Page 8 of Learning at 40

That’s it, honey. Let me have a lick.

My mouth salivates. My hand hastily slips under the elastic of my loose shorts. Within seconds, my palm wraps around my rock-hard shaft while I fist my other hand on the window casing. I should stop looking at her, but I can’t. I continue to imagine it’s me between those bent knees and spread thighs. It’s me sipping and nipping at her, and she’s losing her mind. She’s soaked and dripping, leaking down her inner thighs as she clenches against my tongue. Her legs quiver, and her breath catches. She’s on the edge, and I work myself—squeezing, tugging, jerking my dick harder than I’ve done before. She’s effervescent, and I want that glow to spill over me. I want her otherworldly essence to coat my tongue.

Then she opens her eyes, sits upright, and looks directly at my window.

Shit.

Did she hear me? Did I say something out loud? Did my ragged breathing travel down to the yard?

Good God, I can’t seem to quit working my dick with my fist. I can’t see her eyes, but I’m certain they are looking up at me, knowing I’m here at the window, watching her get off. The thought tips the cup, and I spill over, pouring into my fist and covering my fingers in a liquid mess. My chest heaves and swells. I can hardly breathe. Though I work out religiously, I feel like I’ve never spent a day in the gym. My knees shake. My heart races, and I close my eyes for only a second.

When I open them, she’s gone. Her yard is dark, and my breath hitches.

Did I imagine it? Was she not out there? Had I seen a ghost in my head?

What have I done?

Quickly, I turn away from the window and press my back against the wall just to the side of the casing. Tipping my head back, I bang it ever so slightly against the plaster. My hand is a sticky mess, and I’m breathing so loud, it’s like I’m announcing I’ve run a 5K in under ten minutes.

Rolling my shoulder against the wall, I tilt my head only enough to peer back into the yard once again.

Did that really happen?

Unfortunately, there’s no mistaking what I hold in my hand and what covers my fingers. I’m guilty regardless, and then I see a form just outside the sliding glass doors next door. The whiteness of the dress gives her away despite the dark night, and for the briefest second, I wonder if Ben sent her to me again on the night his cryptic message was given to me.

Just as quickly, I dismiss the thought, not believing in such voodoo or diddle-le-do or love—flying, falling, or otherwise.

3

[Zack]

The following day, I’m in a mood and determined not to think about my mysterious, sexy neighbor or Ben’s message as I stare out the window of my bedroom in the early morning hours. Was he kidding me? Ben knew Jeanine and I were never lovers but a moment of insta-lust. A one-night stand led to two babies nine months later. We hardly even liked one another after we were married, and sex was a rarity of treating one another as an available vessel more than a passionate partner. I’m too busy to fall in love—or fly in it—and now I’m even busier with two rambunctious boys.

Today, the guys—three of the four points in our compass—have plans to go golfing. We invited Calvin and Bryce to join us even though it won’t be the same with the younger set instead of their father. Mason will need to be on his best behavior, but he’s been living here for a year, so I’m hoping that means either he’s tampered his inappropriate comments around the teens, or they’ve come to accept his reckless behavior.

Either way, I’m looking into the yard next door once more. I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from the house at this angle where I can see the old tree fort and recall all the games played back there. Images fill my head of being chased by my brother, hitting golf balls off the cliff with my father, and helping my mother in her garden.

Movement in the yard catches my eye.

It’s her. River. Or at least the woman who has haunted my thoughts since the night of Ben’s funeral. Is she an angel or a demon sent to torture me like she did last night? Then again, who can I blame but myself? I didn’t look away. I didn’t stop myself, and I’m actually angry when it isn’t exactly her fault.

With bright golden hair that glistens in the sunlight, whoever she is, she’s the woman I feel a strange magnetism toward. Once again, she’s covered from her neck to her feet in a long, flowing dress. Then she does the damnedest thing. She removes the dress and lays on the chaise lounge in nothing but her skimpy panties. She might as well be naked. With her hair spread out around her head, her toned body and ample breasts are on display, and I’m instantly hard as a fucking rock.

My hand grips the window casing like I did last night. My fingers dig into the wood as I take a shaky breath. I’m paralyzed by the sight of her, or maybe I’m just desperately horny.

“What are we looking at?” Logan’s voice at my ear should startle me, and it does, but I still can’t pull my eyes from the glorious sight.

“Her,” I croak like a pre-pubescent teen.

“Dude,” Logan mutters beside me. Reaching into his shorts, he pulls out his phone.

“Don’t take a picture,” I snap, turning my head to him.

“I’m not taking a picture. I’m not even looking, but Mason has to see this. He’s missing out.” Logan’s fingers move fast over the screen, and I can almost here him telling Mason to haul ass up here.

“Don’t call Mason,” I snap, reaching for Logan’s phone. Swiping it quickly out of his hand, I glare down at the device, but the message has already been sent. Within seconds, we hear Mason thundering up the staircase.

“Fuck,” I hiss, not wanting Mason to see the naked beauty in the neighbor’s yard. Angel or demon, she’s my angel or demon, and I don’t want to share her with them. For the briefest second, I have that strange thought again that Ben sent her to me. Quickly, I shake the notion and turn toward the door, prepared to intervene when Mason enters the room.