Chapter 1: The Kitchen Heat
Marrie leaned against the kitchen counter, her silk robe slipping just enough to reveal the lace tops of her stockings as she sipped her morning coffee. At forty-five, she carried an air of confidence that could command any room—or any man. The back door creaked open, and in stepped Nick, her twenty-something gardener, his tanned arms glistening with the morning’s sweat from trimming her hedges. His eyes caught the flash of her thigh, and he froze, rake still in hand.
“Morning, Nick,” Marrie purred, her voice a velvet trap. “You look like you’ve been working hard already. Care for a cold drink?” She turned, letting the robe slip a little more, the curve of her hip teasing the light.
Nick swallowed, his grip tightening on the rake. “Uh, sure, Mrs. Daven. Didn’t mean to barge in. Just needed to ask about the rose beds.” His voice wavered, but his gaze didn’t. It lingered on the sheer fabric of her stockings, tracing the line up her leg.
“Call me Marrie, darling. And the roses can wait.” She set down her coffee, stepping closer, her heels clicking on the tile. “You’ve got dirt on your hands, but I bet they’re good for more than just digging.” Her lips curled into a wicked smile as she reached out, brushing a speck of soil from his cheek. “Ever thought about getting a little... dirtier?”
Nick’s breath hitched, his rake clattering to the floor. “Marrie, I—hell, you’re not playing fair. I’m supposed to be working.” But his eyes betrayed him, dark with hunger as they flicked to the swell of her chest beneath the robe.
“Work can be pleasure, Nick,” she countered, her tone sharp and teasing. “I’ve seen how you handle those tools. Bet you’ve got a firm grip on other things too.” She stepped back, hopping onto the kitchen bench with a grace that belied her age, her robe parting to show more of those damn stockings. “Come here. I’ve got something that needs tending.”
He hesitated for half a second before closing the distance, his hands hovering near her thighs. “You’re trouble, Marrie. The kind I shouldn’t want but can’t stop thinking about.” His voice was low, rough, as he leaned in, his breath hot against her skin.
“Good boy,” she smirked, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer. “Now, let’s see if that tongue of yours is as good at pleasing as it is at talking.” She guided his head down, her fingers threading through his hair as she parted her legs, revealing the lace beneath. “Lick, Nick. Make me feel it.”
His hands gripped her thighs, and she felt the first flick of his tongue, hot and eager, sending a jolt through her. Marrie’s head tipped back, a low moan escaping her lips as she tightened her grip on him. “That’s it, darling. Right there. Don’t you dare stop until I’m dripping.”
Nick groaned against her, the vibration making her gasp. She was already wet, her body responding to every stroke, every hungry lap. Her breath came in sharp pants, her nails digging into his scalp as the heat built, coiling tight in her core. She was close—so damn close—and she wasn’t about to let him ease up. Not when she was this horny, this ready to explode.
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