by Robin Stone
I preferred days like today, when Tracy was alone.
The Dawsons lived at the end of a quiet road up on the hill. They had a sweeping view of the mountains. It was a modern home with five bedrooms, five baths, and seven thousand square feet of luxury. It had a home office, a home theater, and a gym. A detached garage held three cars. A second garage held two more.
The backyard had a large pool and a one-bedroom guest house. The Dawsons employed a housekeeper, a cook, a part-time handyman, and my company: Bowden Landscaping.
I employed three guys—friends from college and the neighborhood. We took care of Mrs. Dawson’s yard. And she took care of my fantasies.
Today she was reclining on a lounge chair in a black one-piece bathing suit. The suit was one of her more modest pieces, as long as she didn’t bend at the waist.
Jacob, my best friend and first employee, raised his brows at me. I grinned, but looked down at the mulch I was spreading.
“The yard looks beautiful this year, Jacob.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Dawson,” he said. The tips of his ears turned pink when she spoke to him directly.
“Great job,” I said. “You and the guys can take off.”
Jacob pulled off his work gloves. “You sure? These mulch beds aren’t finished.”
“I’m on the last one. Go ahead. See you Monday.”
“Thanks, Kyle.” He picked up his rake and left. The guys called out their goodbyes, and a few minutes later the truck started up and pulled away from the house.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Five more minutes and I could head home for a cold shower and a beer.
“That was kind of you,” Mrs. Dawson said.
I squatted and pushed the last of the mulch into place. “They work their ass— they work hard. Only twenty minutes ’til quittin’ time.”
Mrs. Dawson adjusted her chair to a sitting position. She pursed her lips and took a long sip of her red, slushy drink.
“You’re a good leader,” she said. “The men look up to you. I like that.”
“Thanks.”
I was single, but usually immune to the charms of my clients. Most of the wives worked or stayed in the house when the landscapers came to mow, hiding from the dirt and noise.
But not Tracy.
Tracy liked to watch.
And she liked to be watched, too.
My skin tingled when she was near. I daydreamed about pounding into her pussy, hiking her long legs around my waist. I’d fuck her while she dug her nails into my back and screamed my name.
I felt her eyes on me as I put my tools into the wheelbarrow. She wore large designer sunglasses, but I’d bet a day’s pay her eyes were glued to my ass.
I looked, too, when her back was turned. I loved when she walked around the pool in bathing suits and high-heeled sandals. The sandals defined her calves and made her ass swing when she walked. Watching her emerge from the pool with her long, dark hair clinging to her skin made my insides clench.
Must be nice to swim and lounge by the pool all day. No room for a pool in my tiny yard. I rented a small apartment above a garage that held my landscaping equipment.
No money to spare for luxuries, either. I needed new tires for my work truck. I’d just ordered expensive parts for my lawnmowers, but I did the repairs myself. The economy hadn’t recovered in this corner of Vermont. Customers called, apologizing, to cancel their service. Some of them started hiring their neighbors’ kids to cut the lawn.
I hoped the Dawsons still had deep pockets. I needed their business.
Mrs. Dawson put down her drink and stood. She walked—no, slinked—around the edge of the pool and descended the steps into the water. She swam a few feet, then flipped over and wet her hair, her breasts bobbing. I tried not to stare.
“How about a dip, Kyle?”
“What?” I dropped my spade, and it narrowly missed my toes. Thank God for steel-toed boots.
“A dip in the pool.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
She chuckled. “Please call me Tracy. How old are you, Kyle?”
“Twenty-five.”
“I’m only thirty-four.” She smirked. “How old did you think I was?”
Oh, no. I wasn’t playing that game. It ranked right up there with does my butt look big in this dress?
“Don’t know. Never thought about it.” I’d thought more about swimming naked in the pool with her. I’d lift her breasts to my mouth and suck her nipples while the water cooled our bodies.
I piled my tools into the wheelbarrow, taking my time.
“Any hot weekend plans?” she asked.
Catching up with laundry. Going over business paperwork. Deciding which bills to pay and which to put off.
“Might go out for a few beers with my crew.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them in my back pocket. I didn’t mind the flirting, but all talk and no action was getting old. She was bored, but I’d grown sick of the teasing.
“Don’t have a girlfriend. Didn’t have one when you asked me last week, either.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She swam to the edge of the pool. Tracy was a natural beauty, with long legs and curves a guy could grab onto. Straight, dark hair that looked silky to the touch. And a full mouth I liked to picture wrapped around my cock.
Besides being a knockout, she was kind to the help, and smart. I liked her.
Mr. Dawson was a lucky bastard.
I pushed the wheelbarrow toward my truck, feeling the heat of her gaze on my ass.
“Don’t leave without your pay,” she called.
As if.
I put the gear in my truck bed and closed the gate. When I walked back to the pool, she was swimming, her legs breaking the surface.
Where was she hiding the money, in her bathing suit?
“The water’s perfect. I hate to get out.”
I focused on the clouds while she swam over to the stairs and climbed out. But I watched as she emerged, water dripping down her body, her dark hair clinging to her skin. My cock stiffened.
I couldn’t believe her husband left her alone so often. A guy’s gotta work, but the housekeeper said Tracy slept alone two or three nights a week when he traveled for work.
If I was with Tracy, I’d strip off that bathing suit and fuck her so hard she’d have trouble walking the next day. I’d take her on dates and shower her with attention.
As much attention as I could on my limited budget.
I pictured Tracy clutching the headboard while I pounded her from behind. I’d grip her long hair in my fist and bend down to kiss her neck.
She picked up a towel and slowly dried her skin as she held my gaze. Was I going to stand here and gawk while she toweled off?
Yes. Yes I was.
I stuffed my hands in my front pockets, trying to camouflage the tent I was pitching.
“The roses are so pretty this year.” She rubbed the towel over her thighs, then bent to dry her calves, giving me a clear view of her tits. “If you need more work, I can recommend you to my neighbors.”
My cock pressed against my zipper. “Sure. Thanks.”
Tracy dropped the towel and pulled on her cover-up. She tied it at the waist and headed for the guest house.
“Come get your pay.”
She opened the glass door and entered. Friday afternoons, I’d usually wait at the back door of the house while Tracy produced an envelope. Most of my clients paid their bill by credit card, but the Dawsons paid cash.
I followed her into the guest house. Air conditioning cooled my skin. Tracy stood in the living room, looking through a pile of papers. The living room was connected to a small but modern kitchen. The walls and furniture were covered in pale fabrics. A short hall led to the bedroom and bathroom.
“Have a seat,” Tracy said.
“Can’t. I’m filthy. Appreciate the offer, though.”
She pulled out an en
velope. “Here it is. Your pay, plus a bonus.”
Hot relief shot through my limbs. A bonus might cover a set of tires.
She stood at the desk, holding the envelope. I waited for her to bring it to me, but she gave me a devilish smile that made my spidey-senses tingle. I stepped closer and reached for the envelope.
Tracy held it just out of my reach, against her chest. Her tongue darted out to coat her bottom lip.
A bead of sweat slid down my temple. “Tracy?”
“My God, you’re a specimen.” Her gaze traveled over my chest, then down to the bulge in my jeans. “Are you in a hurry?”
I wiped my temple with the back of my hand. “No.”
Another moment of hesitation. Was she breathing louder? She handed me the envelope, and I stuffed it into my back pocket.
“Thanks.”
I waited, terrified and excited she was making a move.
“I’d like to get to know you better, Kyle.”
She was standing so close, I felt her breath on my chin.
My pulse jumped.
Was she going to stand there and tease me? Or would she finally do something about the sexual tension that simmered between us all summer?
My questions were answered when she took off her cover-up, and dropped it on the floor.
Continue reading The Landscaper
About Robin
Robin started writing stories when she was five years old. She wrote essays, articles, and over a million words of non-fiction before turning to fiction in 2011. She watched erotic and contemporary romance authors having way too much fun, and after writing her first erotic romance, she was hooked.
Her imagination is filled with painters, landscapers, and carpenters. Robin's sex-positive books (M/F, M/M, and M/M/F) are emotional stories that keep readers coming back for more.
Robin lives near Boston and likes reading, travel, and eating good chocolate. She loves hearing from her readers. Visit www.robin-stone.net to see a list of her books and sign up for her newsletter.
Also by Robin
Also by Robin Stone
Standalones
Delivery Man
Toy With Me
The Painters
The Carpenter
The Mechanic
Collections
The Blue Collar Box Set
(Includes Delivery Man, Toy With Me, The Painters, and The Carpenter)
The Landscaper Series
Book 1: The Landscaper
Book 2: Landscaper in Lust
Book 3: Landscaper in Love
Book 4: Landscaper in Paradise
The Landscaper Series Box Set Books 1-4
Book 5: The Landscaper's Christmas - Coming Nov 2020!
The Bullseye Club
Book 1: Evan’s Wish
Book 2: Liam’s Desire - Coming in 2021
No Limits
Book 1: Sharing Darcy
Book 2: Sharing Courtney
Book 3: Sharing Alex - Coming in 2021
Cocky Hero Club - a book in Vi Keeland and Penelope Ward’s World
Brazen Player - Coming in 2021
K Bromberg’s Everyday Heroes World
Smolder - Coming in 2021
Copyright
Evan’s Wish
by Robin Stone
Copyright © 2020 by Robin Stone
Previously Published as Evan’s Wish in the May 2020 collection Romantically Ever After
Published by Summer Night Publishing. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as reality. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-944514-23-5
Email
[email protected]
Editing: Personal Touch Editing
http://www.aquilaediting.com/
Formatting by Robin Stone using Vellum