Page 54 of Mismatched

I close my eyes and nod again, standing there astounded with myself as he releases the clasp, letting my breasts spring free in the warm evening air. And then I’m standing, heart pounding, completely nude in our backyard, in the middle of the city. He tosses the bra into the grass with my dress, then steps back, and it’s the strangest sensation. I feel simultaneously exposed and... surprisingly exhilarated. I want to grab my clothes and run inside, but I don’t. Because of the hungry look in Anton’s eyes.

He stalks around me like a fox, gaze dark and heated. “You are so fucking beautiful,” he mutters, circling behind me, setting my skin on fire as one hand cups and caresses my ass. I stand stiff and still, like a hunted animal. And the way my husband looks at me is not unlike a predator. But I swallow hard, because this is exactly what I longed for last week.

He leans in, his lips brushing mine, drifting down my jaw, neck, and collarbone, and over my heated chest. He gets to my left nipple and blows cool air across it, as if to draw more attention to the fact that it’s out here for the world to see. And it responds dutifully, hardening and standing out under his attentions. He moves to the right, and manages to make that one tighten up too.

Anton looks up into my face, pinches one nipple in each hand, and gives them a firm tug. Something between a gasp and a moan escapes my mouth, and I clench my thighs as the sensation travels through me, settling in my core. His eyes light up like Christmas at my reaction.

I sink to the blanket, as primly as I can completely naked, and suddenly I’m reminded of a painting I studied in college depicting two Victorian couples having a picnic. The men were fully clothed, but the women were mostly nude. I knew it was a bold piece of art for its time, but it never really struck me as erotic until now. Because I feel like one of those women.

Like the painting, Anton keeps on his pants and shirt, but guides me to lie back, on full display for owls, and helicopters—but mostly for him. My limbs are stiff as he positions himself between my legs, my skin glowing in the moonlight. It’s still early enough I hear people laughing and talking a few doors down, a neighborhood dog barking, and the sound of someone washing dishes through a nearby window. Close enough I’m afraid to make any sound of my own. But then Anton leans down, tracing his lips and tongue up the insides of my thighs, until the universe seems to shrink to just our yard, this blanket—his tongue and my flesh. My entire body warms before he even reaches my center. And when he does, I gasp.

I’m not sure how every time his lips touch down on my clit can feel like the first time, but this is surely the first time it’s been done under the stars. And despite staying perfectly silent, muscles tight with the threat of being discovered, my hips buck and rock against his face and he moves easily in time. Reaching up with one hand to tweak my nipples until the want builds so much that my body seems to vibrate.

When I am near delirious with arousal, he pulls back, and my entire vulva throbs for his return. But the next thing I know, he’s back between my legs, as nude as I am. All heated skin and muscle illuminated under the moon.

He hoists my legs into his lap, positioning his thick head against my entrance, and just the pressure is so delicious. I push forward, trying to get him to sink into me. But at that moment, a car drives slowly up the alley behind us and I tense. It comes to a stop nearby, and we hear people get out, talking to each other. I recognize our next-door neighbors’ voices and try to scramble up, but Anton holds my legs in place, bringing a finger to his lips. His eyes ask me to trust him.

Doors slam, followed by more voices, and the entire time, Anton stares down at me, rubbing himself silently in my juices, maintaining friction against my clit while I listen, waiting for our neighbors, and apparently another couple, to move into their house.

And just when I hear them laughing and chatting about some restaurant, gathered literally on the other side of a few fence pickets from where I am laid out completely nude, Anton pushes his considerable length inside me and I respond with an audible gasp.

There’s a hush in the night. My husband looks down at me with this expression like, that’s right, you just took me all in one go, just as someone says, “Did you hear something?” And I lie there in torment, both because they might investigate, discover us, and I will never be able to show my face on our street again. But also because I’m full of my husband’s throbbing cock, and so aroused I need him to start moving.

Behind the fence, someone mutters about raccoons, and then the whole group laughs and continues toward the house. Anton takes this as his cue and begins pumping slowly, and I seriously might die if I can’t make a sound.

He smirks down at me and whispers, “Should I ask if they had a nice dinner?”

I lock my legs around his waist and arch my back, squeezing until he clenches his jaw, suppressing a groan, until finally the neighbors’ door slams.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he grunts, picking up his pace immediately. “If I didn’t know better, Lydia... I’d say this turns you on.”

I claw at the blanket beneath my hips, scandalized that he suggested it; mortified he might be right.

But then I stop being able to think at all because his thumb has touched down on my soaking wet clit, and he drives into me until his intensity peaks with a whispered, “Fuck,” followed by several deep, hard thrusts. His thumb remains in place on my clit, and for the first time ever, I’m so tuned in, I actually feel him empty into me. He grinds just the right spot with one hand and clamps my nipple between his fingers with the other, and in a hot rush of oh my God, I lose control. I buck against his fingers, my walls clamping around him still inside me, and it is all I can do not to shriek so it echoes through the entire neighborhood.

Anton waits until the waves of heat subside, then gently pulls out, wrapping me in his arms and nuzzling my hair.

“Not a raccoon,” he says. “Just a couple of fucking bunnies.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Here’s one of your favorites. Ask her,” Henry breathes down my neck.

I shoot him a glare, turning back around to greet one of our regular Pooch Park clients. “Hi, Gail! Tomás will get Freckles for you,” I say, nodding gratefully to my manager.

“Lydia, it feels like ages since I saw you!” Gail greets me with a big hug. “Wow, you look radiant, dear.”

I laugh, shaking my head. Gail and her springer spaniel have been daycare clients since right after I opened five years ago, and she has always been one of my biggest supporters. “Thanks, I think it’s just the heat today,” I say, fanning my face.

“I wish it would do that to me,” she says, cackling.

Tomás returns with Freckles, who wiggles and dances at the sight of his mom, but before I can even give the dog a treat, Henry clears his throat.

I sigh, annoyed by his persistence. “Oh, listen Gail. If you don’t mind, could I ask a question? We’re just doing a little informal market research.”

“Sure, what’s it about?” she asks, looking Henry and his business suit up and down.

“Since you use both our daycare and grooming,” Henry says, jumping in. “We were curious if you would enjoy having the two services combined?”

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