by Brisa Starr
Her independent mind turns me on. It challenges me. I don’t mind one bit when she teases me, or gets downright frustrated that I vote Republican. When she fights me on politics, she doesn’t realize yet that it just makes me hard for her and her smart mouth. Besides, once she falls for me, I’ll get her to change her politics anyway. Or, maybe not, and it’ll just be lively debate for the rest of our lives.
Rest of our lives?
What am I thinking?
Although my body rages to life just being in the same room with her, it’s crazy to already consider the rest of my life with her. I like her though. A lot. It happened for my parents... love at first sight. They were married for 40 years, too. If it can work for them, can it happen for me? Because there’s something strange and exciting about Emma, and I intend to get to the bottom of it.
My stomach growls so I head to the kitchen for lunch. I’ll fix a sandwich before heading out to hit golf balls. That lesson I took yesterday challenged the way I address the ball and hold the club. I want to get out there again and drill that new grip into muscle memory so I perfect it. This past year, my game has suffered, and I found myself hacking slices like a newbie. Now is the time to focus and get my game back.
I eat my sandwich and think about Dad. I miss playing golf with him, and staying here in this house is hard. But it’s not as hard as I thought it would be. Pretty sure Emma is the reason. I don’t know if her presence distracts me from dealing with my feelings or maybe the meditation actually helps, too. Either way, the emptiness in my heart from their passing shrinks a little each day. I miss them both dearly, but I see the light at the end of the dark tunnel I’ve been stuck in for the past year. My parents would have liked her. They would have approved.
I walk over to the sink to wash my dishes, and I look out the window. Well, hello. I’m greeted with the loveliest sight. Emma’s ass up in the air as she does her yoga in the back yard. The bright sun reflects off her tight black leggings. I stare straight at her downward dog ass. My god, she gives me a hard on. She effortlessly shifts over into a backbend, and her hair tumbles to the ground, her taught belly peeking out as her tank top stretches up. My blood rushes and fills my dick. Fuck. I want her.
Her flexible and supple body conjures images in my head. I imagine her lean legs pushed back while she’s on her back under me, naked, writhing and fully exposing her pussy to me. I want to see it, dripping wet, only for me. My blood roars in my veins, and I force myself to look away before I jack off right here into the sink.
I will have her. I just have to figure out how.
I take a few deep breaths, and my blood cools. A little.
I want to talk with her, need to, so I head to the back yard for my fix. As I open the door, she stands up and wipes her sexy perspiration from her brow. She looks at me and just stares. I think I startled her. Or maybe I interrupted her yoga, and she wishes I hadn’t.
I’m staring back, unable to find any words because she takes my breath away.
She shifts nervously and finally breaks the silence. “Hi Landon, how’s it going?” She slips on her flip-flops and sinks into a nearby chair.
“I’m great. You?” I want to sit down next to her, but it’s probably better that I keep some distance. Keep it cool.
“I’m doing well. Just getting in some yoga and stretching. Working at a desk, sitting for so many hours... it’s not healthy. I’m trying to break up my writing sessions with some exercise.”
“How’s the writing going?” I ask as she stretches her toned and sexy arms up and back, giving me an cock-stirring view of her tits.
“Surprisingly well, but I keep getting requests for articles from one of my clients, and it’s taking more time away from the book than I’d like.” Her shoulders slump a little. She continues, “I really want to get at least a first draft done while I’m here.”
“You’ll get it done. You’re working so much it’s like sharing a house with a ghost. Be sure to come up for air and have a little fun,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” she replies. Then she adds, “I’m actually going to work out here today, in the back yard. It’s too beautiful with all of the trees, and I can’t believe I haven’t taken advantage of the gorgeous swimming pool yet.”
“Good to hear. Well, I’m headed out to the driving range to hit some balls before it gets too hot. I’ll be gone for a couple of hours.”
Is it my imagination, or do I detect a change in her expression to one of disappointment that I’m leaving? There she is, just looking at me again. I wish I could read her mind.
“My Granny would’ve loved it here,” she says, catching me off guard by continuing the conversation.
I’m eager to keep talking with her. “What would she have liked about it?”
“Oh, gosh, what’s there not to like? The out-of-control rosemary growing over there,” she points and continues, “all the fruit trees, that huge aloe plant by your massive ocotillo, the non-stop sunshine, the palm trees… it’s just a magical space.” She’s giddy with excitement just talking about plants, and I can’t help but smile.
Yep. My parents would’ve loved her.
She continues, “It’s like a friggin’ resort here. An oasis.” She laughs, and I stare at her mouth, her succulent lips. I want to kiss them. She sees me looking at her and doesn’t look away from my hungry gaze, giving me permission to imagine more. I want to comb my fingers through her hair and pull her head back so I can kiss her slender, delicate neck. I’m just about to move toward her when my phone rings. Shit.
It shakes her from the brief moment we shared, and she regains her senses. “I gotta go. Work, you know. You take your call. Bye.”
And with that, she breezes past me, leaving me inhaling her intoxicating scent, wishing I could’ve reached out and touched her. My phone rings again. I look at the screen and see Sadie is FaceTiming me.
“Hello.” I growl, not happy about being interrupted. I was finally making some progress with Emma.
“Yikes, what got into you?” Sadie asks, scrunching up her nose at me.
“Nothing. Sorry. What’s up?” I force a smile to prevent her questioning me anymore.
“Just checking in. How’s our guest? How’s your stress reduction going? Fill me in.” She grins, and I smile back, genuine this time.
“Emma’s great!” I say, a bit too enthusiastically.
She squints her eyes at me and holds her phone closer to her. “Landon, what’s going on? I know you. Are you behaving? Is there something I should know?”
“No no no,” I laugh. “Emma’s cool.”
I fill Sadie in about the recent days and about Emma’s book, her discipline working on it, her Granny, her yoga. A minute goes by, and I realize I’ve been talking like some schoolboy with a crush.
“She sounds pretty great. Hmmm.” Sadie taps her lips with her index finger as she puts two and two together.
“And she’s smokin’ hot,” I add.
“Landon’s crushin’ on a girl!” She laughs and I can’t help but just shrug at her.
“I have an idea for you,” Sadie pipes up.
“Yeah? What?”
“Easter is around the corner. Why don’t you go up in the attic and dig out Mom’s Easter decorations, and decorate the house for the two of you. Most girls love holiday decorations.”
“Ahh... I don’t know Sadie. Isn’t that a bit dorky?”
“No! It’s sweet. Trust me. I’ll bet she loves it.”
“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t think, Landon, just do it.”
“Maybe. Ok, I have to go. I’m headed out to hit balls.”
“Of course you are. You and golf,” she guffaws. “Hey, how’s the stress reduction going? You didn’t answer me. Are you doing your meditation? Is your new cyborg ring working?”
Landon holds up his hand and looks at the shiny, black ring that tracks every beat of his heart and uploads the data into an app on his phone.
&nbs
p; “I’m working on it. And yeah, I’m actually feeling better than I have all year.”
“That’s great!” Sadie’s face fills with relief.
“Thanks, yeah, OK gotta run, Sadie. Talk to you later.”
Just as I’m about to hang up, she yells, “Don’t forget the decorations!”
“Yeah yeah, bye.” I end the call.
Time to hit some balls. I head out to the garage, and as I’m walking through it, I see the rope dangling from the attic door in the ceiling. What the hell, I might as well. I pull the cord, and the door above me opens. I reach up and unfold the aluminum ladder until it’s planted on the concrete floor of the garage.
I climb the shaky ladder, and I step up into the attic. It’s dark and smelly from the heat. I doubt anyone has been up here in at least a year. I look around and see pink fiberglass insulation and a bunch of large, plastic bins. All my folks’ stuff. I sigh deeply as I think about them, and the heaviness starts to weigh in my chest again. I sit on one of the many bins, and I see one for every major holiday… Mom sure did love to decorate.
I run my hand through my hair. I look up and, out of the corner of my eye — there it is — the bin Sadie mentioned, clearly labeled “Easter.”
I’m suddenly inspired. I’ll do exactly what Sadie suggested. I’ll do it for Emma, my mom, and for me. My mood lifts, and I smile at the thought of sharing these with Emma.
I carry the bin down the wobbly ladder. At the bottom, I grab a rag to dust the top of the bin, and I open it. I find bunnies, wooden eggs, paper mache ducks in pastel colors, and plastic eggs that you can put things in for an Easter egg hunt. This’ll do. My mood lightens even more, I put the lid back on and push the bin aside. I’ll decorate tonight after she goes to bed, and it’ll be a nice surprise for her tomorrow morning.
I finally leave for my golf practice, a goofy grin plastered to my face. What has gotten into me?
Dumb question. I know the answer.
I come back home a couple of hours later and see Emma in the back yard, still working. I open a bottle of wine and pour two glasses. Mesmerized by her beauty and impressed by her focus, I watch her from the kitchen window. She’s concentrating hard, pencil in her mouth, staring intently at her computer. She stirs me deeply, and my groin area tightens as my mind entertains thoughts of what I want to do to her.
I head to the back door and imagine removing that pencil from her mouth and kissing her. I want to part her lips with my tongue, moving down to nip and bite her neck, and then make my way to her perky breasts.
I open the door, and she jumps.
“Sorry,” I blurt in response.
“Oh gosh, what time is it?” She asks and sees I’m carrying two glasses toward her.
I hand her a glass and sit down in a chair nearby. Close enough that the breeze carries her scent to me but far enough that I can take her all in with my eyes. The sun’s position in the sky highlights the cushions on the comfortable outdoor furniture, and the vibrant stripes of red, orange, blue, and yellow create an atmosphere of happiness, like it’s party time. It was deliberate on my parents’ part, an extension of the furnishings inside. They wanted their home filled with happiness in every corner. Wind chimes in the breeze give the garden a peaceful, dreamlike ambiance.
“It’s 5 o’clock. Happy hour,” I wink and sit back, crossing my ankle over my knee.
“It’s been a long day, but I was productive. So thank you, I’ve earned a drink.” She takes a sip of the delicious, chilled wine and looks at me across her glass.
She’s wearing a loose, pink T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, no bra, and I can see the roundness of her soft, lush tits under the fabric. And braless? Dear god. This makes me want to suck her nipples until they’re cherry red and begging me not to stop. Get a grip, Landon.
I attempt to manage a conversation that doesn’t include my thoughts wandering to her naked body. “Did you finish your book? Are we celebrating?”
“Ha! I wish,” she replies. “I did make a lot of progress though. I’ve created the table of contents, written a great outline, and I’ve finished a rough draft of the first four chapters.”
“That definitely deserves a celebration.”
Her eyes sparkle and I can’t help but lean in a little closer to her. “So,” I say, “tell me about Granny Grace. She sounds amazing.”
“Gosh. Where do I begin?” she smiles and settles back like it’s story time. “She was, well, my best friend growing up. I spent all of my spare time with her, and I loved every second of it. She was bubbly, full of surprises, and always in a good mood, but with a solid head on her shoulders, too.”
“Did she live with you?”
“Kind of, but not totally. My dad left when I was three, and he was never in the picture. He cheated on my mom, which was really hard on her.” The sparkle in her eyes dims, and she looks away.
“Oh, man, that sucks. I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, my jaw twitching and feeling protective over Emma.
“Yeah. I don’t remember much of him, but Granny Grace moved in with us and helped my mom out.” She takes a breath and continues, “Granny was super passionate about herbal remedies, as you know. In fact, I hardly ever went to a doctor growing up because she had homemade herbal medicine for everything.”
“Hence, the book,” I gesture toward her laptop.
“Yup,” she replies and sits up straighter. “Her remedies are truly amazing, and I want to honor everything she taught me with this book. It’s not just medicines though. She taught me how to make my own natural skin-care products too.” She looks away, wistfully, and then turns back to me in all seriousness. “When all of my friends were itching and scratching like crazy from chicken pox, my Granny’s special lotion stopped the itching. As a result, no scars.” She smiles proudly.
Enjoying her animated excitement, I ask, “Why the rush to get the book done in a month?”
“To prove that I can do it. I’ve waited too long.” Her head nods once, like she’s made a deal with herself. “She died from a heart attack three years ago, and I keep finding excuses to delay... I think the real reason I put it off for so long though is that I’m afraid I won’t do a good job. But I figure, if I put my head down and focus for a month, I won’t have time to let any excuses distract me.”
“Well, I don’t know you all that well... yet... but I have a feeling you’ll get it done.” I shift in my chair and lean on my elbow toward her, trying to lessen the distance between us.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she smiles and adds, in a more serious tone, “You’re right... and that’s if there are no distractions.”
I ignore her comment, which I’m sure she directed at me. I plan to fully support her endeavors, and there’s no better way for clearing the mind to tackle a task than a good ol’ orgasm. I’d like to help her as often as possible, in fact.
I ask more questions about her work, and we talk for a bit, when I finally admit, “I’m not really into herbal remedies. I was schooled in a very different way in medical school.”
“That’s too bad,” she replies in a privileged tone, as though my medical school training was insufficient, and Granny Grace’s School of Magical Plants would’ve been superior.
“Sarcasm?” I ask.
“Me? Never.” She shakes her head swiftly and challenges me with her glittering eyes.
Time to put her in her place. “I worked my ass off in medical school, and I can’t complain about the life it’s given me. I have an extremely successful practice, and I know all about focus and determination. I could share some tips with you if you want,” I say and wink at her.
“Speaking of... your life... why are you here for two weeks?” she asks. “I mean, why are you here all by yourself.”
“Well, I live a good life. I can’t complain. I work hard, and I play hard,” I pause to take a sip of my wine. “But, to be honest, I’m here to work on my stress.”
“Really?” She asks, and I see softness and comp
assion etch her face.
“Yeah, my doc recommended I take a vacation to play golf and, get this... to meditate.”
“You? Meditating?” she giggles a little, lightening the mood, and I like it. Her eyes light up with brightness.
Even though she’s laughing at my expense, I don’t want it to stop. So I continue, “That’s right. In fact, I have this groovy and weird heart rate variability tracking ring that I’m supposed to use for sleep tracking and meditating, though I’m not sure I believe the hype.” I lean in closer to show her the ring, and her feminine scent hits my nose. Mmmm. Nice.
She holds my hand as she inspects the ring, and her skin is soft, her fingers dainty. I’d like see them wrapped around my cock, but her reply short circuits my thoughts. “Very cool,” she says, inspecting the ring closely. She quickly drops my hand when she realizes she’s been holding it too long. She wrinkles her forehead, “Why are you stressed if your life is so cush?”
Fuck it, I’ll just be honest with her. “I’ve had a rough time since my parents passed away last year. They weren’t that old, and it was completely unexpected. It sent my life into a tailspin.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I can relate, though Granny has been gone three years, and her death wasn’t exactly unexpected. It still hurts though.”
We drift into a comfortable silence. The breeze picks up, and the wind chimes come to life. After a few minutes, I say, “My parents would’ve liked you, Emma. Being a liberal and all. They called themselves moderates, but I think they were really liberals at heart.”
Her relaxed posture stiffens, and I instantly regret the comment. She flashes me a look and huffs, “You know, that sounds like a compliment, but it’s really a put down. And besides, how could anyone vote for Teegan?” She throws her hands up in the air, and her mood is souring fast.