Men in Shorts: An Erotic Anthology (12 page)

Kara was well aware how much his cock strained against his jeans. The zipper looked like it was ready to pop at any moment.

Her hand slid down his chest slowly. As she reached the zipper, she stopped, and then began to glide back up.

He let out a deep groan of dissatisfaction.

Kara smiled, knowing perfectly well he was disappointed, she wanted to tease him so he wanted it, really wanted it. When her hand passed over his heart she could feel it beating frantically.

To stop her from the torturing him any further, he reached for her hand and guided it back down to his zipper. She smiled at his actions. He was ready to put a stop to her teasing.

"I can't wait to be inside your," he whispered. "I've thought about nothing else all day."

Kara knew she shouldn't get turned on or even aroused by him speaking to her that way, but she did. Her body was humming from anticipation.

When both their hands reached the end of the zipper, his cock sprang free. His juices already covered the top of his cock, and slowly began to trickle down his length.

Kara trembled with anticipation as Julian bent down towards her. He inhaled her scent before he began working her aching nipples. His tongue licked, teased, and he lightly bit the hard mounds of flesh. He lapped at one and then the other, like they were a pair of sweet lollipops. She couldn't get enough of that mouth of his, and what he could do to her with his pierced tongue.

His tongue was still occupied when she felt his warm hand reach down and pull at her shorts. She was sure she heard a rip of her panties in his frantic attempt to remove them. He wasn't wasting time. This man was sexual torture, and everything else rolled into one.

Kara's thoughts drifted off as a moan escaped her lips. The feel of his hand lightly stroking her inner thigh was driving her to the edge. Making it impossible to think. Every touch brought his hand closer to her throbbing pussy, dripping with wetness. Finally his fingers lightly brushed against her wet slit.

She wanted him to touch her there so bad, to satisfy some of the ache, but he didn't. His fingers retreated, and abandoned her.

A whimper left her lips.

She was disappointed the minute he abandoned her pussy.

Kara wrapped her arms around his neck when he started to lift her up into his arms. He carried her over to the staircase, only a few steps away from them.

Once he sat her down, she watched him as he hovered over her like a wildcat. She was his prey and he was ready to take her. He captured her neck with his lips, and she gasped for a breath of air. Leisurely he made his way down her body, and then he lightly kissed her shoulder, then each breast, before he crept lower to her stomach.

She moaned at the sensation of his lips against her flesh. She was desperate to try to hold back from letting her body explode. It was hard to do that when he licked and sucked at her delicate skin every time he kissed her.

She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold out.

The moment his lips made contact with her pussy she gave in and let go, coming fast and hard. The torment with his tongue continued against her body as she shuttered and cried out in pleasure.

Julian's tongue teased at the sensitive lips of her wet pussy, he lapped at her sweet juices with intense hunger. His mouth was relentless.

When she opened her eyes, he was watching her with a smile of pure satisfaction in his eyes. He licked his lips, tasting her juices while letting a deep groan escape him. He was savoring her taste, he was savoring the moment.

Kara moaned louder and louder with every glide of his tongue over her pussy. Her body buzzed and hummed out of control.

Just when she thought she would come again, he pulled away.

"Are you ready for me now?" he asked, as he licked his lips once more.

She wasn't able to get the words out of her mouth, so all she did was nod. She watched as Julian turned around and looked towards where his jeans lay. He reached down and pulled out a silver packet and then he sheathed his cock.

When he returned to her, he placed a warm hand on her cheek before he recaptured her swollen lips. She wrapped her shaky legs around his waist when he picked her off the step and lifted her up. With her in his arms, he lowered his body and sat on the step while she straddled him. Gently, she lifted herself up and then impaled herself on his cock. Her body rode him slowly at first, and then his thrusts became rapid and short. With every thrust, her body moved faster and harder.

Kara tightened her grasp of his shoulders as her body unraveled. It didn't take long before she threw her head back and cried out again as her orgasm claimed her. Her body was on fire, bursting from every corner. She actually thought she saw stars as pleasure overpowered her.

Julian thrust a few more times as his own orgasm exploded. He groaned as his body became rigid and he hissed as pleasure consumed him.

* * * *

The following day, Kara wasn't sure what to expect when Julian showed up. When she woke up, he was gone. There was no sign of him there except his smell on her body.

When she noticed the mail truck pulling up to the sidewalk, a part of her jumped for joy because she would see him again. Her body was still recovering from the previous night. No doubt she would be reminded of what happened every time she looked at the stairs.

Kara was in the kitchen when the doorbell rang.

To her surprise, Julian wasn't on the other side of it. It was a female letter carrier.

"These are for you, miss," she said, as she handed her two large catalogues.

"Um, if you don't mind me asking, where's the regular mailman? Julian?"

The woman smiled politely. "Oh, he was only temporary on this route. He got transferred to another location. This will be my regular route from now on," she said, before she turned and went on her way.

Kara stood at the door for a moment before she shut it. Deep down, she had hoped that he would be the one standing at her door. He made her feel alive when she was in his arms. She realized she had made a mistake letting him go so easily. He wasn't just a one-night stand. He was much more. But he would only become a distant memory.

* * * *

Evening had come and gone, and Kara was still hard at work making the house spotless. She had to keep her mind occupied on everything except Julian. Cleaning was supposed to be boring and not enjoyable. It was supposed to take your mind off everything. But this time around, it didn't. When cleaning the staircase, she kept picturing Julian holding her in his arms while he made her body ache with pleasure. These once-simple stairs were now the place that she would see as her one night of being free and taking a leap. This was not the consequences she expected from having a one night stand.

She was getting ready to settle down in front of the television with a tub of ice cream when she heard someone knocking on the door. "Special delivery for Miss Kara Morgan," said a deep voice as she made her way over to the door.

"Who's the package from?" she asked before she began to open the door.

"There's no sender," the voice answered.

When she opened the door, she found Julian standing on the other side. He held a single red rose. The sight of him made her heart skip a beat.

"I hope you don't mind this package came unwrapped," he said before he pulled her towards him and kissed her lips.

Oh, how much she'd missed his taste, and the feel of his body pressed against her. She only hoped she wasn't dreaming seeing him here again.

His kiss left her weak in every possible way. She never thought she would be in his arms again.

"Before you say anything, I have to get this out," Julian said. "I know I should have never come back here. This was just a one-time thing and nothing else. I tried to fool myself that it was just that, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn't. To me, it was something, from the very moment I laid eyes on you. After I left here, all I knew was that I wanted to see you again. I needed to come back to see you."

Kara stood silent as he laid bare his feelings. He was telling her he wanted more from her. He was telling her exactly what she had been feeling since their encounter.

"The night we shared meant something to me. You mean something to me."

He paused, uncertainty in his eyes.

She gazed into his eyes. Those green eyes had captured her from the first moment they'd met.

"You're one special delivery I don't plan on ever returning," she said before she pulled him towards her and captured his lips for a scorching hot kiss
.

by Lisa Lane

I sit at my desk, a computer blank page staring back, knowing that my distraction holds the muses at bay – nothing more. I turn to peek out the window, the mini-blinds angled in such a way that I might see out but no one outside can see in. I know my impatience is pointless, only putting the day on hold when I could be taking care of business, and yet I can't help myself.

Today is Saturday, and although in most regards Saturdays are like any other day of the week: beginning with a fresh cup of coffee on my desk and an eight-hour dedication to my work, and then ending in my lonely bed, drifting off to the narration of a good book, I allow myself this one weekly guilty pleasure. I find myself at an absolute loss for productivity today, however. My anticipation is getting the best of me. It has been a productive week, however, so I let it slide.

Just for today.

Rob is away again, off doing only God knows what, only God knows where. He says he'll call, but he always seems to forget, instead offering up the same lame excuses over and over when he finally does find his way home. I find myself feeling resentful and lonely. I've taken immaculate care of myself over the years, holding onto the same slim figure I had when we first married. He, on the other hand, has let himself go, uninspired by my attempts at trimming his diet and sending him to the gym, using his age as an excuse for his indifference and inaction. I know he still cares, and yet he has grown unwilling to put forth the same effort as I have.
Perhaps he is just tired
, I tell myself . . . and then I realize that I'm tired, too.

I hear the familiar
slam
of the work truck, and I peek out once again. My heart flutters.
He's here.

I watch him as he eases a lawnmower down a makeshift ramp, carefully moving it from the back of the truck's bed to the hard driveway. He wears cut-off denim shorts, the fringe hanging in perfect disarray against his dark, muscular thighs. He wears a ratty T-shirt smudged with grass stains and dirt, but still I can see every necessary detail. He has a tight ass and firm arms, not from hours with a personal trainer or a gym membership, but from genuine, hard work. His hair is long and sleek, pulled back into a ponytail that stretches down the length of his back. The sun hits it in just a way so it glistens in the light.

I remind myself to breathe.

He starts the mower and rolls it to the lawn, beginning at one side and walking it in long, flexing strides. My eyes follow him, back and forth, my focus shifting every minute or so up and down his beautiful body. He has no idea he is being watched, and yet he moves with confidence and determination, every step emanating the pride he takes in his work. He spins the mower around as he hits the edge, gracefully bringing it around, moving ever closer to me, one perfect row at a time.

I spread my legs just slightly and slip a hand into my pants, finding my clit, already swollen and ready for my touch. I slowly massage myself, moving in slow, circular strokes, as I watch him continue back and forth across the lawn. I feel myself, hot and wet, the tension inside me growing as I build and work my arousal. I imagine that it is his fingers fondling me, rough and callused, yet tender and gentle, his dark hand a stark contrast against my pale skin.

"I've been fantasizing about you all week," he says, his accent thick and exotic, making each word even more tantalizing than the last. I have never heard his voice – we have never spoken to one another, not once – and yet I am certain that I have matched the pitch an intonation of each word just right.

"I've been fantasizing about to you, too," I reply.

I think about the fact that he has been coming here, contracted out by a larger company, for a few months now, and I have yet to summon up the nerve to introduce myself. I'm not sure what it is that I'm afraid of. Rejection, perhaps? Losing my honor? No, it's more than that, although I am at a loss as to what exactly it might be that continues to hold me back. Perhaps I'm afraid of damaging the fantasy…

I imagine what he looks like beneath those shorts, allowing my imagination to fill in the blanks. He is thick and solid, shamelessly erect as he sizes up my thin, eager frame.

"You are beautiful," he says, moving closer and running his fingers through my hair.

"So are you," I tell him, taking his hot, bulky mass into my hand, and stroking him in my mind's eye.

Our lips move together, and his tongue reaches to caress the inside of my mouth. I meet his tongue with my own, tasting his sweet breath on mine. His lips are full, his shaved face soft as we press our faces tenderly against one another. He pulls away, and then gently takes me into his arms, draping me across the bed. I pull him on top of me, spreading my legs wide and opening myself up to him, ready to take him in.

I move my fingers back, slowly penetrating two of them into me. They slide in easily, wet and firm, and I bear down hard as I search for the sweet, spongy spot hiding deep inside. I find it, waiting for me, and I begin to rub, slowly at first, and then with increasing intensity as my excitement builds. I imagine him thrusting himself into me, his dark eyes staring into mine, rich and expressive. His lips go tight with pleasure as I squeeze myself around him, taking him in completely, feeling and enjoying his subtle contours from within.

He stops mowing for a moment, just long enough to remove his T-shirt and use it to wipe at his sweaty face. My jaw drops, my mouth agape; he has never taken off his shirt before. His chest is every bit as muscular and as I had imagined, his abs flat and fit. He wraps his shirt over the back of his sweaty neck, and then he neatly grasps the handle of the mower and continues his work. His dark body glistens in the sun, long trails of sweat trickling down his sides.

I imagine his smooth, muscular chest brushing against my supple breasts, his washboard stomach going firmly against mine as his body goes tight with pleasure. His sweat mixes with mine as I wrap my arms around him and hold him against me. His heart beats against my own, quick and energized, throbbing against the other with shared excitement. His hands explore the rest of my body, and I let out a light cry as my entire body begins to tingle and shiver. My muscles go tight, and I squeeze harder around my busy fingers as I imagine him coming inside me. He plunges himself into me even harder, and I drive myself against him, meeting his every move with equal intensity. We both cry out, our movements gratifying and fulfilling, the desire swelling between us, and then he stops deep inside me, pulsating and twitching as he finishes with a pleasured moan.

Suddenly he stops the mower, glancing toward my window. I freeze.
Does he see me?
I feel my body go flush, as if hot water was rushing through me, and I go shaky and weak. I pull my hand out of my pants, warm and sticky from my excitement, as he turns away and begins to cart the mower back toward the truck.

I stare out, uncertain and self-conscious, as he trades the lawnmower for a weed whacker. He looks around, seeming to contemplate something, and then wipes away another layer of sweat with the bulk of his shirt. He starts up the smaller, lighter piece of equipment, and begins to sculpt the edges of the lawn with precision and care.

Although he seems preoccupied with his work, I cannot help but obsess over the possibility that somehow he knew I was watching. It is definitely lighter outside than it is in my dim study, but I remind myself that my computer screen is still turned on.

Might it have provided just enough light for him to see, at just the right angle, all that I had been doing in here?

Unable to let it go, I decide I need to find an excuse to go out there. I need to see for myself. I go to the bathroom and wash up, taking a moment to look myself over in the mirror and put on a quick coat of lipstick. Satisfied with my appearance, I go to the kitchen and pour two tall glasses of iced tea.

Taking a deep breath and finding my courage, I make my way to the front door.

He doesn't notice me at first, the noise of his weed whacker muffling the sound of the door opening and shutting behind me, and he looks startled as I yell over the machine to get his attention.

"I thought you might be thirsty."

He kills the motor. "Huh?"

"I thought you might be thirsty," I repeat, lowering my voice, offering him a glass before glancing at my study window.

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
Only a reflection, and nothing more.

He accepts the glass graciously. "Thank you," he says, his accent thicker than I had expected.

We both sip at our drinks.

"I'm Erin," I say.

He nods with a smile.

"I couldn't help but notice you aren't wearing a ring," I say, hoping that I'm not being too forward. I become aware of mine, and quickly tuck my hands behind my back.
What am I doing?

His smile goes sheepish, and suddenly I feel my cheeks blush.

"Are you seeing anyone?" I ask, his silence killing me.

His eyes wander for a moment, and then he looks straight at me as he answers timidly: "No speak English.
Hablas español?
"

I shake my head, disappointed. "No."

Feeling embarrassed and somewhat defeated, I quickly make my retreat back to the house. I hear him start up the motor again, but I do not turn back to look. I close the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment as I contemplate what just transpired.

Despite my best efforts to push him from my thoughts, my mind drifts back to the beautiful man working in my front yard: his muscular arms, his perfect abs, the contour of his strong, dark legs beneath those cut-off shorts. I feel myself going swollen and hot once more.

"I need a cold shower," I mutter, charging for the bathroom, shedding my wet, sweaty clothes as I go.

I turn on the water, and then suddenly I freeze as I hear a knock at the front door. Scrambling for a towel, I rush out, my heart racing.

I open the door, and he stands on the porch, holding an empty glass. He offers me the glass, and his hand suddenly trembles as he eyes me, half-naked, staring back at him.

"Thank you," he says, his voice no more than a whisper. I can tell that I am turning him on.

I accept the glass, and then suddenly, despite myself, I allow the towel to drop to the floor. I consider all of the neighbors possibly glancing over, and yet I do not rush to cover myself back up. I feel beautiful and desirable, feelings that have eluded me for far too long, as he stares at my body, his eyes filling with passion and desire.

"Please come in," I tell him.

Despite our language barrier, he understands my request, and he steps through the threshold, closing the door behind him. Both nervous and excited, I lead him back with me to the shower. The room is hot and steamy. He moves to kiss me, and I allow him to take me into his arms. I tear at his clothes, unable to help myself.

We enter the shower together. The water is hot and relaxing, much like his touch as he washes me and explores me, our bodies going slick with suds. He kisses my neck, my back to him, his long, wet hair brushing over me as he moves in close. He goes erect against me, and I close my eyes as he comes up between my legs. I bend over, offering myself to him, and he eases himself inside, his hands gently taking me by the hips. He moves in long, tender thrusts, and I grip the side of the tub as I grind up against him.

Hot and swollen around him, feel myself build, moving to my clit, craving climax. I let out a light whimper, my legs shaking and threatening to give. I lean up against the side of the tub to keep from going down, reveling in the moment. His excitement builds with mine, and I rub myself heavy and hard, allowing him to take me to delicious bliss as his movements go hard and quick into me. He groans, taking me deep, and I cry out, holding him tight against me. He stays with me as I lower to my knees, the water beating down on us, our heart pounding and our breath heavy.

We rinse one another off, feeling satisfied and serene, silent and content. I turn off the water and offer him a towel, in awe over his body as he finds his clothes. I see him to the door, wishing he could stay.

I watch him once again from my window, contemplating the day. The weed whacker hums in the front yard, and he seems to take even more care in his work as he finished up the edging of the lawn. I return to my computer, an idea suddenly hitting me.

The weed whacker goes silent, and I hurry to complete my task. I search online for a translation site, my fingers shaking as I type.

I hear the truck door slam shut, the engine starting up, and I jump to my feet and dart to the front door. I race out, meeting him at the driveway just as he is pulling out. "Wait!" I yell.

He stops the truck, turning to me, his face confused.

"
Hasta la próximas semana,"
I say, doing my best to mask my American accent.

He smiles, his eyes lighting up. "
Hasta la próximas semana,"
he replies, and then pulls his truck off the driveway and disappears down the long, lonely street.

I take a satisfied breath. "Until next week," I whisper, and I can't help but allow an eager smile to creep across my face, knowing that he be back soon enough.