Page 47 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

I actually, literally, flick my hair over my shoulder. What has become of me? “Hi.”

Watching Remy move is a delicacy all in itself. He rolls himself up, betraying the power of his abdominal muscles. Then he’s depositing his tools on a toolbox near the wall and heading to the sink to put gritty orange gloop on his hands. He scrubs and glances at me. “How was your day?”

“Busy,” I tell him. “I got three new clients and had to run around getting the materials for two different jobs. Things are picking up again, which is a relief.”

His eyes crinkle as he smiles. “Good.”

He dries his hands and turns to me. Then his fingers slide over my neck and his lips are covering mine, and I forget to think for a while.

“Want to see your new van?” he asks, a tendril of heat snaking around his words.

An involuntary shiver courses through me. I’ve got it bad for this man, and I’ve only got a few weeks to get him out of my system. “Sure.”

The Organizing Goddess logo stares back at me from a gleaming white van. The front is completely repaired, with no sign of the magnolia tree-induced damage. I nod along while Remy pops the hood and explains what he’s done, but mostly I’m staring at the line of his jaw, the movement of his hands, the way his short-sleeved coveralls highlight the size of his muscular arms.

“Thank you,” I manage to croak while he lowers the hood and pats the car fondly.

His eyes, when they meet mine, spark with a deep, carnal heat. “If you come to the office, I’ll give you the final bill.”

I nod and trail after him like a lovesick loon. His fingers curl into mine as he tugs me across the threshold, and when he closes—and locks—the door behind me, my heart begins to thump.

“What do I owe you?” I ask, meaning to sound coy but instead sounding breathy.

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement on the final price,” he replies, closing in on me.

I have the ridiculous urge to run, but I know I want to get caught. Remy crowds me against the wall, planting his palm above my head. His eyes are dark and full of promises. His free hand sweeps up my side, stroking my breast.

With trembling hands, I reach for the zipper of his coveralls. He helps me push the dirty garment off, and then he’s grabbing at my own clothes.

I wore a skirt that hits me just above the knees and a sheer, loose blouse. I knew what I wanted when I came here. Remy’s hands slide up my thighs and find the bare skin beneath.

“Audrey,” he says, voice harsh. “You’re not wearing underwear.”

I bite my lip. “Oops. I must have forgotten.”

His laugh is harsh and hot and makes sparks light in my core. Then his hands are on me, in me, and all I can do is cling to his broad shoulders until I’m shuddering at his touch. This is insane. I came here knowing we’d have sex given half a shred of privacy. I walked in and saw his legs, and I became aroused.

I’m very quickly losing my mind, and I’m not sure what the consequences will be.

But for once, my thoughts are quiet except for the insistent demand for more—always more.

Sex was a chore for me for so long. In my marriage, it became a task that had to be done for my husband’s pleasure. Sometimes I’d get off; often I wouldn’t. The only certainty was that once he orgasmed, it was over.

Remy seems to have a completely different objective. He focuses on me with single-minded intensity, watching my face as he drowns me in pleasure. Every time he touches me, it’s like he’s taking detailed notes on every reaction. He’s not just taking what he wants with me lying back as a passive participant; he’s creating a space where I can stretch and explore and enjoy.

So, when I get on my knees and unbuckle his belt, I’m not doing it from a place of duty or resignation. I want to return a fraction of what he’s given me this week. I want to give, to know that he’s coming undone from my touch just as I’ve done a dozen times from his.

“Audrey,” he rasps. “I was joking about the final price agreement thing.” His fingers stroke my cheek.

I pull his pants down to mid-thigh and wrap my fingers around his length. He groans, and a victorious thrill shoots through the center of my body.

“Oh?” I say as I bring my lips to his tip.

His hand lands on the wall behind me. “You don’t have to—”

I take him in my mouth and suck. The noises he makes above me are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m doing that to him. I’m causing this big, powerful man to unravel. My mouth—my hands.

I’ve never felt so in control of my own sexuality in my life. I’ve never felt so attractive. Remy gathers my hair in both hands and begins to gently thrust into my mouth, and I know the sore jaw will be worth it. He says my name like a prayer. He groans when I reach down to touch his sack. He swears over and over again.

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