Wet
Copyright © 2015 by Ruth Clampett
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978–0-9966857–0-2
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Cover Design:
Jada d’Lee
Cover Photograph: iStockphoto
Editors:
Angela Borda, and Melissa of There For You Editing
Interior formatting:
Christine Borgford of Perfectly Publishable
To the colorful characters
that have passed through my life,
the mime, the sprinkler man, the dreamers
Your little gifts
a dramatic phrase, a sad laugh,
a wink, soft kiss, or whispered secret
I’ve carried with me
so they could one day be
part of my stories.
Table of Contents
WET
Dedication
Chapter One ~ The Face Off
Chapter Two ~ The Crouching Tiger
Chapter Three ~ Stand and Deliver
Chapter Four ~ The Hot Seat
Chapter Five ~ The Sideways Samba
Chapter Six ~ The Man Trap
Chapter Seven ~ Get a Leg Up
Chapter Eight ~ Spin Cycle
Chapter Nine ~ The Hero
Chapter Ten ~ Against the Wall
Chapter Eleven ~ The Hot Seat
Chapter Twelve ~ The Wraparound
Chapter Thirteen ~ Woman on Top
Chapter Fourteen ~ Tight Squeeze
Chapter Fifteen ~ The High Dive
Chapter Sixteen ~ Table For Two
Chapter Seventeen ~ The Challenge
Chapter Eighteen ~ Please and Thank You
Chapter Nineteen ~ Edge of Heaven
Chapter Twenty ~ Face to Face
Chapter Twenty-One ~ The Balancing Act
Chapter Twenty-Two ~ The Bridge
Also by Ruth Clampett
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
THE FACE OFF
I love the earthy smell when the afternoon sun hits the grass still damp from an earlier rain. I want to toss my tools aside, take off my shoes and let my feet sink into the ground, leaving my footprints in the grass.
I remember when I was a young boy, eager to help my dad with his work, he would give me a shovel and teach me how to dig, turning the soil so we could discover what was wrong down below. Now years later, even though I’m a landscape architect and work at a drafting table instead of a field, I feel like I haven’t stopped digging.
Part of me misses this kind of labor. I’m never more at peace than when I’m outside working with the sun on my back. I take a deep breath with my face tilted to the sky, and then kneel down to finish my task.
I’ve just started screwing the sprinkler head into the new connection when the bush next to me starts ringing.
What the hell?
I lean in closer to the shrub to make sure I’m not imagining something. Sure enough, the damn thing rings again. I lift myself off my knees, and stand with my hands on my hips, peering down into the clusters of leaves.
“Did you hear ringing?” a voice calls out behind me.
I turn to see who I assume to be Mrs. Jacoby walking barefoot across her lawn. I blink rapidly and tighten my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open. My teenage memory of meeting her doesn’t do justice to the woman before me.
I can’t remember when I’ve had such a visceral reaction to a woman. My blood heats up the longer I gaze at her.
She’s a knock-out—wavy, auburn hair, skin the color of cream with a shot of coffee, and electric blue eyes. Throw in lush lips that look made for kissing, a perfectly curvy figure, and she’s skating on the edge of being too good to be true.
I silently nod and point to the bush just as it rings again. By the time she’s up next to me, I can’t decide if I should look away or just continue to enjoy the view.
She’s in those tight, stretchy pants and a tank top, and with the way her breasts dance as she approaches, I’m pretty sure she’s not wearing a bra.
I take note of her fiery expression.
The ring comes again and I glance over at the landline receiver in her hand with an arched brow. “Did you dial this bush? ’Cause it doesn’t look like it’s going to take your call.”
She chews on her bottom lip and narrows her eyes at me. “Who are you?”
“Paul, from Sprinkler Brothers. You may not remember, but we met way back when I was helping my dad during summer breaks.”
Her eyes grow wide and she can’t hide her surprise. “You’re Paul Junior?”
“The one and only.”
“How old are you now?”
“Almost thirty. Like I said, it’s been a while since we met—I was eighteen that summer.” I lean back, stretching to my full height and slip my hand in my back pocket.
She studies me as if she’s seeing me in a new light. I know from my parents talking about clients that we’re not that different in age.
“Wow, you look so different. You’re all grown up.”
My eyes skim across her barely covered breasts, and down to the swell of her hips in those skin-tight pants.
Damn.
I give her a lazy smile. “I could say the same about you.”
She follows my gaze and looks down at the way she’s dressed. I wonder if she realizes that she might as well be naked. She quickly folds her arms over her chest.
The ringing shrub is starting to annoy me. “Doesn’t this damn bush have voicemail?”
“I hate voicemail,” she grumbles.
“Ah, I see. So this is your phone.”
Grinning, she nods.
“What’s it doing in the bushes?”
“I threw it out the window.”
She threw it out the window? “And now you want it back?”
She lets out a long sigh. “I suppose I do.”
I sink to my knees so I can run my hand under the bush and over the wet soil. When I retrieve the phone, I rub its surface along my thigh to brush the loose dirt off.
She ends the call from the landline phone she’s holding and reaches for her cell phone.
I’m still on my knees when I hand it to her. It feels a little weird, but I like this view of her. Actually, I think I’d enjoy any view of her.
She turns to check her messages and the phone practically explodes with prompts. She sighs again. “It still works.”
I nod toward the cell phone as I stand back up. “Someone’s anxious to reach you.”
She rolls her eyes. “Maybe I should just leave it in the bushes.”
“Be my guest.”
She squints as she sizes me up. “So where’s your dad?”
“I’ve been helping him out on the weekends since his knee surgery. He only trusts me with his best clients.”
“Your dad is such a sweetie. He takes care of my friend’s place, too.”
“And your husband’s family.”
She scoffs. “I have no husband.”
I offer up some insincere sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t b
e sorry. He’s long gone and good riddance.”
“Okay, then.” I shrug. If she’s good with it, I sure as hell am, too.
I can feel all my red flags popping up as I tread into my danger zone. My attraction to her builds with every minute I’m in her presence.
Sliding my finger under my collar I pull it looser. I try to think about anything but her being single. “So do you have kids?”
“No.” Her expression softens, and she falls silent.
“Well, I guess that’s good then. Divorce is tough with kids.”
“Besides, I’m not sure it could’ve happened. All work and no play made the Mister a very dull boy.”
“Really?”
“And it’s not like I’m overly needy or anything. I just have needs that most men would like attending to.”
I swallow hard. “So those kind of needs.”
She lets her gaze trail from my chest down to my boots. The look in her eyes is hungry, like she’s going to eat me for dessert. “I’m sure a man like you would understand.”
I take a sharp breath. “I understand one thing for sure.”
She looks up at me expectantly.
“Your ex is an idiot.”
A wide grin spreads across her face. “Oh, I like you. Come on, it’s hot out here. Let’s go inside to cool off. I’ve got some fresh lemonade.”
She doesn’t wait for my response but turns on her heel and heads toward the house.
Her ass looks amazing as she walks. I chuckle too loud as I follow her without any hesitation.
She turns, her long hair swinging over her shoulder. “What’s so funny?”
“My dad only sends me to work on clients’ homes where the women are married or old.”
She laughs out loud. “I bet! Look at you.”
“He sure got this job wrong. Hey . . . what about me?”
She steps right up to me and looks at me with those big gorgeous eyes. “You’re hot . . . and I bet you’re a handful of trouble.”
“Maybe. But I’m pretty sure you are, too.”
She winks and keeps walking.
Holy hell. I feel the adrenalin of my pick-up days shoot up my spine. What I could do with this woman if I was still a player.
Once we’re in her kitchen she pulls out a chair for me as she heads to the fridge. “So lemonade or something stronger.”
“Got any beer?”
Grinning, she takes out two bottles. I notice there are already two empty ones on the counter with their labels peeled off in shreds. No wonder her phone got thrown across the yard. She notices me staring at the mess.
“Yeah, I was having one of those days.”
When she slides into the chair across from me, she glances down at her outfit, pulls her low neckline up a little higher and pushes her hair off her face. “I forgot you guys were coming today, and I really wasn’t expecting company. I should change into something more presentable.”
Despite all my efforts to play it cool, I doubt I can hide the weight of my lust for her in my expression.
“Not on my account. I like that outfit.”
“Hmmm.” She takes a swig of beer as she studies me, the corners of her mouth turning up.
I nod at the buzzing cell phone she set down on the table. “Is that your ex trying to reach you?”
“No, not my ex.”
“Oh, so there are others.”
Of course there are others . . . I mean, look at her.
She rolls her eyes. “It’s that damn profile on my Tinder page. I made a mistake saying that I have a very open mind.”
“Why is that a mistake?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t believe the weirdos that contact me.”
I take a long sip of my beer as I watch her. This woman is making my head spin. “Do you mind me asking something?”
“Not at all.”
“Why are you using Tinder? I have to think that men are falling all over each other to be with you.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t want to be with anyone. I’ve done that and I like being on my own.”
Puzzled, I point to the phone. “So?”
“You really want to know? You won’t judge me?” She pauses and appraises me like she’s trying to determine if I can be trusted.
I nod—my curiosity piqued.
She squares her shoulders and boldly stares me in the eye. “I want sex, lots of sex. Nothing more. I’m only looking for hookups.”
I cough, almost spitting up my beer. Is she serious?
“Initially it was my girlfriend’s idea. After the crash and burn of my marriage she knew that my self-esteem was low, and thought if I had some fun I’d realize how hot I am.” She laughs and rolls her eyes playfully.
“I can’t believe you ever questioned that,” I reply.
She shrugs. “My husband’s lack of interest preyed on me after a while.”
I shake my head in disbelief. Her ex must be nuts.
“I’d always been a ‘good’ girl, so I thought my friend was crazy to suggest doing hook-ups on Tinder . . . but I agreed to try, and for the most part, I’ve had fun.”
“I bet you have.” I grin, imagining how men must react to her. A few years ago she would’ve been my ideal woman.
She taps the phone with her manicured nails. “And Tinder is an efficient way to sort through the crowd.”
“Then why did you throw your phone in the bushes?”
She leans back into her chair. “This last creeper pushed me over the edge. He wanted me to wear a latex body suit and sit on him.”
My eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“Exactly! So you can see why I’m agitated!”
“So you’re not a fan of squatting in latex body suits?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.
“Hell no. I want hot sex. I’m not interested in being taken to dinner, or saran- wrapped for some kinky weirdo. Is there anything wrong to just want to get screwed?”
I shake my head. I can’t believe this woman. She’s already drained her beer and she’s at the fridge getting us two more.
“Well, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that at all,” I say.
“You’re a man. Tell me if I’m being unreasonable. If you saw me on Tinder would you want to straight-up screw me?”
I set my beer down. “Um, Ms. Jacoby.”
“Oh, for God’s sake call me Elle.”
“If I was a Tinder guy I’d really want to do that, Elle. But I’m a take you to dinner and get to know you kind of guy.”
She laughs loudly and waves her hands toward the ceiling. “Damn, can I get a break! My sprinkler man won’t even screw me!”
I pick my beer back up. “I’m not a sprinkler man.”
She purses her lips together and her smile fades. “I’m sorry . . . I offended you.”
“I’m a landscape architect.”
“That’s so hot.”
I shake my head in reproach. “Remember I’m just helping out my dad until he’s fully mobile again after his surgery. Regardless, fixing irrigation systems is an honorable profession.”
“Right, sorry.” She glides her fingers along the curve of the beer bottle before looking up at me with a coy smile.
“So is sex really all that matters to you?” I ask.
“Maybe it won’t be when I finally get some that’s satisfying.”
Oh, good Lord. How much restraint can one man be expected to have?
I let out a sigh of regret. “Well, I’d love to help you out but I don’t do casual sex. Been there, done that.”
I square my shoulders after making my declaration. After almost two years of following my abstinence program, I can say I’m confident I’ve moved on from my sex-obsessed ways, but it still makes me cringe with a sense of loss after the words leave my lips.
She pounds her fists on the table. “My timing is always shit. So if I’d met you during your been there period you would’ve screwed me?”
“Without a doubt. Screwed is too
simple of a word for all the things I would have done to you.”
I take a deep breath and glance over my shoulder at the kitchen layout. “I’d have you bent over your kitchen island as we fucked, or your legs would be wrapped around me as I took you against that wall.”
“You’re killing me here! Are you good in bed?”
“Good?” I smile, remembering those days. “That wasn’t the adjective most women used. What do you think?”
“My guess is a big fat yes.”
Leaning back, I stretch out my legs under the table. “Let’s just say, back in the day . . . I’m not ashamed to say I did all right.”
She huffs and folds her arms over her chest. “I bet you did. And I bet you have a big cock too.”
Good Lord, no more beer for her.
My eyes roll back. “You’ve got a filthy mouth.”
“So what. Do you?”
“Have a big cock? Is this information you really need to know?”
She looks down under the table. “Ha! You’ve got big feet!”
Jesus, this woman.
“And you’re so tall.” She grabs my hand. “And you’ve got thick fingers. You know what they say . . .”
I watch her trail her fingers over mine as she gives me a sultry wink.
I lean over, and whisper into her ear, “I’ve got a huge cock.”
She looks drunk with lust as she bites her lip. “Hung like a horse?” she whispers.
“Yep.”
“Oh for God’s sake.” She scoots her chair closer. “Show me.”
Her eyes are twinkling, yet it’s hard to tell if she’s teasing or not.
“Yeah, sure.” I take a long draw from my second beer.
“Come on,” she presses, seeming hopeful.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, besides the fact that that would be a complete violation of my new lifestyle, I’m hard right now. I don’t want to scare you, Elle.”
“Ooo,” she moans.
“Not to mention, you have quite a beer buzz going on and I don’t play that way.”
Her cheeks grow pink as she picks at the label on her beer bottle.
“That’s gallant of you but I don’t think you’d be taking advantage of me, if that’s your concern. Besides, I’m four years older than you. Some people might think I’m taking advantage of a younger man.”
Wet Page 1
