Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
On the way to the door, I look out of the front window to see who’s here. It’s the landscapers’ truck.
I’m starting to wonder if I’m a witch who can make these men appear just by thinking about them too much.
What are they doing here?
I smooth my hands over my hair before I open the inner door. It’s just one man outside. Leo. I am absolutely a man-conjuring witch, and my cheeks burn at the thought of what I was just doing while I watched Leo in the video.
“Hi,” I say questioningly as I open the screen door.
“Hi.” He smiles at me before his eyes travel down my body. I was so flustered, in various ways, that I didn’t give a thought to what I’m wearing. The thin tank top does nothing to conceal my braless breasts, and my nipples are halfway hard because, well, I was masturbating.
I wrap an arm around myself, which pushes my breasts up, but at least it covers the pointy bits. “Leo. What’re you doing here?”
“I hope I didn’t interrupt anything.” If he only knew. “I’m pretty sure we forgot some of our equipment here earlier. A couple of rakes.”
“Oh, okay. I thought you were working at the club tonight.” I step aside to invite him in.
“I am. I have another hour until I need to be there.”
“C’mon through.” I’m hyper aware of how short my shorts are as he follows me through the entry and the great room to the patio door.
The sun is starting to go down, and the air is cooler outside, which is not doing my nipples any favors. It feels unfriendly to send him out back by himself, so I follow along as he rounds the corner of the house and finds two rakes propped on the wall that surrounds my property.
“Here they are,” he says brightly.
I don’t know what kind of confusion might’ve been going on as the four men left earlier today, but the rakes are very much in plain sight.
“What are you doing this evening?” Leo asks, keeping his eyes fixed on mine, which is a surprise, considering how much of my body is exposed, and how he’s never been shy about checking it out.
“The usual. Staying in. Catching up on some work.” Watching videos of you and making myself supremely horny.
He hasn’t picked up the tools yet. Instead, he takes a step closer to me, and reflexively, I take a step back, bumping into the side of the house.
“Do you work a lot of hours? What do you do, by the way? I meant to ask you.”
“I’m a financial analyst.”
“That sounds important,” he says, propping a hand on the wall, his impressive arm on display just a few inches from me. I’m torn between wanting to touch it, and telling him he’s coming on too strong.
I shrug in response to his comment.
“You must like numbers,” he says, and how is it that he makes numbers sound like something dirty? I do like numbers, but I never thought of them as sexy until he said the word.
“I like the logic of them,” I say, even as logic seems to be leaving me the closer Leo gets.
“Do you need a break from your work? Are you sure you don’t want to come down to the club tonight?”
Trying to maintain my calm, I take a deep breath, but it’s a mistake, because what I inhale is this man’s scent, and the warm, spicy tang of it does nothing to calm me down. Quite the opposite.
“The club’s really not my thing,” I say. “It’s just fantasy.”
“What’s wrong with fantasy?” His voice has gone low and husky, and he could be saying literally anything right now and I’d still be getting turned on.
“I’m not against fantasy. I guess I just don’t have a place for it in my life right now.”
“Why not?” Now it’s his eyes that are pulling me in. They’re dark, so dark, and they’re focused on me like I’m the only other thing that exists in the world outside of him. I may have the power to conjure a man from thin air, but he’s the one casting a spell on me.
With one of his fingers, he touches my arm so lightly that he barely makes contact, yet my body responds in outsized ways, my nipples tightening further, my belly fluttering with need, my heart increasing its already amped-up pace.
Somehow, I find words to answer him, though my throat’s gone dry. “It’s more frustrating than fun, I guess.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “It should always be fun.” He strokes my arm again, using a little more pressure. “Did you ever act out fantasies when you were married?”
A few minutes ago, I was alone in my house, engaging in a little bit of harmless self-pleasure. Now, I’m outdoors, somehow involved in a conversation about sexual fantasies with an extremely attractive, much younger man. A man who’s gently touching my bare skin and looking at me like he wants to —