The loud chime of the doorbell breaks through the sound of our harsh breathing. Juliet doesn’t stop rocking her pussy into my cock. “Go away, I’m so close,” she groans.
The bell rings again and I snap awake on the couch. “Fuck,” I grit out, pissed that someone woke me from my dream. I roll to my feet and growl, muttering, “This better be fucking important.” Stalking toward the door, I press down on my dick. I don’t even look through the peephole as I turn the knob, ready to bite off whoever’s head is unlucky enough to be standing on the other side.
My expression is murderous, but the moment I see Mrs. Thatcher’s captivating eyes go wide with surprise, my scowl melts away.
“I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sure you must be busy,” she apologizes.
I smile and shake my head. “No, it’s okay. Do you want to come in?” I step back as Mrs. Thatcher moves past the threshold. Shit. Why did I just ask her inside?
“I wanted to thank you again for your help earlier. I made you some cookies.” She smiles and hands me a plastic container.
Opening the cover, I peek inside. “Chocolate chip are my favorite.” I swipe one and take a bite. They’re still warm from the oven, and the chocolate melts on my tongue. “This is delicious.” Snapping the cover back on, I set the container down on the bench near the door. “I can’t believe you made me cookies. No one’s ever done that for me before.”
She arches one eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah. My mom works a lot. She doesn’t have time for much else.”
“I’m happy to make you cookies, or whatever else you’d like, anytime. I find it relaxing, so don’t be afraid to ask.” She places her warm hand on my arm, and blood pulses directly to my cock. Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I can only hope she doesn’t notice the growing bulge in my pants.
“Thank you,” I reply, my voice a ragged husk. Guilt and disgust consume me. She’s merely trying to be nice to her new neighbor, and I’m getting turned on like a prepubescent teenager with no control over his dick. I’m beginning to despise the way my body reacts to Mrs.Thatcher. I’ve never had this happen to me before and I’m hoping it will stop soon.
I flick a glance toward Mrs. Thatcher and find a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, I just wanted to drop the cookies off while they’re fresh. I’m sure you have things to do. Have a good night, and thanks again, Emmett.” She turns toward the door.
Don’t look at her ass. Don’t look at her ass. I chant to myself as I follow behind her, but it’s no use. Of course my gaze locks on her curvaceous rear—I’m eighteen and she’s wearing yoga pants for fuck’s sake.
Who could resist?
“Let me get that.” She pauses when I reach past her for the doorknob, placing the front of my body against the back of hers. The floral scent of her hair wafts up, teasing my nose, and the cushion of her ass bumps into my still semi-hard dick. My teeth dig into my bottom lip, suppressing a groan. It takes all my willpower not to slam her face-first into the door and rub my cock between her ass cheeks.
Tugging the door open, I step back and usher her out with a hand between her shoulder blades, needing some distance between us immediately. Of course, touching her isn’t the best idea, but she needs to leave my house, stat.
The spotlight mounted to the side of the door isn’t on and her face is cast in shadows. Her eyes appear dark and mysterious, instead of their usual calming, green color, but I can see them locked on mine.
“You better hurry home before the mosquitoes get you. Thanks again for the cookies.”
“No need to thank me.” She flutters her fingers in a graceful wave, and I find myself watching until she’s safely home. Stepping back inside, I close the door and breathe a sigh of relief.
Pivoting around, I pick up the cookie container and head to my room. There’s no way I’m sharing these with my parents. Sinking onto my bed, I let my thoughts drift into dangerous territory. Maybe she made the cookies because she’s interested in me.
No way. I can’t even indulge that line of thinking. Why would she be interested in me? Good question.
Flames and sparks shoot up from the fire pit with each pop and crackle of burning wood. Watching the glowing flames is mesmerizing. They pulse and flair with ever-changing energy, and having Liz next to me adds to the rightness of this moment. This is the most relaxed I’ve felt since Mrs. Thatcher moved in last week. The night she dropped off the cookies was the last time I’ve seen her. With each new day, I think I blew the whole situation out of proportion in my mind. She’s a beautiful, older woman. What eighteen-year-old wouldn’t find her attractive? What I felt for her was nothing more than a normal hormonal reaction.
Liz leans into my side, like a kitten who always wants to cuddle. I don’t mind. She’s always there when I need a sounding board. If she needs a pillow, or anything else, I’m her guy.
“How’s work been?” I ask.
Her head remains on my shoulder, but I feel her quick shrug. “It’s okay. I don’t love it, but I also don’t hate it, so I guess it’s not too bad.” I laugh. “What?” she asks.
“Your logic is crazy.”
She snorts. “This from the guy who screwed Mindi Allan.”
“What? She’s hot.”
“Typical guy, thinking with his dick,” she scoffs.
And I’m still doing it two years later.
“Are you going to come visit me at school?” I ask to change the subject.
“I could ask you the same question,” she retorts.
“Yes, of course, I’ll come visit you. What a dumb question.”
“You asked it first,” she points out.
Only to get my mind off Mrs. Thatcher.
“Right. We’ll see each other on holidays and vacations. But I don’t want you to miss me too much,” I tease.
“Please. We both know who’s going to miss whom. I might be able to sneak off to Ohio for a few weekends. My grandmother gave me some money and told me to use it for something fun. I can’t think of anything better to spend it on than visiting you.” She smiles.
“We also know who’s the sappy friend, and it’s not me.” I wink.
“Emmett, how have you been?” Juliet calls out as she closes the door to her car. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she walks from her driveway, across the strip of grass, and over to where I’m standing.
“Hi.” I smile. I don’t mean to encourage her in any way, but I can’t say I’m sorry to see her. I like Juliet. She’s a nice woman. “I’m good, thanks. How about you?”
“I’m well, but it’s tough being here alone. I’m dying for some conversation besides the one-sided ones I have with myself.”
Leaning down, I dunk the large sponge in the bucket of soapy water and resume washing the hood of my SUV. “You should get out more or introduce yourself to more of the neighbors.”
“The other homeowners in the neighborhood haven’t been as welcoming as you.”
“Really? There are a lot of older people in this particular area of town who’ve been here for decades. My parents have been here for twenty years. Maybe they’re feeling territorial because the family who used to live in your house had been here for fifty years.”