8. Mighty Wang
EIGHT
MIGHTY WANG
Ian
She’s been bent over her notebook for the past hour.
I know because every time I turned the mower, making a precise linear pattern in the grass, I glanced up, thinking that after her obvious jealousy I’d catch her looking. Checking me out. Wondering what I was thinking.
Wrong.
Trish hasn’t once met my eyes. She didn’t even look up when I stopped the mower ten feet away and ambled over to the pool.
Toeing off my sneakers and pulling off my socks, I walk up until my toes just hang off the edge of the coping. With one more glance at Trish’s bent head, I jump. “Cannonball!”
My lungs expand with a last gulp of air right before I break the surface. Water arcs out around me. Once submerged, I hear Trish’s warbled scream. Laughter bubbles out of my mouth.
Planting my feet on the bottom and bending my knees into a lunge position, I surge up to a gasp of air and the sounds of a sweet southern belle cursing.
“Son of a biscuit! Just what in tarnation are you trying to do?” She’s hunched over her notebook like a mother hen protecting her chick.
One stroke brings me to the side of the pool closest to her. Resting my arms on the edge, I grin. “Has anyone ever told you you sound like Yosemite Sam when you’re angry?”
Her wet ponytail falls off her shoulder as she uncurls from her protective hunch. “Not if they wanted to live.” Carefully she pulls the notepad away from her chest, inspecting it for damage.
“What are you writing, anyway?” I glance up at the sun, slightly lower since I started mowing the yard.
“You’re probably gonna have a sunburned neck with how long you’ve been bent over that thing.
” I can’t be certain due to the large visor she’s wearing, but I’m pretty sure Trish just rolled her eyes at me.
“I put on SPF 50.” She brushes her hand across the page like she’s cleaning it. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”
Damn, she’s cute.
“So what are you writing?”
Finishing the inspection of her notepad, she places it on the table next to her. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I was writing a scene for my new book.” Closing her eyes, she settles back on the lounge. “Inspiration finally struck,” she mutters under her breath, but I still hear her.
“Oh yeah?” My eyes track the path of water droplets sliding down her bare skin. I lick my lips. “What, uh, inspired you?”
One hand reaches up to tilt her visor down lower over her eyes. “Never you mind.”
Interesting.
Pushing up on the cement, I lift myself out of the pool, shaking my head.
“Ah! Stop!” Trish raises her hands as if to ward off the devil. “You’re getting me all wet again. What are you, a dog?” But she’s laughing now, her mouth wide, her exposed stomach contracted.
“Yeah,” I say, enjoying the moment and shaking my head again. “Call me Fido. Woof.”
My laughter dies when I see her smile melt away, replaced with a swipe of her tongue and bite of her lower lip.
“Trish?” I take a step forward, but she stops me with an outstretched hand.
“Wait.” She grabs her notebook, jerking it open. “Wait right there.” She knocks her visor off. “Please.”
Her eyes are almost wild, so I simply nod, wondering what’s happening right now.
She looks me over slowly, top to bottom, then back up again.
Goosebumps break out across my skin.
In a flash, she bends over the notebook, her pen flying across the page. Her mouth moves as she writes, but I can’t pick up on what she’s saying.
It’s like this for a few minutes.
Every once in a while she looks up, checks me out, then continues writing.
Unable to take any more, I sneak up, arching my head to the side, trying to make out the words.
…a swimmer’s body, lithe and lean and so very strong … large hands cup my breasts, their weight somehow heavier than before his touch … aching … his lips follow a trail of sweat down my neck, and though the Texas sun heats my skin, I shiver…
“Holy shit.”
Startled, Trish’s pen scratches across the lined paper. “Hey!” She clutches the notepad to her chest again. “Don’t look.”
My eyes aren’t on the paper now. They’re on her. On her breasts, her neck, the goosebumps scattered across her that mirror my own.
I’m Trish’s inspiration. I’m turning her on.
With little effort, as she’s so petite, I pick her up under her arms like a child. Turning, I sit, her knees resting on either side of me so she’s straddling me, the notebook between us.
“I…” But she doesn’t finish, can’t, when she’s nestled against the evidence of just how turned on I am by her being turned on by me.
Plucking the notebook out of her grasp, I lay it next to us, never losing eye contact. “What happens next?”
“Ian …” Her shoulders creep up, and though it’s obvious she’s embarrassed, she doesn’t look away. Her brown eyes are shy, yet excited.
“We were here, weren’t we?” I cup her breasts over her bathing suit and bring my lips to her neck. “What happens now?” I trail soft kisses across her skin, the salty taste of her sweat making me harder.
“Th-then… I…” Her body moves in a passionate rhythm. She stutters in time with her breathless panting, her hips undulating to the beat of the pulse pounding at her neck.
I squeeze her tits, my thumb pushing the fabric aside to rub her nipples. Her hips flex harder over my lap, making my eyes cross. This has gone from zero to one hundred in an instant. I love it. “Then you what, sweetheart?”
She places her hands on my shoulders, dragging them down my arms and back up, the slight bite of her nails driving me crazy. “Then I touch you.” Her thumb sweeps over my nipple.
“Fuck yes.” Pushing the fabric completely aside, I kiss hers.
First one tight bud, then the other as her hands travel around to my back.
When I suck gently, one of her hands palms the back of my head.
Her fingers tunnel through my hair, holding me there.
I pull back with a final flick of my tongue over her hard nub. “Then what?”
“Y-you…” She moans when I continue to nibble. “Your hand, you use your hand.”
I set her back on my thighs so I can untie her bikini bottom at the sides. When the fabric drops, I have an unobstructed view of just how turned on she is, her wetness glistening in the sun.
Meeting her eyes, I raise my hand. “You want this there?” I dip my chin toward her exposed flesh.
Biting her lip, she nods. “Please.”
Her “please” sounds so sweet. Keeping eye contact, I lower my hand, time stretching out between us. It isn’t until the tips of my fingers graze her clit that she breaks eye contact, her head dropping back, whimpering, hips flexing in search of more friction. “Yes. Please. More.”
“More?” I don’t wait for an answer but delve deep, hooking my finger, rubbing until her hips begin to ride my hand, desperate for release, my other hand gripping her ass.
“Is this what you wrote? Is this what you imagined?”
Her answer is inarticulate, but I know I’m right by the way her breath catches, the way her hands move from the back of my head to her breasts, squeezing, pinching as she rides my hand.
When her brows pinch together as if panicked that she might not find release, I add another finger inside before circling her clit with the thumb of my other hand.
Crying out, her hands slap down on my shoulders, nails biting into skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Her sweet southern accent makes the curse that much hotter.
Flushed, milky white skin. Eyes wide open but not seeing, sparkling in broad daylight. Swimsuit pushed off her tits, her petite body frozen in the agony of climax. The scent of her arousal nearly making me rabid with want.
How long have I wanted her? How long have I dreamed of this?
On a whimper, her body relaxes, curling around me, every few seconds shivering in the aftermath. “Hmmm… Ian…”
“I got you,” I murmur, my hands slowing to a stop, letting her down easy. “I got you.”
And when her head drops to my chest, one of her hands over my heart, I wish it was true.
Trish
The next time I open my eyes, I’m sprawled out on top of Ian, my towel wrapped over my bare rear end.
For all and sundry to see.
Well, maybe not for all to see, as Ian’s large, landscaped yard backs up to a preserve with trees so it’s nice and secluded. But I wouldn’t put it past Veronica to not let things like trees and fences stop her from trespassing.
And yet I can’t bring myself to care. I turn my head, my chin resting on his chest, blinking up into eyes that rival the blue sky above us. He really is pretty. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
Ian’s chest rumbles with laughter, shaking me.
“I feel like I should be embarrassed,” I admit, though the feeling doesn’t resonate.
“Don’t.” He taps my nose with his finger. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard you and the girls argue on the feminist qualities of romance novels. How they are all about the woman having the choice, having the say, right?”
Not sure where he is going with this, I frown. “Uh, yes?”
“Well then, nothing to be embarrassed about. We were just the living embodiment of your newest book.”
That has my face heating, knowing that he caught me using him as inspiration. But I’m thinking the heat has more to do with arousal than embarrassment.
“Come on.” Ian curls up, his abdominal muscles apparently unconcerned with my weight holding him down. “Let’s get cleaned up and make dinner.”
At his suggestion, my stomach growls. “You can cook?”
He winks, helping me stand, tying the towel around my waist to cover me like a gentleman. “I can order.” His boyish grin dimples his cheeks.
I smile back, the heat spreading to the left side of my chest. “That works.”
Freshly bathed, sitting cross-legged in front of the TV with a carton of chicken lo mein in my lap, I’m oddly relaxed.
“This really what you want to watch?” Ian points the remote at the TV, clicking through Netflix until he finds the show I asked to binge.
I pluck a crab wonton from the container on the floor, dipping it in the sweet and sour sauce. “You said I could pick.”