alex, I want you to bend me over every piece of furniture in this house and fuck me on it.”

  “Your wish is my command, darlin’.”

  Ben shoved Alex aside and swept me into a passionate kiss. His warm lips pressed on mine, and he lifted me off the floor a few inches. When he put me down, he brushed his fingers over my cheek.

  “We make each other happy, right?” he asked. “Who cares if it’s for a week or a month or a year? We’re falling for you, Rachel. Let’s give it more time and see where this goes.”

  “I’m falling for you, too,” I said. “No more MILFs.”

  “Just one MILF,” Ben said. “With red hair and green eyes.”

  “I can’t stop thinkin’ about this list,” Alex said. “Damn, you’re a hot little minx.”

  “Take me upstairs,” I said.

  Ben took my hand, and the three of us rushed up to my room. Belts were unbuckled. Pants came down. Shirts flew off. I tossed back the covers and lay on the bed in my bra and underwear. They stood naked in front of me, their cocks hard.

  “What do you want?” Ben asked.

  My nipples tightened.

  “I want Alex to suck your cock.”

  Ben grinned. Alex dropped to his knees and wrapped his long fingers around the base of Ben’s cock. He opened his mouth and slid Ben’s cock between his lips. Ben closed his eyes and put his hands on Alex’s shoulders. My bra felt tight and uncomfortable, and I slid my hand into my underwear. My clit was warm and a little wet. Ben started thrusting his hips.

  I rubbed my clit, keeping my eyes glued to Alex’s mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked. I was amazed and turned on at the gentleness of his touch. He stroked Ben’s thigh with his other hand and looked up at him.

  My heart stuttered when their eyes met. Ben brushed his hand over Alex’s cheek.

  “So good,” Ben muttered. “You feel so fuckin’ good.”

  He pumped his hips, and Alex took him in deeper. They grunted and moaned. Wetness covered my fingers, and I increased my speed, desperate to come. My toes curled, and my back arched off the bed. Alex pulled away, sliding his tongue against Ben’s shaft.

  “Please,” Ben whispered. “Hurry up.”

  Alex pumped faster, his hand making slick sounds against Ben’s cock. Ben slid his fingers into Alex’s hair and thrust deeper into his mouth. Alex gagged a little, then worked him deep into his throat, his big hand still pumping.

  Ben’s head tilted back, and his chest heaved. He staggered a little, but Alex stayed with him. I rubbed my clit harder, so close, waiting for the right moment. I was sweating, panting, watching their bodies move until Ben shouted, thrusting erratically.

  Alex dug his fingers into Ben’s thigh, his throat working as he swallowed his cum. I pressed a little harder and came, crying out, my body bucking and shifting on the mattress as Ben moaned, bending over, his mouth working and his face turning red.

  My clit throbbed, and heat washed over my body as the pulses faded. Alex pulled away from Ben and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth.

  “Damn,” Alex said.

  When they recovered a little, they climbed into bed. Alex helped pull off my bra. Ben eased down my panties and gave them a sniff before tossing them aside.

  I laughed.

  “How was that?” Ben asked.

  “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” I said. “But now it’s my turn.”

  I pulled my painters into my arms and lost myself in their embrace.

  *****

  Greg loves coming home after long days swinging a hammer to relax with Anna, his wife of twenty years. He’s planning a romantic weekend away to help reconnect with her before their nest empties.

  Anna is busy growing her photography business and helping their twin boys prepare for college. When she lands a plum client, Greg reluctantly reschedules the getaway. Sexy time is limited these days, and one lovemaking session seems just like the next…

  Until Greg buys a set of sex toys and introduces Anna to a whole new w
orld of pleasure. Can Greg whisk Anna away for a sexy weekend to remind them of the close couple they used to be?

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  ALSO BY ROBIN STONE

  THE LANDSCAPER

  Kyle enjoys working outdoors as the owner of a small landscaping business. Most of his customers stay inside while Kyle and his crew take care of their yards.

  But not Tracy Dawson, the rich housewife who lives on the hill. Tracy spends summer afternoons beside the pool, watching Kyle from behind her dark sunglasses. Her flirtatious banter and low-cut bathing suits fuel Kyle’s fantasies.

  Tracy invites him into the guest house for a little afternoon delight. But when Tracy admits her husband was watching, Kyle gets ready for a beat-down. Instead, Mr. Dawson makes Kyle an offer he can’t refuse…

  TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT THE LANDSCAPER,

  BOOK 1 OF THE LANDSCAPER SERIES

  THE LANDSCAPER

  CHAPTER 1

  I was having impure thoughts about a client, and it wasn’t the first time.

  I loved Friday afternoons. It was payday, the day I saw my favorite client, Mrs. Tracy Dawson.

  Tracy’s husband left the house every morning dressed in a three-piece suit and didn’t return until dark. Her days were filled with shopping, nail appointments, and lunches with friends. On hot summer afternoons, Tracy sat by the pool, reading magazines, chatting on the phone, and drinking fruity cocktails.

  Tracy’s friends came over some Fridays. They stayed in the house and did God-knows-what. Sometimes they paraded out to the pool and swam in their bikinis, showing off their tanned bodies and squealing with laughter.

  I preferred days like today, when Tracy was alone.

  The Dawsons lived at the end of a quiet road up on the hill. They had a sweeping view of the mountains. It was a modern home with five bedrooms, five baths, and seven thousand square feet of luxury. It had a home office, a home theater, and a gym. A detached garage held three cars. A second garage held two more.

  The backyard had a large pool and a one-bedroom guest house. The Dawsons employed a housekeeper, a cook, a part-time handyman, and my company: Bowden Landscaping.

  I employed three guys—friends from college and the neighborhood. We took care of Mrs. Dawson’s yard. And she took care of my fantasies.

  Today she was reclining on a lounge chair in a black one-piece bathing suit. The suit was one of her more modest pieces, as long as she didn’t bend at the waist.

  Jacob, my best friend and first employee, raised his brows at me. I grinned, but looked down at the mulch I was spreading.

  “The yard looks beautiful this year, Jacob.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Dawson,” he said. The tips of his ears turned pink when she spoke to him directly.

  “Great job,” I said. “You and the guys can take off.”

  Jacob pulled off his work gloves. “You sure? These mulch beds aren’t finished.”

  “I’m on the last one. Go ahead. See you Monday.”

  “Thanks, Kyle.” He picked up his rake and left. The guys called out their goodbyes, and a few minutes later the truck started up and pulled away from the house.

  I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Five more minutes and I could head home for a cold shower and a beer.

  “That was kind of you,” Mrs. Dawson said.

  I squatted and pushed the last of the mulch into place. “They work their ass— they work hard. Only twenty minutes ’til quittin’ time.”

  Mrs. Dawson adjusted her chair to a sitting position. She pursed her lips and took a long sip of her red, slushy drink.

  “You’re a good leader,” she said. “The men look up to you. I like that.”

  “Thanks.”

  I was single, but usually immune to the charms of my clients. Most of the wives worked or stayed in the house when the landscapers came to mow, hiding from the dirt and noise.

  But not Tracy.

  Tracy liked to watch.

  And she liked to be watched, too.

  My skin tingled when she was near. I daydreamed about pounding into her pussy, hiking her long legs around my waist. I’d fuck her while she dug her nails into my back and screamed my name.

  I felt her eyes on me as I put my tools into the wheelbarrow. She wore large designer sunglasses, but I’d bet a day’s pay her eyes were glued to my ass.

  I looked, too, when her back was turned. I loved when she walked around the pool in bathing suits and high-heeled sandals. The sandals defined her calves and made her ass swing when she walked. Watching her emerge from the pool with her long, dark hair clinging to her skin made my insides clench.

  Must be nice to swim and lounge by the pool all day. No room for a pool in my tiny yard. I rented a small apartment above a garage that held my landscaping equipment.

  No money to spare for luxuries, either. I needed new tires for my work truck. I’d just ordered expensive parts for my lawnmowers, but I did the repairs myself. The economy hadn’t recovered in this corner of Vermont. Customers called, apologizing, to cancel their service. Some of them started hiring their neighbors’ kids to cut the lawn.

  I hoped the Dawsons still had deep pockets. I needed their business.

  Mrs. Dawson put down her drink and stood. She walked—no, slinked—around the edge of the pool and descended the steps into the water. She swam a few feet, then flipped over and wet her hair, her breasts bobbing. I tried not to stare.

  “How about a dip, Kyle?”

  “What?” I dropped my spade, and it narrowly missed my toes. Thank God for steel-toed boots.

  “A dip in the pool.”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”

  She chuckled. “Please call me Tracy. How old are you, Kyle?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “I’m only thirty-four.” She smirked. “How old did you think I was?”

  Oh, no. I wasn’t playing that game. It ranked right up there with does my butt look big in this dress?

  “Don’t know. Never thought about it.” I’d thought more about swimming naked in the pool with her. I’d lift her breasts to my mouth and suck her nipples while the water cooled our bodies.

  I piled my tools into the wheelbarrow, taking my time.

  “Any hot weekend plans?” she asked.

  Catching up with laundry. Going over business paperwork. Deciding which bills to pay and which to put off.

  “Might go out for a few beers with my crew.”

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them in my back pocket. I didn’t mind the flirting, but all talk and no action was getting old. She was bored, but I’d grown sick of the teasing.

  “Don’t have a girlfriend. Didn’t have one when you asked me last week, either.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  She swam to the edge of the pool. Tracy was a natural beauty, with long legs and curves a guy could grab onto. Straight, dark hair that looked silky to the touch. And a full mouth I liked to picture wrapped around my cock.

  Besides being a knockout, she was kind to the help, and smart. I liked her.

  Mr. Dawson was a lucky bastard.

  I pushed the wheelbarrow toward my truck, feeling the heat of her gaze on my ass.

  “Don’t leave without your pay,” she called.

  As if.

  I put the gear in my truck bed and closed the gate. When I walked back to the pool, she was swimming, her legs breaking the surface.

  Where was she hiding the money, in her bathing suit?

  “The water’s perfect. I hate to get out.”

  I focused on the clouds while she swam over to the stairs and climbed o
ut. But I watched as she emerged, water dripping down her body, her dark hair clinging to her skin. My cock stiffened.

  I couldn’t believe her husband left her alone so often. A guy’s gotta work, but the housekeeper said Tracy slept alone two or three nights a week when he traveled for work.

  If I was with Tracy, I’d strip off that bathing suit and fuck her so hard she’d have trouble walking the next day. I’d take her on dates and shower her with attention.

  As much attention as I could on my limited budget.

  I pictured Tracy clutching the headboard while I pounded her from behind. I’d grip her long hair in my fist and bend down to kiss her neck.

  She picked up a towel and slowly dried her skin as she held my gaze. Was I going to stand here and gawk while she toweled off?

  Yes. Yes I was.

  I stuffed my hands in my front pockets, trying to camouflage the tent I was pitching.

  “The roses are so pretty this year.” She rubbed the towel over her thighs, then bent to dry her calves, giving me a clear view of her tits. “If you need more work, I can recommend you to my neighbors.”

  My cock pressed against my zipper. “Sure. Thanks.”

  Tracy dropped the towel and pulled on her cover-up. She tied it at the waist and headed for the guest house.

  “Come get your pay.”

  She opened the glass door and entered. Friday afternoons, I’d usually wait at the back door of the house while Tracy produced an envelope. Most of my clients paid their bill by credit card, but the Dawsons paid cash.

  I followed her into the guest house. Air conditioning cooled my skin. Tracy stood in the living room, looking through a pile of papers. The living room was connected to a small but modern kitchen. The walls and furniture were covered in pale fabrics. A short hall led to the bedroom and bathroom.

  “Have a seat,” Tracy said.

  “Can’t. I’m filthy. Appreciate the offer, though.”

  She pulled out an envelope. “Here it is. Your pay, plus a bonus.”

  Hot relief shot through my limbs. A bonus might cover a set of tires.

  She stood at the desk, holding the envelope. I waited for her to bring it to me, but she gave me a devilish smile that made my spidey-senses tingle. I stepped closer and reached for the envelope.