Page 34 of Sexy Bad Neighbor

Us, connected in the most intimate way known to the human race. Right now, I don’t care that I insisted we keep our lives separate except for these stolen moments. Right now, all I can imagine is that Paynter is mine, forever and ever, that he will never share this sort of intimacy with another woman ever again. Only me. If he had any inkling of my feelings, he’d be able to negotiate any sort of deal he wanted, even an exclusive and real relationship.

Thank God he doesn’t realize how I feel.

The condom in place, while I’m still straddling him, I press my heels to the floor to leverage myself so I can sink onto his shaft. With a satisfied groan, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, relishing the pleasure shooting through every nerve ending in my body.

He’s not giving me time to revel, though. He’s kissing me, every part of my face, until he finds my lips, and then he’s thrusting his tongue into my mouth, keeping rhythm with our bodies, which have begun to move of their own accord. It’s not slow, not even at first, but that’s not what we want anyway. At least, it’s not what I want, and judging by his actions, I don’t think Paynter does, either. With one hand on his shoulder and the other grasping the back of the chair, I bounce in his lap, my thighs slapping against his, and he holds my hips, letting me lift up before slamming me back against him again, over and over, until we’re both slick with sweat and another orgasm is welling.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Come. Hard. All over me.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” I grind against him, shifting my hips to pull him deeper, again and again, and then time stands still, the whole world freezes, while my body turns into a rocket and shoots into the sky, exploding into a million sparkling lights before gently drifting back to earth.

“Was it good for you?” he says with a chuckle some time later, probably because I’m draped over his body like one of those ragdoll cats, the ones that, when you pick them up, their bodies go limp like, well, ragdolls. My head is on his shoulder, my eyes closed, my entire body more relaxed than it’s been in ... well, since the last time we did this.

I should make a habit of hooking up with this man.

“Mmm hmm.” I shift my hips because the poor guy needs to enjoy a climax too, but he grabs my waist and stills me.

“I’m gonna fall out at this point. I think I’m dehydrated from how hard I just came.”

“Oh.” I was so lost in my own pleasure, I hadn’t even realized he’d found his too.

He holds the condom in place while I slide off his lap and stagger around the kitchen, retrieving my clothing. As I pull my camisole over my head and tuck it into my skirt, I notice he’s snapping his jeans and staring out the window at the backyard.

“Spot,” he says, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about the goat. “She’s gone.”

“What?” I hurry to his side to look out the window, too. The rope is still tied to the post, but there’s no goat. “Where is it?”

“Her. Spot’s a girl. And I don’t know.” Paynter is pulling his flannel shirt over his shoulders as he heads toward the door leading to the deck. I follow, grabbing my suit coat as I go. My heels sink into the earth as I hurry across his backyard, but they’re already ruined at this point anyway.

When he reaches the beam where he’d secured Spot, Paynt bends over and picks up the frayed end of the rope. “She chewed through it.”

Twisting my head back and forth, I automatically search for the goat, hoping she only meant to graze outside the reaches of her tie-down, and she isn’t, as I fear, wandering about our uppity, too-many-rules neighborhood.

Paynt points at a cluster of razed hydrangeas lining the north side of his house. “I think she went that way.”

“Not to downgrade what we just did—at all—but we weren’t in there for very long. She can’t have gone far.”

“You’d be surprised. Goats like to eat. A lot. And they’re inquisitive, too.”

Paynt jogs around to the front yard, and I chase after him, wishing I could change my footwear, but my house is in the opposite direction.

“How do you know so much about goats?” I ask when I catch up to him.

“We used to go to the 4H fair every year when I was a kid. The goats were my favorite exhibit.” He shrugs. “When I’m fascinated by things, they stick with me.”

Is he fascinated by me? Because I sure seem to be sticking with him, even against my better judgment.

“Over there.” He points at a dishevelled group of leaf bags that look as though a tornado has torn through.

As we hurry through the quiet, tree-lined streets, my sense of unease grows with each house, each mess, we pass. I can feel our neighbors watching us, using their fingers to provide just enough space between the blinds to see without being seen. We are certainly a sight, him in his jeans and rumpled shirt—I swear, I’m going to buy the man a damn iron—and me in my suit—which is also dishevelled, so I suppose I shouldn’t judge—and my four-inch heels and sex-sloppy hair. The wind that has kicked up isn’t helping my attempts at smoothing my locks into something resembling style, or at least presentable.

A child giggles somewhere nearby, and I turn toward the sound—and spy our mischievous goat, enjoying a scratch behind the ears from a delighted little girl who can’t be more than three or four years old.

“There she is,” I say, pointing. “Spot,” I call, as if the goat is a dog—one that’s already been trained, at that.

While Paynter jogs ahead of me toward the duo, the goat looks up and gives a bleat before lowering its head to nibble at the hair of the doll the little girl has dropped on the sidewalk.

“Doggy,” she says to Paynter when he snags the small bit of rope still wrapped around Spot’s neck.

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