Thigh High

by Edwards, Bonnie

  She just had to figure out how to convince her heart to go along for the ride.

  2

  Taye elbowed open his front door and backed in. The package in one hand and his briefcase in the other made maneuvering awkward. Even more awkward was the blood that rushed to his cock when he caught sight of his neighbor, Kat Hardee. She could buckle a man’s knees with a glance.

  As usual she was at the mailbox when he got home from school. Today she’d chatted with Celia for much longer than she normally did. He’d fiddled around outside in the damn flower bed so long he’d started to feel stupid. And now here he was caught halfway in the door doing a juggling act with his cock going up in flames.

  He stalled halfway inside his front hall, shoulder holding open his door as he watched her stroll across his half of the front lawn, mail dangling from one elegant hand. Her breasts were the kind that sloped down to a point, with all the weight on the underside. Natural and heavy, they swayed with each step. She never wore a bra when she was at home, probably thought they were uncomfortable. But the free and easy sway tortured him.

  He froze, hoping she’d stop and talk for a minute or two.

  His imagination could make a lot of use out of a five-minute chat. Embellish it for hours, take it places she never suspected he wanted it to go.

  “Hi,” she said, in the shy, hesitant way she had.

  “Hi,” he responded with a quick juggle of his briefcase to hide his rising hard-on.

  “Tough day?” she asked. Her lips parted in a smile that raised his temperature. The woman had no idea what she did to him.

  “Not bad. Yours?”

  She made a face. “My sociology prof hates me, but other than that, it was okay.” Her smile went tentative as she noticed his juggling act. “A gift?” She nodded in the direction of the package that threatened to topple out of his arms.

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know where it’s from. But I order a lot of books and stuff off the net. Probably something like that.” Oh Christ, he sounded like such a nerd. Wake up, asshole, you are a nerd.

  “Oh.” She hesitated, and the moment stretched as he lost his train of thought. Blood loss from the brain turned him speechless. Puzzling over the fact that she was the first woman to create the effect on sight, he waited and hoped the flow would reverse.

  Nope. No reversal. Not yet.

  If she looked closer she’d see his hard-on, thick as a tree trunk, trying like hell to spear out of his pants. He shifted his briefcase once more. The mystery package wobbled again.

  “Well”—she hesitated and flushed her exclusive shade of pink—“I’ll leave you to find out who sent it to you.” She walked into her own place, leaving him hot, flustered and calling himself an idiot.

  The box teetered out of his hand and bounced against the door frame. Thank God she hadn’t seen that. Not only did he sound stupid when he spoke to her, he was clumsy to boot. He set his briefcase down and slid the box free of the door so it could close. He scrubbed at his scalp, wishing he had the smooth patter other men used.

  He’d never been a hound dog with women, but he’d never been tongue-tied in the presence of one before either. Rock hard and speechless. He shook his head at the effect Kat had on him, but there was nothing he could do about it.

  If he stayed late after school, it was worse. He missed seeing her at the mailbox, but as he unlocked his front door, he would see her through the sheer curtains in her kitchen window. She’d be hunched over her table, surrounded by books, working on a laptop. She’d have the harried, harassed look of a cramming student.

  The hunch in her shoulders made him want to run his thumb down her spine in a straight rush. Loosen her up. The fantasy would move on to where he’d massage her stiff neck muscles until she sagged off the chair onto the floor, where he’d strip off her panties and eat her into a sated marshmallow, relaxed and easy. He salivated at the thought of getting his mouth on her juicy, salty pussy. Get a grip! The woman doesn’t know you’re alive.

  He should have asked her in for coffee the first day he’d moved in, but he’d been distracted and busy. By the time he’d taken a good look at her and noted the beauty she really was, the days had moved into an awkwardly long stretch.

  She had retreated into polite nods and shy hellos, and he kicked himself for not moving faster right at the beginning. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to find a way to break the ice and start over.

  He’d compounded the error by allowing her to enter his dreams and get his libido cranked to the stratosphere. Whenever he saw her, his damn cock took charge, leaving him self-conscious and awkward. But every night, he wanted her more. Every day, he behaved less like himself around her.

  With his juggling act going awry he could have asked her for a hand getting the package into the house. If his brain had operated properly, they could have been sharing coffee right now. He could have shown her the real Taye, not this gawky man he’d become.

  Frustration ate him. Next time he wouldn’t freeze up. He’d be his usual calm, cool, collected self and ask her out.

  The box sat on the floor, mocking him. The label had a smudge that covered the shipper’s name and he didn’t recognize the return address. But like he’d said, the package could be from anywhere. He dug out his pocketknife and sliced the tape that held the box flaps closed.

  Inside he found shipping foam peanuts, but no bill or receipt to give him a clue as to who sent the package. He dug deeper and came up with a…double-headed cock about fourteen inches long.

  “Holy shit!” Erect, full-veined and flesh colored, it could rock a woman’s world.

  He dropped it back into the box to lie on the bed of pink and green foam bits. He picked up the plastic package again and let it dangle at eye height. “Who the hell would send this?”

  Double your pleasure, he read, with this lifelike aid to sexual fulfillment.

  Lifelike. He snorted. If fourteen inches was what it took to get this woman off, whoever she was, a real cock wouldn’t begin to do it.

  He dug deeper, pulled out a tidy package of thigh-high stockings. Stay ups, he read.

  He held the package up to the light from the front door window.

  Black.

  Fishnet.

  Hot.

  He dumped the rest of the peanuts out onto the floor. He had to find out where this stuff came from or at least where it was supposed to go. No matter how tired he was when he ordered off the Internet, he would not make a mistake like this!

  A paper fluttered onto the floor. He’d opened the box wrong side up. The receipt was at the bottom. If he’d opened it right side up, the paper would have been on top and he might never have seen the contents.

  Kat Hardee, the receipt said. Shipped from the Sexy Pants Party Plan. “Oh shit.”

  He leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, surrounded by foam peanuts, three packages of black fishnet stockings and a huge dildo. This was some delivery! Shipped to the hottest woman he’d ever seen.

  This time his cock threatened to burst through his fly, so he eased down the zipper for more room. So much for the sweet girl next door routine.

  If she needed a fourteen-inch cock, she belonged in a circus!

  Man, if he thought he could get fantasy mileage out of a thirty-second conversation, this, this, would give him wet dreams for a month!

  Not only did Kat have a great rack, but her legs went on forever. He imagined those long legs decked out in thigh-high black fishnet stockings. Oh yeah, and four-inch stilettos, the kind they say are killers for a woman’s back. Not that Kat would walk around in them.

  No, he’d have her legs in the air in no time flat. No walking involved.

  He groaned. “Shit!” He looked at the dong again. Was this what she needed? Fourteen inches of artificial cock? And what, three inches around, he estimated. Now he could envision what he’d find at the top of her long sleek legs. A pussy open enough, wet enough to take this dong.

  She’d do a wide squat
over the head and place the bulbous end against her folds. With a tap on her clit her pussy would open, slick and ready. The head would disappear into her and she’d sigh with relief, close her eyes and take it deep. The image flooded his mind in living color.

  He put his head in his hands, scrubbed his face to get some blood back into it because his cock had taken it all. No surprise there; even in his daydreams she made his blood run south.

  After he took a shower, a very cold shower, he’d pack all this stuff up again and take it next door. Maybe he could ring the bell and leave the box for her to find without letting her know he’d left it.

  Bad idea, Connors. If he didn’t hand the package over to her face to face she’d think he was too embarrassed. It was bad enough that he got tongue-tied and clumsy. He refused to come across as sexually inhibited too.

  No, he had to admit he opened it and let her carry the ball from there. If there was an explanation she wanted to share with him, fine. If not, he’d come home and forget the whole thing.

  Yeah, like that would happen. He’d never forget a fourteen-inch dong heading straight for her wet opening.

  Still, this didn’t seem right. Not for Kat. He only saw her around the complex, but up to now she’d seemed like any sweet, shy woman. The Kat he chatted with was kind of quiet, studious, worked evenings so she could go to college. The typical girl next door. The kind of woman he’d like to get to know. He’d never seen a man visit. She never went out on dates.

  Dare he even think that she seemed like the kind of girl he wanted to take home to his mom?

  But she was a different woman than her demeanor had led him to believe. This peek into her sexual needs disturbed and aroused him, made him wonder about her level of sexual experience.

  He wasn’t a monk and he didn’t believe in a double standard. The morals he had worked for both men and women. Neither sex should be indiscriminate in their mating habits. That way lay disaster.

  Since he was a product of that kind of disaster, he was particular about his women. He wasn’t sure how he felt about dating a woman with a long—very long—string of lovers behind her. He admitted it was old fashioned, but there it was.

  He wanted what he wanted. He could no more change that than change his eye color.

  If he wanted an easy lay he’d have responded to his other neighbor’s offers. Celia had made it plain she was available for some easy fun whenever he felt the need. But going where so many men had gone before didn’t interest him.

  He wanted his woman to be his. And his alone.

  He stared at the double-headed dong again. Could a woman really need all this rod? He couldn’t see Kat cuddling up warm and cozy with a dong. But maybe her needs were fulfilled by plastic. No male visitors and no dates did not necessarily mean she was shy and reserved.

  Maybe she got along just fine with her battery-operated boyfriend.

  Or maybe she never brought her dates home with her.

  Who was Kat Hardee? Sexy vixen who wore black fishnet thigh highs or a sweet, shy college student trying to make ends meet?

  Puzzles had always intrigued him, and this puzzle screamed to be figured out. Determined not to sound like a fool when he took her package next door, he headed into the shower to take care of a raging hard-on. No way would he be able to think straight with a woody the size of Texas.

  The icy spray sluicing over him didn’t do much to cool his fire. Instead, it reminded him of the night last week when he’d startled Kat into tossing water on her T-shirt. He hadn’t meant to ogle her, but her breasts had peaked and the wet cotton had clung, and his brain had shut down while his blood rushed south.

  Typically, she’d been adorable, flustered and shy.

  Until she’d caught his look. Something hot and razor sharp had passed between them until he made the mistake of offering to finish watering the rosebush between their front doors.

  His voice had startled her again and she’d handed him the watering can without a word before dashing into the house. Would a woman whose sex play included fourteen inches of plastic cock be embarrassed by hard nipples?

  His cock rose into his hand as he envisioned Kat opening for him, welcoming him into her dark, wet depths. The vision and steady pump of his hand took him over the edge.

  Next time he spoke to Kat Hardee, vixen or sweet girl next door, he’d be able to think.

  3

  Kat’s doorbell rang as she bit into her peanut buttered toast. It wasn’t as burnt as the smell made it seem, so she figured this was supper. She’d wasted too much time talking with Celia and now she was running late.

  She should ignore the chime of the bell and hide in the kitchen until whomever it was gave up, but she peeked around the corner and saw Taye in the front door window.

  With the stupid bet still fresh in her mind, she figured she shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. If Taye was standing at her front door, she wanted to talk with him. Hell, she’d want to talk to him even without the bet.

  She waved away the smell of burnt toast as she headed for the door. Taye saw her and smiled as she approached. The man had a great smile, wide, straight. His eyes crinkled at the corners in that way good-looking people had that said they’d look good at eighty.

  The man was hotter than hot, and her engines revved just looking at him. She tossed the rest of the piece of toast onto the kitchen counter, then swiped her hand across the butt of her shorts. She ignored a flicker of guilt at the way she’d agreed to pursue the man as if he had no free choice.

  Of course he had choice. There was a line of single women right in this complex for him to choose from. Just because Celia had stepped up the game was no reason to scurry and hide.

  The peanut butter and the burnt toast smell refused to go away but she was dead out of time. If she wanted to get to work, she had to see what Taye wanted, deal with it and do her best to flirt all at the same time.

  She kicked away a pair of shoes from in front of the door and opened it.

  “Hi!” she said briskly, and spied the box he’d been juggling earlier. Maybe he wanted to share the cookies his mom sent.

  Or not.

  He looked nervous as he swiped his fingers through his damp hair. Nervous and fabulously clean and tidy, while she stunk up the place.

  Life wasn’t fair sometimes. Here he was, the object of her desire, looking all good and sexy while she had a hard day of school behind her, the dregs of this morning’s makeup on and her hallway stunk. Peanut butter and burnt toast notwithstanding, she pasted a welcoming smile on her face.

  She straightened and patted at her hair. “Sorry I’m such a mess, I was just about to get ready for work.” Something yucky caught at her hair as she pulled at a couple of strands. Peanut butter. She smoothed it, then tucked the hair behind her ear.

  Unless the man had a peanut butter fetish the whole flirting idea was hopeless.

  He blinked and let his gaze travel down her body. His lips lifted into a slow grin that made her wonder if she had the only peanut butter fetishist in the world living next door.

  “You look great,” he said, holding up the package. “Turns out this came to my place by mistake,” he explained. “I, um, opened it before I read the label.”

  He held it out to her as if it scorched his fingers. His eyes held a feverish glint. “Sorry.”

  She accepted the box, brushing her fingers across his in the process. His eyes glowed at her touch while delicious flares of awareness danced through her belly. “It’s for me?” She gave it a shake. Couldn’t weigh more than a pound. “It’s light.”

  She flipped it over to read the delivery label. “Oh! Now I see,” she said, only vaguely aware that he shuffled his feet as she looked at the label. “They’re testing a new courier company for deliveries. This should have been here yesterday.”

  The label was smudged in a couple places, but the guy must’ve been in a hurry. “My usual courier would never make a mistake like this. He’s aware my livelihood depends on regula
r deliveries, so he takes special care of me.”

  She looked up at him again and caught an odd look of surprise in his eyes.

  Taye nodded, then nodded again. His expression hardened and focused in a way that reminded her of the watering can incident from last week. Another shot of awareness zinged around inside.

  Oh my, the man was hot.

  Celia’s challenge to get him naked didn’t seem like a long shot now. It looked more and more like a sure thing. She forgot about the peanut butter in her hair and the wafting scent of burnt toast. “I wish I had time to invite you in and thank you properly. But—” She bit off the words.

  Taye glanced back down at the package again. “You’re running late,” he said, his voice a deep purr of male interest. But he stared at the package as if it contained dynamite.

  She tried to keep her gaze on his face, but it was impossible to miss the way his slacks filled out.

  “The warehouse dispatcher said he’d tracked this down as delivered, but when I swore I didn’t have it, he put a trace on it,” she babbled, realized she babbled and ended with, “Thanks a ton, I really need it.”

  He blanched. Ran a shaky hand through his trying-to-curl hair. “Oh yes, well, I guess you do. I mean, need it, that is. We all do.” His throat worked on the last words, then he swallowed hard and looked as if something was caught by his Adam’s apple.

  The awareness she’d been enjoying dropped like a stone into dark, anxious dread. Oh no. “Wait, you said you opened it?”

  A sick feeling rose from her belly and she suddenly realized why he looked pale. A couple of lesbians had ordered…and he thought…and she said she needed…

  “Oh my God! It isn’t mine, I mean, I ordered it, of course, but it isn’t for me. Honest. Well, the stockings are, but not the um, the um, other thing.” Now it was her turn to run her fingers through her hair. Heat rose from her chest to her ears. The sound of rushing blood filled her head.