by Lia Lee
So I think of the only other kind of relief available to me, and snake one hand downward to the waistband of my high-cut jean shorts. I’m home alone, and Dad respects my privacy when I’m in my room in any case. I listen to the droning whir of the fan and the random sounds from outside as I pull the zipper and spread the folds of denim away, shoving them down past my bum.
Birds tweet and insects buzz. I bite my lip and pull aside the sodden strip of panty covering my crotch. My pubic curls are wet as my finger weaves past them, finding the smooth, slippery canal of my pussy.
I stroke my finger through my wet channel, inciting my clit to throb and swell. Then I touch it, pressing and tapping my little bud to happiness. The combined wetness of arousal and sweat creates little smacking noises as I pump up and down, and a smile curves the corners of my mouth. My clinical mind knows it’s called an orgasm, but the sensation is so much more than that clumsy-sounding, colorless word.
It’s heaven.
I feel the delicious swell of it stirring deep in my belly, like a wave still far from shore, one that’s certain to crest and sweep me away in ecstasy when it arrives. My hips buck, and my skin tingles down low as I pump faster, working to my release. A moan escapes my lips and crescendos into an echoing screech as I finally come, the sound louder than I ever recall making. Good thing nobody’s home or I’d have some explaining to do.
As I my catch my breath and relax to the satisfying, quaking pulses of my private muscles, I realize it’s not me making all that noise. The squeal of high-performance brakes and the hiss of a diesel engine coming to a stop shatters the still, hot air outside. What kind of vehicle like that would be driving up our quiet residential street?
Spent and hotter than ever, I sigh and replace my panties and shorts. I roll off my rumpled bed and step up to the window, parting the sheer curtains to peer out at the street below. A moving van has pulled up at the curb in front of the vacant house next door; the one that’s been on the market for months. It will be nice to have neighbors again; I miss waving hello over a fence and the security of knowing someone is nearby if you ever need a helping hand. I wonder who the new owners are and if they have kids? I’ve lived here most of my life and have babysat nearly everyone on the block under the age of twelve. I especially liked sitting for the Callahan’s two doors to the south of us, but those girls and boys are old enough now to be on their own, and I don’t see them much nowadays. Maybe this new family will have some little ones.
I watch the driver and another heavy-set man exit the front seat of the cab and move to the back of the truck. From the rear seat crew cab, I see a tall man get out and step onto the sidewalk. He’s wearing jeans and one of those sleeveless undershirts that fit so tight the rippling muscles of his chest and abs are clearly visible beneath the thin material. His bulging biceps are no secret either in that outfit, and his skin is tanned to a beautiful golden brown. When he tips his face upward to the sunlight, I notice the rugged lines of his face. He’s older than his body suggests, but handsome all the same; my stomach gives a tiny flutter at how attractive he is.
He turns and lifts out a little girl wearing a cute polka dot sundress from a safety seat in the crew cab. He hoists her in his arms and gives her a kiss on the cheek before setting her on the ground. She jumps happily up and down and does a little twirl that makes her skirt fan out in a circle. She looks like an adorable spinning top. The man lets out a laugh that’s both sexy and joyful to my ears. They seem like a nice family, and I’m glad there’s a small child just as I’d hoped, but I wonder where the girl’s mother is? I don’t see anyone else get out of the vehicle. Perhaps the missus couldn’t get away from work today or something?
I let the curtains fall shut and return to my computer. My studying won’t do itself, and I feel like a busybody staring out my window at the new folks. They’ll have enough to do with unpacking, and don’t need a peeping Thomasina gaping at them the whole time. Maybe tomorrow I’ll pop over to introduce myself and welcome them to the neighborhood. If it cools down enough this evening, I might chance to light the oven and bake some cookies or muffins to bring to them. It’s the neighborly thing to do, right?
Of course, it is. And at the same time, I’ll get to meet that sweet little girl—and her hot dad. I give myself a shake, the handsome, muscled man making me recall what I’d been doing just as they arrived, and walk to the bathroom to wash up. Maybe Rochelle is right; I really do need to get out more and meet people, er, guys. I don’t want to have to masturbate forever, but I’m still a little nervous about sex. I want my first time to be with somebody special—somebody experienced.
I blush inwardly at my next thought, which is that the hunky neighbor man clearly has experience since he has a daughter. I force it away, scolding myself for even thinking such a thing. He’s probably my father’s age for heaven’s sake and married too. I dry my hands and hang up the towel. I think that when Rochelle calls—and she will bless her heart—I won’t say no this time. Maybe the journey to Mr. Right starts with just a few baby steps.
Chapter Two
Logan
New Digs
“I gotcha!”
Rose squeals with laughter as I reach inside her hiding place behind a big cardboard box to tickle her in the ribs.
“I gotcha,” I repeat, joining in her laughter. I can’t think of a sweeter sound on earth as a little girl’s bright giggle—especially when it’s my own little girl doing the giggling. She jumps up and dashes across the hardwood floor to dive behind another box as if I won’t find her there.
“Uh-oh, where’s Rose? I can’t see her!” I tease, crawling across the floor on my hands and knees toward the new box. “But I can smell her…” I sniff the air exaggeratedly since she’s asked me to pretend to be a dog in our little game of hide and seek.
Muffled laughter echoes from behind the box. She hasn’t quite figured out that the point of hide and seek is NOT to be found, but where’s the fun in that? Sniff, sniff… I crawl closer, slapping my hands loudly on the wooden floor to announce my presence. I poke my nose around the corner of the box.
“There she is!” I yell.
Rose scrambles out the opposite side, but I quickly stand and grab her as she tries to make for the kitchen. I swing her up into my arms as she laughs.
“Doggie got me again!” she squeals. I lick the side of her face and make mock panting noises, which elicits even more screams and giggles from her.
She’s been asking if we can get a puppy, but with the move and the busy summer season, I can’t make her any promises. I have enough to worry about just taking care of her and my growing construction business, never mind dealing with a barking bundle of energy that needs housetraining. Rose is all the energy I can handle right now, so she’ll have to make do with a pretend doggie, aka Daddy.
“I want a puppy,” she says for at least the third time today.
“What? You don’t like this puppy?” I ask, faking a canine-sounding whimper.
“Noooo… a real puppy, Daddy!”
I give up the dog act and offer a smile along with the age-old parent line of “no” veiled in “maybe”.
“We’ll see, Rosebud. We’ll see. Do you think a puppy would like our new house?” I ask, turning a one-eighty with her in my arms before setting her down again.
“Yes!” she yells and starts off at a run, making a circular lap from the living room, through the kitchen, the hallway and back again. “He can run around like this! I like our new house!” Her brunette hair fans out behind her as she races past, and I worry she’ll trip or run into something with all our belongings stacked everywhere. I only had time to set up the beds last night, so today is earmarked for major unpacking.
It’s Monday, but I’ve told my crew not to expect me back for a few days. Although we’ve only moved ten miles across town, it feels like worlds apart from my cramped condo. The construction industry has picked up in the Phoenix area over the last year and the time felt right to buy somethi
ng new and bigger. Rose wouldn’t stay little forever, and this three bedroom split-level with the big backyard is just what we both need. A bit of a fixer-upper, but that’s right up my alley, too. Being closer to my mother Lila’s place in Tempe is an added bonus so that she can see Rose more often; but since she still works full time and she and I are still repairing our rocky relationship, I’ll need to find a day care nearby soon. Right now my world is pretty much defined by these two women and my job, and they’re all I need.
“Whoa there, Rosebud,” I say as she careens toward me on her latest lap. I scoop her up mid-stride. “No running in the house, okay?”
“Okay,” she replies, out of breath. “I’m hungry.”
I have to laugh at how kids can change direction in a split-second.
“Shall we make some lunch?” I ask. Rose nods emphatically, and as I turn toward the kitchen I remember there’s not much in the fridge or the cupboards. A trip to McDonald’s crosses my mind when the front doorbell rings. Rose’s eyes light up. I match her pop-eyed look of surprise. “Who could that be?” I can’t imagine who’d be calling on us when we’ve only been here less than twenty-four hours.
I walk to the door balancing Rose on my hip. With no peephole to peer through, I have to take my chances and swing open the solid, wood paneled door to greet our visitor. On the porch stands a stunning blonde woman, holding a wicker tray filled with muffins. They look fresh from the oven, and I can practically smell the raspberries baked into them, but fresh doesn’t begin to describe the lovely creature brandishing the treats.
Her long hair glows in a gold halo from the sunlight overhead. Her sleeveless top reveals slender shoulders and shapely arms. Her pouty, bow-shaped lips are the shade of raspberries too and look just as sweet. Her blue eyes match the desert sky behind her, and my roving gaze passes over her generous mounds of breast and down to the curvy, smooth expanse of thigh below the hem of her shorts.
“Hi, I’m Quinn VanderKemp, I live next door. I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”
Wow. Some welcome! A pretty girl that looks as good to eat as the baked offering in her hands. I’d shut away my appetite for women for so long I’d forgotten what hunger felt like. This vision in shorts had all my taste buds firing.
“Hi!” Rose says, breaking my stupefied silence.
“Hello, Quinn,” I finally say. “That’s so kind of you, thank you. I’m Logan Brenner, and this is my daughter Rose.”
“Pleased to meet you. I saw you moving in yesterday and figured you probably hadn’t gotten a chance to hit the market yet, so I brought these over,” she says with a smile that lights up my porch as well as my neglected privates.
“What kind?” Rose asks, pointing to the tray.
Quinn turns her attention to my little girl with another sweet smile. “They’re raspberry and white chocolate,” she whispers, as though sharing the secret of hidden treasure. I can already tell she has a way with children. Heck, she isn’t much more than a kid herself; maybe twenty, but who knows these days?
Rose looks at me with eyes big as two moons. “Your favorite,” I say. “How did she know?” I glance sideways at our visitor and give her a wink.
“Well, they happen to be my favorite too,” Quinn says.
“Uh, won’t you come in?” I ask, realizing I’ve left her standing on the stoop for nearly a full minute. I step back and lower Rose to the floor.
“Thank you.” Quinn steps in and kneels down to Rose’s level. “Would you like one?” she asks, holding the tray toward her. Rose nods and plucks out the nearest muffin that’s almost too big for her tiny hand.
“What do you say?” I prompt, trying desperately not to focus on the sweet treat of Quinn’s cleavage that’s open to my line of sight as she bends down. God, her tits looked like two delicious melons being served up in the tight cotton wraps of her shirt.
“Thank you,” Rose says, then skips away to sit on one of the many sealed boxes still littering the room to devour her prize. I sigh at the reminder of how much work we still have to do.
“She’s so sweet,” Quinn says, rising to her feet again. “May I put these in your kitchen?” she asks, lifting her tray.
“Oh, let me,” I say, taking the tray from her hands. I feel like all my manners have flown out the window with just one look at this willowy blonde doe. Bambi seemed like the right name for her rather than Quinn. She follows me into the kitchen where I set the goods down on the counter. “Thank you for these. You’re quite right—I haven’t done any shopping yet.”
“I knew the folks who lived here before,” she says. “I can see they repainted a bit since I saw this house last, but I suppose you’ll probably want to put your own stamp on it. Do you need some help unpacking? Awful lot of boxes you’ve got here.”
Hmm. Inquisitive type. Not shy at all. I’m intrigued. “Thank you, but I’ve got most of today and tomorrow off, so I’m sure we’ll manage.”
“That’s nice. What is it that you do?”
“I own my own business, Brenner Construction. We build houses, small commercial properties, do a bit of landscaping.”
“Oh, how nice… being your own boss. I hope I can do that too after I graduate. I’m still a student.”
“Oh, where at?” I ask, my mental gears doing the math. As a student, she could be anywhere from eighteen to twenty-three years old. Why do you care, you randy old man?
“I’m at ASU. Just one more year to get my Masters.”
“A Masters? Wow, that’s quite an achievement.” That was a lot of years to be in school. “What are you studying?” Before she can answer, my cell phone goes off. “Excuse me,” I say, grabbing it from my pocket. “Brenner Construction, Logan here,” I answer, knowing full well it’s my foreman Dan Reardon calling. It must be important if he’s interrupting my time off.
He tells me the backhoe has struck some kind of mystery object buried beneath our latest job site. The first-call report hadn’t indicated anything inside the right-of-way, so it must be something ancient that escaped the survey information. I have to be there, but I’ve got Rose. “Are you sure? Has it ruptured, or leaked anything?” I notice Quinn has gone over to sit cross-legged on the floor next to Rose. Rose smiles at her with raspberry smears on her face and a mouth full of muffin. I guess I don’t need to worry about lunch, after all.
“Not exactly, but it’s pretty rusty. Afraid to disturb it anymore—it might just crumble to pieces and who the hell knows what’s inside it,” Dan says.
“Okay, just flag it off and leave it. I’ve got Rose with me, so I can’t get there until I find a sitter. Don’t know if Lila’s off today.” Or if she’s sober. Quinn looks up and waves at me, obviously overhearing my conversation. “I’ll have to call you back, Dan.”
“If you need to leave, I can watch Rose for you. I don’t have classes today, and I’m kinda the resident babysitter on the block. I know every kid within a mile radius, ask anyone,” Quinn says with a reassuring smile.
It’s a tempting offer, but I don’t know anyone on the block, and I only met this girl five minutes ago. I’d be an irresponsible parent leaving my precious Rose with a stranger. I might have been a shitty partner and a spiteful son, but I’m sure as hell planning to be a top-notch father. “That’s kind of you, but I can’t impose. Nothing personal, but I really don’t know you well enough to have you watch my daughter.”
Quinn looks a bit disappointed but nods in understanding. “It’s no trouble at all, really. Would you feel better if I showed you some letters of reference? I have several at home, I’ll run and get them if you’d like?” she says as she moves toward the front door.
“No!” Rose cries, dropping muffin crumbs on the floor as she toddles toward us. “Don’t go ‘way…”
Quinn turns to her. “Nice to meet you, Rose. I’ll come see you another day, okay?”
Rose’s crestfallen look stabs at my heart. Both guilt and anger rise in me at the realization that she’s desperate for motherly
attention. God knows her own mother didn’t provide it, abandoning us like she did. Having a grandmother back in the picture is wonderful, but it can’t compare to a real, full-time, loving mom. One who bakes her favorite muffins and has clearly won her affection already.
“Uh, that’s okay. References won’t be necessary,” I interrupt. “Are you sure you want to? I shouldn’t be more than an hour, and I’ll pay you extra for the short notice. Call it rush charges,” I say with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, thank you for putting your trust in me. I’m a great babysitter, honest. I’ll get you those references for next time, just to put your mind at ease.” Quinn reaches for a handshake.
I take her slim, soft hand in my big, callused one. It feels warm and welcoming, and I want to hold it forever, like a rare flower that is blooming just for my daughter and me—even if only for an hour. “You already have. Looks like I picked a great neighborhood.” And neighbors—with benefits.
Chapter Three
Quinn
Too Hot to Handle
“What’s a kingdom?”
Rose’s sleepy voice interrupts my narration of The Frog Prince. So many questions! I know four-year-olds are naturally inquisitive, but Rose seems to take curiosity to a level beyond her years, even when half-asleep. She seemed almost analytic, wanting to know “why” and “what” and not satisfied with trite answers. In a way, she reminds me of me. Perhaps being a doctor’s daughter spurred my thirst for knowledge, and I liked being around others who felt the same. I already knew I liked being around Rose.
“It’s a place where kings and queens rule,” I say, knowing I’m probably just setting myself up for more questions, but curious to know what her next one will be.
“What’s rule?” she asks, her lidded eyes on the verge of closing.
“Mmm, it means to be the boss. Like your daddy is the boss at his work.”
“Where is my daddy?”