Meredith wants a baby. But her husband Tom doesn't seem interested in her anymore. When she gets her lawn redone, Merry sets her eye on the landscaper. Aaron is hot, horny, and hung. Will he give her the seed she needs? And what happens when Meredith finds out that her husband...likes to watch?
~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~
“Wait,” Merry muttered. “I think we’ve got a kink in the hose.” She bent down, straightening a section.
And then it happened. Undoing the kink let the water flow, and Aaron still had the nozzle up to his head when a spray of water blasted out, catching him full in the face. With a muffled shout or surprise he flew backwards, landing on his rear in the sodden grass as water dribbled down off his cheeks and chin.
Meredith couldn’t help it. The last week…hell, the last two months came pouring out of her in a shriek of hysterical laughter. She held her stomach, doubled over, as Aaron climbed to his feet, the nozzle held at his side like some sort of deranged gunslinger.
“You think that’s funny, huh?” he growled through her choked giggles. “Take this!” With a twist of the nozzle, he set it to full, a firehose-like jet of water shooting out to soak her shirt.
“Oh, yeah?” Meredith lowered her shoulder and charged, her arms wrapping around the younger man as she tackled him to the ground. Before he could react, she had wrestled the nozzle away, blasting him in the face. Then she changed the setting to “bubbler” and shoved it down his pants. “See how you like that!”
“Oh, I like it,” he breathed up at her. “I like it a lot.”
Their eyes locked. Meredith became aware, with an intensity which was almost painful, of their position. Her t-shirt was plastered to her breasts. Every move she made caused the wet fabric to scrape over the taut buds in the most…distracting way. Underneath her, Aaron smiled up, his face free of hidden agendas or disinterest or strange motives. All she saw there was clean, pure desire.
Or, perhaps, impure desire, she thought to herself as his hands tightened on her hips. She put her hands on his chest, feeling, for the first time, the hard muscle through the damp cloth of his shirt.
“Don’t…” It was a sigh.
“Don’t what?”
