I must have washed the same plate at least twenty times. You see, my kitchen window looks out over the expanse of our lush back yard. Normally I would simply smile and enjoy watching the birds and squirrels as they played amongst the flowerbeds and scampered from tree to tree, but today was different. Today, Kevin was mowing the grass.
Okay, so I'm pathetic. So sue me. Kevin is a perfectionist in all things, the landscaping being one of his pet projects. The grass must be just the right height, the stepping-stones cleaned and edged to perfection, the impatiens spaced just the ideal distance apart to promote optimum flowering. Yes, Kevin was in his element.
It was warmer than usual today, summer seeming to have gotten a head start this year. It was humid and oppressive, and 15 minutes and 43 seconds ago Kevin had removed his shirt. I watched as he cut a path through the greenery, back and forth, back and forth. With each swath, his chest and back began to glow with exertion. He glistened with sweat and the sun reflected off his biceps and made my knees weak.
It was a typical Saturday. With both of us working during the week, this was our one free day to clean up and check things off our 'honey-do' lists. We always made the extra effort so that Sundays were left for being lazy, sleeping in, reading the paper in bed, or simply reading each other in bed. No household chores were allowed to interfere with our 'us' time. Which is why I should have been concentrating more on the dishes and less on Kevin's sweaty chest.
Except, there was so much more to look at. I gave up any further pretense of washing the last plate and contented myself to watch him. I had to smile, he was wearing his favorite cutoffs; the ones he would never let me repair. Heaven knows, I'd offered enough times.
"Baby," he said, "these have character. Don't be messin' with my favorite pants."
I'd heard it so many times I could quote it verbatim. Here he comes again, on a path right toward my window, and I catch my breath as I watch his muscles flex with his efforts. He pushes the mower toward me and I can see a rivulet of sweat run down his chest, over his sculpted abs and into the trail of dark hair that thickens just beneath his belly button. It's those pants he's wearing, that's what it is. The button on his fly has been missing for more months than we've been together, I think, and it teases me with what is hidden just beneath. I grin when I think of it, what was it they call it? His 'treasure trail'? Cheesy, yes, but the more I thought about it, the more apropos it was.
I stare at him, at the dark treasure trail that leads below the open fly where the button is missing ... and the fact that he's glistening with sweat. I am snapped out of my reverie as I realize he has shut down the mower and is cleaning it for storage. He bends to clean the blades and I am treated to a spectacular view of his posterior. My eyes travel up his bare back and I am hypnotized by the play of the muscles there.
Satisfied that his work is done, Kevin takes relief from the garden hose. Like a child on a summer day, he bends to take a drink from the cool water that arcs forth, and his eyes close as he takes joy from the simple act. His lips are wet and dripping, and the more I watch, the more my body mirrors his. I watch helplessly as he holds the hose up over his head. The flow of water soaks his hair. The cool water that runs down his bare chest is a stark contrast to his heated skin, and even from a distance I can see his nipples harden.
He is beautiful, and at that moment looks like the quintessential centerfold model. He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing it back off of his face, and the water continues to run over his body. The water has soaked the front of his cutoffs, too, and the damp path over his fly is like a treasure map that points the way to forbidden delights. I smile at my own twist of imagination, but damn it, I can't tear my eyes away.
I stare as he moves back, and it appears that the water has marked what looks to be an 'x' in the fabric. X marks the spot, I sigh. My mind wanders and before I know it, I have the entire fantasy laid out … Kevin, on the deck of a huge sailing vessel, his long hair blowing in the wind as the salt spray dampens his billowing sleeves. He is unshaven and has a rugged, dangerous look about him, and the dark breeches that hug his thighs show every curve and bulge, leaving nothing to the imagination. He is captain of his ship, and a more commanding presence I have never seen. I moan as I picture him grasping my delicate wrist and pulling me below decks to his quarters, intent on having his way with me. In my maiden modesty, I turn away, yet I can feel his hot breath upon my neck, his lips trailing down my throat to my shoulder. I shudder as he speaks-
"Baby? Where were you?"
I start as Kevin's teeth nip at my shoulder and I am suddenly brought back to the present. I try in vain to find my voice, but his hands beneath my top rob me of the power of speech. His long fingers span my ribcage and I feel small and powerless in his grasp.
"You looked like you were a million miles away," he whispers and I can hear the smile in his voice. He knows I am prone to flights of fancy, and he also knows that my imagination will find it's way into our bedroom soon. "Was it good?"
"Yes," I manage in a breathy whisper. "Good, Kev, so good." I sigh as his fingers reach higher to cup my full breasts and tease the hardened peaks with his thumbs. He is damp all over from his chores, and as he presses against my back, I am trapped between his masculinity and the Formica countertop. His hands squeeze my breasts as he presses his erection against the soft swell of my bottom, rubbing himself deliciously against me.
His fingers are now at the snap on my shorts, and he pulls me back away from the counter as he lowers the zipper. He knows what he wants and without hesitating, he has thrust his hand inside and buried his fingers in the hot, wet folds between my thighs. Funny, what he wants is exactly what I need.
I moan as his fingers probe deeper and deeper, and I cannot stop my hips from rocking against his hand. He plays me like the expert he is, and as I spiral out of control his free hand has pushed my shorts off my hips and to the floor, leaving me scandalously naked from the waist down. I'm so close, god, so close, and he presses into me even more deeply, murmuring sweet encouragement in my ear.
I whimper his name, and at his soft command, I let go. The stars burst forth behind my closed eyes and my thighs close around his hand, the stimulation suddenly too much to bear. I feel as if I am floating, and indeed, I am. I am lifted to sit on the edge of the cool countertop as Kevin drops to his knees and parts my thighs with his hands. I shudder in the aftermath of my release and he gently tastes me, his mouth covering my sex, his soft tongue pushing me higher and higher toward even more ecstasy. I tremble at his touch and he holds me firmly, his fingers now pressed deeply into the flesh of my hips as he drives me relentlessly towards my release.
I cry out his name as I cross the threshold yet again, and then his mouth is on mine and I taste my passion, mingled with the taste of him. Sweet. So very sweet. Our hands meet at his waist where the button should be, and I am eternally grateful that it is missing, for I surely would have ripped it away in my haste to free him. The denim is wet and clings to his body, and I look, I can't help but look.
He is fully hard and just as I imagined, the dark trail leads beneath the fabric; it leads to buried treasure. His eyes darken as my fingers trace the line and run just below the cool metal zipper. He takes in a quick breath and pulls my hand away, only to complete my work for me. He quickly strips to nothing and as I watch, I pull my tank top over my head, tossing it away. I need to feel him, all of him. This will be quick, and I can't wait.
No words are spoken, none are necessary. I am pulled roughly to the edge of the counter, and it is so perfect. I reach between us to grasp him, his heated length a harsh contrast to the cold dampness that had been there before. Kevin groans as I stroke him, pulling at his flesh and coaxing the first sweet drops to spill forth. I am as persistent as he was, wanting nothing more than to see him come apart in my hands, but I am stopped. My hand is thrust away, and Kevin looks deep into my eyes. He holds my gaze as he slowly fills me, entering me so perfectly that I sigh at the sweetness. He holds me there, frozen in time, until we must move.
"Yes…." He sighs, his lips touching mine.
"More…" Our tongues mate as I strive to become even closer, my ankles locked behind his waist. He thrusts into me and I know, I know it is almost over and already I mourn the loss of his flesh deep with me. He trembles in my arms and with a shout empties himself into my willing and thirsty body. I hold him close to my breast as he struggles for breath, and I smile at the peace I feel, the completeness. Once again, I am lost in my thoughts as I look up to find dark emerald eyes so close to my own.
"Tell me," he demands quietly.
"About?" I ask demurely, a secretive smile on my lips.
"Your fantasy. Tell me, and we'll live it."
"No need," I whisper, my hands cradling his face, "we already did."