Reckless in Moonlight
RECKLESS IN MOONLIGHT
Cara Bristol
www.loose-id.com
Reckless in Moonlight
Copyright © January 2012 by Cara Bristol
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eISBN 978-1-61118-731-1
Editor: Ann M. Curtis
Cover Artist: April Martinez
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Chapter One
Back and forth, back and forth, Lon Corbin ran the sea sponge over the hood of his car. If it seemed odd that someone would wash his vehicle at night, well, the moon was full, and no one knew better than Dana Markus that moonlight compelled people to do strange things. Why else was she ogling the neighbors’ twenty-something son like he was a strawberry dipped in Godiva chocolate?
And Lon offered so much to enjoy. A tiny moan of appreciation escaped her lips. From the top of his head, covered by thick amber hair, to his bare tippy toes, his majestic, youthful body inspired her to stand and salute. Strong, broad shoulders and a smooth chest decorated by lickable flat nipples tapered to slim hips and powerful thighs that were hugged by faded blue jeans. His legs weren’t the only impressive body parts the fabric molded; the heavy denim cupped a massive bulge further showcased by the wetness of the fabric.
He’d soaked himself clean through with the hose. Water droplets sluiced down his arms, his chest, his flat abdomen…and led the way to his thick sex.
Lon dipped the sponge into the bucket again, then swirled it over the hood, round and round, making circles to ensure he got every spot. Every one. Dana admired a conscientious man who paid attention to detail, who took pride in a job well done.
He dipped again. Oops. He splashed himself with the soapy water. Dana licked her lips as her gaze followed the bubbles’ journey over his chest and down his ripped abdomen, where they soaked into the waistband of his low-slung jeans.
Oh, to be those bubbles!
Another moan, louder this time, erupted from her throat and drew Lon’s attention. Their eyes met across their adjacent driveways, and he flashed an all-American, 100 percent sexy grin.
“Hot, isn’t it?” His low voice vibrated like distant thunder, and Dana knew he wasn’t talking about the air temperature but rather the sexual tension that snapped and sizzled like a lightning strike between them. She almost could smell the ozone.
“Scorching,” she agreed. “Can I give you a hand with that?” She eyed the dripping sponge he held in his large hands.
“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said, with a grin. His ready acceptance of assistance lit a fire in her stomach. For months she’d watched Lon from afar, never exchanging more than a polite hello, never imagining she’d have a chance at anything more than a greeting. Dana glided across the driveway, tugged by the seductive promise of Lon’s gaze as if she were tethered to him, and he was reeling her in. Every step heightened her arousal. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tightened, and between her cream-slickened thighs, her swollen cunt pulsed hungrily.
Standing next to him, she could smell the detergent in the bucket and a manly, soapy scent that emanated from him, along with the even sexier aroma of clean sweat.
“Do you have another sponge?” she asked as she scanned the dark street for activity. No traffic. No late-night dog walkers. Perfect.
“You don’t need one.” Lon tossed his into the pail and propped his sexy ass against the car’s fender.
“No?” She ran a finger over his chest and circled the nipple. It perked under her touch. A sharp current of desire zinged through her clit. “What do I need?”
“You need cock,” Lon said and unzipped his pants. He’d gone commando, and his thick, long erection sprang free. A ray of moonlight beaming from above showcased his rod, its satin head oozing with fluid, its iron shaft arrow straight. The only thing she wanted more than to blow him was for him to do her—to throw her over the hood of his car and fuck her until she screamed.
Lon gripped her neck under her hair and shoved her face downward. Dana opened her mouth wide, shielded her teeth with her lips, and engulfed his cock. She inhaled to absorb Lon’s pungent masculine musk. “Mmmm,” she moaned at his taste—salty, sweaty, and oh, so delicious as he plunged deep, hitting the back of her throat. She swallowed and took him deeper still, amazed that she wasn’t choking on a cock so large.
“That’s it, baby. You’re so good.” His ragged exhortation cheered her on. “You know what I like.”
She did. He liked it the way she did. A little rough. Somewhat dirty. As if to prove it, he twisted her hair around his hand until prickles of pain needled her scalp. Dana whimpered with pleasure at being trapped by his strength. She sucked him, her head bobbing, working his erection with fierce abandon. Suddenly, the street was too deserted; she wanted to be seen, wanted people to know that a forty-five-year-old divorcée who’d been dumped by her husband for a barely legal bimbo could attract a stud like her neighbors’ oldest son.
Lon latched on to her nipples and pinched them the way she liked, driving spikes of pleasure into her clit, into her womb. Her pussy juices trickled down her thighs. By magic, her clothing had vanished, and she stood stark naked on the street blowing the hottest guy she’d ever met in her life.
“Touch yourself,” Lon commanded. “Fuck your pussy with your fingers.”
His demand was unnecessary; she was frantically rubbing her clit, plunging her fingers into her cunt.
“Suck harder,” he growled, and she eagerly complied, clamping her lips and suctioning until her jaw ached. He shoved his cock so deep his wiry pubic hair tickled her nose, and his sweaty musk imprinted on her brain.
Her clit drew tight under her flying fingers and whirled her toward orgasm.
She squealed a protest when he hauled her off his cock, only to gasp in rapture as he bent her over the car’s hood. The summer’s temperature had dried the soapy liquid and reheated the metal, and it radiated hot against her abdomen.
Without ado, he plunged into her, forcing unused muscles to accommodate his sizable need. Dana sucked in a breath of pure gratification. It had been too long since a man’s cock had filled her.
“This is why you’ve been watching me, isn’t it, Mrs. Markus?” he ground out. “Isn’t it? This is what
you want.”
“Yes. Lon, yes!” Dana couldn’t lie when every secret wish was coming true. She had spied on him, watched for him when he visited his parents, played with his younger brothers. Her spying grew even more vigilant when he washed his car in the driveway. Shirtless, of course.
Lon drove into her, each thrust slamming her against the car. He squeezed and twisted one of her nipples while he wedged his other hand between her legs to manhandle her clit. “I’ve been watching you too, wanting to fuck your tight, hot twat.” His growled admission ignited her orgasm the way a lit match tossed onto a combustible pile of dry tinder set it ablaze
Dana’s entire body stiffened as fire exploded in her clit, and her cunt contracted around his pounding cock. Dana squeezed her eyelids shut, threw her head back, and howled. “Fuck me, Lon, Yes. Yes, Lon!”
* * * *
“For God’s sake, have you lost your mind?”
Dana screamed.
Lon evaporated, and her ex-husband materialized, Roger’s scandalized, hushed admonishment yanking her out of her fantasy at a critical juncture. Limbs flailing, Dana sank beneath the water of her swimming pool. Her nose and mouth filled. She rose to the surface, coughing and choking.
As she scissored her arms and legs to stay afloat, Dana glared at her ex poised on the deck. The omnipresent anger that simmered on a back burner flashed to a steaming boil at the sight of him, her ire heightened by the embarrassment of having been caught masturbating while floating in the pool. Her gaze shifted to the moonlit night sky in a brief, thankful acknowledgment that at least Roger hadn’t been able to see inside her head.
“Are you crazy?” He scowled at her and then pointedly shifted his attention to the Corbins’ wooden fort, which topped the eight-foot privacy fence. “Anybody could be watching you.” Anybody meaning the two curious, towheaded, elementary-school-aged boys who lived next door and who frequently occupied the fort. All the homes in her neighborhood were single-story ramblers like her own, and the fence had shielded the pool from view from all sides until the tree house was erected several months back. That had put an end to her skinny-dipping.
“First of all,” Dana said acidly, ruing the fact that her swimsuit lay in a heap on the deck, “the Corbins are gone this weekend. They went camping.” Before she’d left for work at the Creek’s Crossing Power Company, she’d observed the parents packing up the twins, sleeping bags, ice chests, and other gear into the family SUV.
“Second, you have fucking nerve saying anything after I caught you and your bimbette.” Her life had capsized the day she’d arrived home from work unexpectedly early and found Roger and the girl laughing and playing kissy-kissy-suck-face in her pool. The pool she’d wanted forever but Roger had dragged his feet about installing. The pool in which Roger rarely had swum, turning down her invitations to join her for a dip, citing fatigue or some rerun he’d missed on television. In an incomprehensible way, it pissed her off more that he’d gone swimming with the bimbette than the fact he’d fucked her.
Roger flushed, but his words overrode his conscience. “Let’s not bring Mila into this.”
“I didn’t bring your bimbette into this. You did,” Dana snapped. She refused to ever utter his mistress’s name.
Roger’s lips thinned with disapproval, whether at her accusation or the way she referred to his girlfriend, Dana wasn’t sure. She didn’t care. The truth was what it was.
This year they would have celebrated their twenty-fourth wedding anniversary, but their marriage had ended long ago. With the clarity of hindsight, Dana realized Roger had been cheating on her for years. However, this time Roger appeared serious about this girl, who had graduated high school only two years before their daughter. That’s how Roger had met her—a friend of a friend, she ran in Katie’s social circle and had been to their house.
Dana could understand Roger growing bored and seeking outside excitement, but she couldn’t fathom him hooking up with a person young enough to be his child. Or vice versa. What did the girl see in a squat, middle-aged balding man who snored? The bimbette should be dating boys her own age—like the neighbors’ older son, Lon.
Lon. Her stomach quickened, and her clit perked with interest at the mere thought of him. How old was he, anyway? Twenty-five, maybe?
How would Roger feel if she took a young, virile lover? Inadequate, she hoped. Not that she would do it. She didn’t understand the cougar-relationship thing women her age raved about. What did you do with a young lover besides the obvious? After you screamed your final “oh baby,” what did you talk about? Dana wasn’t into rap music or video games or celebrating one’s fledgling adulthood by getting drunk. Her adulthood was long past fledgling.
Nor would Lon be interested in a woman who had been born when music was still played on vinyl records.
People told her she looked good. Of course, they almost always added the qualifier, “for your age.” Her hair brushed her shoulders and was the color of sable, according to the box in her bathroom medicine chest. Her brown eyes were fringed with thick lashes, her mouth neither too thin nor too plump. She weighed close enough to what she did on her wedding day to fudge on her driver’s license and not raise eyebrows.
Still, if she dated a younger man, she would feel compelled to keep her chin up, her stomach in, and her makeup on. Who wanted to work that hard?
Lon would have to remain cemented in fantasy.
If it was a little hypocritical to even imagine bedding a man young enough to be her son while condemning Roger for screwing someone their daughter’s age, then so be it. She was only pretending. Roger had acted on his prurient impulses. Not the same at all.
Her ex couldn’t be content with upending her life—he had to interrupt her much-needed Friday-night downtime and her fantasies too. Dana scowled at him. “You moved out. We agreed I would have the house until we worked out the settlement. You have no right to just drop by.”
Her arms and legs were starting to feel heavy and ache with the effort of treading water. She wasn’t a strong swimmer—could barely get from one end of the pool to the other—and staying afloat while carrying on a full conversation was taxing.
“I left four messages between your cell and the house phone. You won’t return my calls.”
True. She’d noticed his messages and deleted every one without even listening to them. “If you have something to say, have your attorney speak to my attorney.”
“We were married—we ought to be able to talk to one another.”
Talk to one another? The simple word scraped across a still-tender wound. She had tried to talk to him during the silent, sexless months when she knew something was wrong. She had tried to talk to him when he admitted he was having an affair and announced he wanted out of their marriage. She had tried to talk to him to settle the divorce without attorneys. She had tried to talk to him when Roger reneged on his initial agreement to let her keep the house and instead insisted they sell it and split the assets. “Talk to my attorney,” he had said.
“You…you—” Dana stuttered, unable to call forth a name bad enough. She jerked her arm back and drove her palm forward, shooting a wall of water into his perfidious face.
“That was childish, wasn’t it?” Roger said, dripping water and condescension.
“The only thing childish is your bimbo.” She thumped her forehead with the flat of her hand. “Oh, I forgot. That’s because she is a child.” Dana jerked her head back and spied a flash of light coming from the children’s fort. What was that?
Roger stalked to her lounger near the shallows and used her towel to dry his face. “Why don’t you get out of the pool, and we’ll discuss this like—” He broke off and took a breath.
Like adults, he’d been about to say. But he’d cut off his retort because he was trying to act reasonable, calm. Now that was novel.
Dana counted to ten to give reason time to gain control of her mouth. As much as she longed to tell her ex to fuck himself, if Roger wanted to deal, it was in
her best interest to hear him out. She needed to act smart, not let resentment make her decisions.
“I can’t get out—I’m not wearing anything,” she announced as if he couldn’t see through the water, as if her suit wasn’t puddled on the deck, as if he hadn’t caught her masturbating only minutes earlier.
“I’ve seen you naked before.” Roger surprisingly left the worst unsaid.
Why should she cower in the water because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants? She had nothing to be ashamed of, least of all her body. Add to that, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could continue to tread water. Dana struck out for the side of the pool, slapping and churning up froth like an ungainly creature nature had never intended to enter water. Anyone who happened to see her swim could be excused for thinking she was drowning.
At the edge of the pool, she hesitated only slightly before accepting the hand Roger offered. He hoisted her out of the pool with a tug and then pressed a towel into her hands, averting his gaze from her nudity.
Was that how it was? After fucking his young girlfriend, he’d found her forty-five-year-old body so lacking he didn’t even want to look at her anymore? Another kick to a tender wound. Dana wrapped the towel around herself with a snap; she didn’t want Roger to leer at her, but she wanted him to want to.
Her wet hair clung to her neck, dripped down her back. She crossed her arms, her left atop her right, her gaze flicking over the sight of her ringless fourth finger, a testament to the fact she was getting over the breakup. She no longer felt naked not to wear her wedding band. “Okay. Talk,” she said with a huff.
Roger focused on the flowers cascading out of a tall pot. Dana recalled his criticism of her container garden. He’d considered it unnecessary and silly when she filled the dozen large planters with colorful, fragrant blooms to soften the expanse of the cement surrounding the pool. He turned his gaze from the peonies and looked at her. “You can buy me out of the house. I wanted to tell you in person, so you don’t wonder anymore.”