Big Man

She’d have done it too, I have no doubt, if the cancer didn’t get her first. Scary how diseases like that creep up on you. One minute she’s hale as an ox, and scary as one to boot. Ready to take on Pops, me, hell, half the town if she had a mind to. Everyone hereabouts loved her—it’s part of the reason people blamed her daughter so much for running off and leaving her alone. But you catch Maryanne letting anyone in this town say one bad word about her baby Sasha in earshot, and you’d have had yourself a real fireworks display. Maryanne didn’t stand for any of that. She was proud of her daughter.

My chest aches watching Sasha now. I shake my head and ignore it.

Sasha isn’t her mama. That much is clear from her attitude, her city-slicker outfits, her fancy car, those ridiculous damn high heels she wore yesterday. At least she abandoned those today, thank Christ.

But Sasha is getting more and more interesting to me nevertheless. Not least because just now, as I’m watching over the kitchen sink, she yanks a whole branch of crawling vine free and bends over to stuff it into the garbage bag she’s working with.

Which provides me with a picture-perfect view of that ass, the bottoms of her cheeks peeking out the bottoms of her short, short little jeans.

Fuck.

I can feel my cock digging into the kitchen cabinets, I’m so hard.

Unable to resist, I slide a hand down to my zipper.

I shouldn’t. Especially not here. But Sasha is busy with her work. She tosses her head, long blonde curls flying, and fuck, what I wouldn’t give to have those curls wrapped around my fist. To pull them tight and watch her neck arch, her perfect cupid’s bow lips parting with a loud cry as I buried my cock inside her tight pussy.

I unzip my fucking jeans.

She keeps working, oblivious to the man in the kitchen.

But it’s only fair, I think. She peeped on me in the shower. She stood there for at least a minute while I rinsed off the soap, keeping my cock in her view all the while because I knew what she came for, and to be honest, it turned me on to see her watching. But she started this.

Besides, she’s not even naked right now.

Fuck, imagine her naked.

My cock is so hard that by the time I pull it out of my boxers, it’s practically jumping in my fist. I wrap my fist around the base and start to pump along my shaft, slowly, imagining taking Sasha by the hips right now. Pushing her down onto her hands and knees in the dirt where she’s working. Bending her over that bag she’s stuffing with leaves and weeds. Yanking those ridiculous excuses for shorts down until they puddled around her knees. Pushing aside whatever skimpy underwear she has on and positioning my big, thick cock right at the entrance to her soaking wet pussy.

I’d make her beg first. Oh, yes. I’d make her scream for me. Tell me how much she wants me. Beg me to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

Only then would I finally push the tip of my thick cock between her lips. Slide inch by inch into her pussy, and enjoy the way she moaned and groaned as her tight walls expanded to take me.

I stroke myself faster, faster. It’s almost embarrassing how fast I near the edge, how I have to back off and move my hand slower for a while, think about running my hands over her ass and digging one hand into that luscious long hair, in order to stave off the peak from hitting too soon.

Finally, though, I can’t hold it off any longer. I grab a wad of paper towels from the sink and come into them with a groan, teeth gritted, eyes still fixed on the window, on Sasha.

She’s working away, completely oblivious. She has no idea the kind of effect she has on men.

On me.

I shake my head and sigh. I’d have thought that would satiate me somewhat. But I only feel more riled up than ever now. I want that girl something fierce. But damned if I’m going to take her. Not with all this mess going on.

Don’t mix business and pleasure, I remind myself as I finish cleaning up and toss away the evidence. I cast one last glance at the window before I go to behave. To finish my chores for the day and head back out to sleep in the bed of my truck for another night.

But that’s when I freeze.

Because this time when I look outside, Sasha isn’t working.

She’s turned sideways. For a moment I think she must have lost something. She’s bent double, hands on her head.

Then she sags forward, onto her knees, and I fling myself at the door. Something’s wrong.