Taken by Surprise

"Come on, baby, easy does it." Smitty rubbed his crotch with no attempt at subtlety.

"Show papa what you're made of, honey," coaxed Larry, fondling the hose of his air-powered nail gun.

"Five bucks says they're silicone."

"You're on. Ain't no way those are fake, Smitty."

"Show us your titties . . .take off that bikini top, and—damn! She's goin' inside. You scared her off."

"She couldn't hear us, you dork. She always goes in about this time."

Jake's red hair and freckled face appeared at the top of the ladder. "Here's another load of shingles, and—hey, you guys still spying on that lady? You'll never get this roof finished."

"You missed it, Jakey. She almost took her top off."

Jake blushed through his sunburn. "Mr. Duvane is going to catch you one of these days," Jake admonished.

Jake had watched the brunette lady sunbathing on the terrace of her apartment for weeks now. He'd worked a variety of jobs on the new house next door, from pouring the slab to putting up the frame. His uncle had gotten him this job because he knew the architect—David Duvane—who had designed the house for his fiancée. When the fiancee ran off to Belize with the pool boy, the architect didn't seem to care whether the house was finished or not. Duvane dropped in occasionally, and seeing the place must have reminded him of his girlfriend's infidelity, because his mood would turn sour and he would nit-pick at non-existent flaws.

Luckily, he hadn't caught them drooling over the shapely brunette next door as she sunned herself or bent over to pluck a weed from her garden, giving them all a deliciously naughty peek at that place where her rounded ass cheeks curved into her slender thighs. Often she forgot to close her shades and the roofers could look right down into her living room through the skylights.

Jake felt bad about spying, but sometimes gave in to temptation. When he saw those creamy ass cheeks peeking out from below her cutoffs, he got a raging hard on. He would go home and jack off, pretending that he was sticking his cock in her from behind, with those shorts pulled down around her thighs.

The persistent hiss and thump of the air-powered nail gun faded as Bernadette stepped through the French doors from the terrace.

The stifling air in the apartment drew a groan from her. "Not the A/C again."

She peeled off her orange bikini top and let it drop to the floor. She hadn't yet worked up the nerve to remove her bikini top outside in broad daylight. But thinking about it made the muscles of her long legs stiffen sensuously, and she cupped her round breasts and played with the mauve nipples, imagining how the roofers next door would pant if they saw her nipples harden the way they were hardening now under her palms.

When the thermostat failed to respond to her curses, she called her landlord, Sam, who also—conveniently—was her boyfriend.

"Sure, Bernie, I'll get somebody right over there. What are the chances of you and me getting together tonight? I'm so horny the crack of dawn looks good."

She hated it when he used the word "horny." It sounded so junior high.

"Not tonight, Sammy," she put a little-girl pout into her voice to soften him up. "It's too hot with no A/C."

"Oh, Baby, please," he whined. "I need a little taste of your pussy."

"No, Sammy." Her tone was firm now. "I'm busy. I'm working on new codes for your database program."

"All right, then," he relented. If there was one thing that took precedence over Bernie's giving Sam "a little taste of her pussy," it was Bernie's working on a new program for Sam's property management company, which owned numerous apartments and condos in the city, as well as time-share condos in the gulf and vacation villas in Mexico.

Having pacified Sam, she padded barefoot across the apartment into the kitchen, her naked breasts jiggling playfully. She tingled with the free and naughty feeling that the workers watched through the windows. And all the while, unseen, her moistening sex swelled and contracted in enchanting mini-orgasms.

Retrieving a bowl of ice cubes from the freezer, she went back to the living room to sit in the leather chair. The conspicuous absence of hammering told her that the roofers had stopped and were watching through the skylight as she sat topless in the butter-colored leather chair.

Clad only in her bright orange bikini bottoms, she lay back, closed her eyes, and traced a pattern of lazy circles over her neck and chest with an ice cube. She let her hand trail behind one ear, down her neck, into the valley between her breasts where sweat had begun to pool. Then she scooped each breast up slightly, letting the ice cool the underside of those heavy globes. Her back arched with the shock of the cold, almost like the spasm of orgasm when a lover has found that special place that makes a woman's body respond even before her mind does.

"Five bucks says she gets herself off." Larry was almost panting.

"You're on," Smitty whispered.

They watched in worshipful silence as the woman glided the melting ice cube around first one nipple, then the other, making the soft pink flesh harden like two granite stones. The fleshy tops of her breasts dipped gracefully away from her chest until they reached the pert tips where they gently sloped upwards and pointed toward the ceiling.

"Man, I told you those were real. You owe me five dollars."

"Shut up, you idiot," Smitty hissed. "Five more bucks says she's a lefty," he tossed in as an afterthought. Even with the scrumptious brunette topless and feeling herself up right before his eyes and making his cock stand up like Stonehenge, he wasn't so fuzzy headed that he would allow Larry to get five dollars ahead of him.

"You're on."

With their eyes riveted on the shapely, squirming form beneath the skylight next door, the men did not notice when Jake joined them.

God forgive me, thought Jake, and aloud he whispered, "God forgive me."

Smitty shot a leering smile at the young man. "God wouldn't have created such a fine form if he didn't want us to look at it."

"I guess so," Jake mumbled, as the lady slid her hand to her belly, where the melting ice puddled around her navel. She skimmed long slender fingers inside the bikini bottoms.

"I told you she was a southpaw," said Smitty triumphantly. "Pay up."

"Not now, you dipstick."

She stretched her arm further until her hand was all the way into the crotch of her bathing suit, while with her other hand she kneaded her flat belly, dipping one finger into her navel. The movement squeezed her breasts together, so they looked like beautiful twin beings squirming against each other in a sexy dance. A sheen of sweat, water, and suntan oil glistened on her body.

Smitty said, "She knows we're watchin'. She's puttin' on a show just for us."

Jake's mouth fell open. "No way, Smitty!" He wouldn't believe the beautiful creature with the long chocolate brown hair could be so crass.

Larry's eyes gleamed mischievously. "It's true, Jakey. Because she wants to give you some."

Smitty chimed in. "Larry's right. You think she doesn't know her window shades are open? She wants your young ass. That's what this is all about."

"She doesn't even know me," Jake stammered.

"She wants to get to know you, stud. If I'm wrong, I'll give you fifty dollars if she doesn't give you some pussy."

Jake's eyes widened and Smitty pounced. "Me too. I'll give you another fifty to prove me wrong."

Even as they spoke, they never took their eyes from the gorgeous woman, who had by now bent her knees and spread her legs and was moving her hand more rapidly inside her bikini bottoms.

Larry's eyes glimmered. "All you gotta do is go over there, and she'll probably start doin' you right there in the doorway."

"No way she would do that, Larry!" Jake cried in a hoarse whisper.

"Prove me wrong, Jake. Go over there. If she doesn't give you some pussy, you earn a quick hundred."

The woman was now arching her back, raising her hips up to meet her questing hand, her eyes shut tight, her full pink lips parted.

"I'll do it," said Jake, and with the bulging muscle between his legs twisting painfully inside his tight jeans, he crawled awkwardly toward the ladder.

Spent but not satisfied by the pulsing spasms of her sweet clitoris, Bernie phoned Sam again.

"I've changed my mind," she said, her voice thick with lust.

"About the database?"

"No, Darling," she answered patiently. Sam could be so obtuse sometimes. "I want you to come over. I need you to lick my pussy. I need your cock in my mouth—"

"I knew you couldn't resist your Sexy Sammy. I'll be there after eight."

As soon as she put the phone down, Bernie's doorbell rang. She tossed her robe on and tied it at the waist.

"There's something I have to tell you," blurted out the red-faced young man on her doorstep.

Bernie recognized him as one of the crew from next door. She thought about asking, "What took you so long?" but he seemed so distressed, she decided she better go easy on him.

"Your name, I hope?" she purred, showing him her most seductive smile.

He was about ten years her junior, but the taut muscles of his chest and upper arms sent silent messages to her feminine instincts.

"Er . . . yeah, my name is Jake, but—"

"Please come in, Jake. I'm Bernadette. Everybody calls me Bernie."

She stood away from the door to allow him in, letting the robe fall away so that more of the fleshy part of her breasts was exposed.

"Okay, Bernie—" Jake licked dry lips and stood with his hands thrust into the front pockets of his jeans, where a generous bulge caught Bernie's eye.

She turned and crossed to the kitchen, feeling his eyes follow every wiggle of her hips. "Iced tea?"

"Uh, sure."

Jake shifted his weight awkwardly while she poured tea over ice. He thought of the ice cubes melting in the bowl next to her chair, the ones she had used to cool her breasts, the breasts that were peeking out from behind her satiny robe. He thought about running his hands inside the front of that robe—

"—working on the house next door?" She was saying something. He didn't catch it because he was thinking about feeling her tits. God, he had to get control of himself.

"Huh?" he blundered, wondering how her smile could be so sweet and so sexy at the same time.

"I recognize you from next door. You're a builder."

"Just an assistant," he answered, taking the tall cold glass from her. "It's just a summer job. I'm fixing up a car."

He sat in the large chair, noting that the soft leather was still warm from her body. She sat on the ottoman facing him, her knees almost touching his. She leaned forward from the waist, as if eager to hear every word that fell from his mouth. His eyes strayed to those beautiful mounds that threatened to spill from the opening of her robe.

"What kind of car?"

"A classic Corvette. I'm taking it to Tech in the fall. I got a scholarship. Football."

"Oh, that's my favorite car!" she squealed, and the robe fell away from one slender thigh. She replaced the fabric over her leg. That little gesture almost drove him mad. He swallowed hard and went on.

"Listen, Bernadette, I'm here for a reason."

"Bernie," she reminded him, frowning slightly at his serious tone.

God, he would give anything to take that frown away and bring the little smile back to her soft pink mouth. He shook his head to clear away further thoughts of her mouth. "The guys next door . . . your curtains and windows . . . and they look . . . and . . . oh, crap." He gulped a huge swallow of iced tea and nearly choked.

"What do you mean, Jake? What are you saying?" As if I didn't know, she thought.

"I'm saying they're spying on you, in the nude."

"The men next door are nude?" Her eyes widened. Bernie, you should be ashamed, she scolded herself.

"No, dang it, I mean, they're looking at you through the window when you're nude. I just thought you should know."

"Oh. How embarrassing. Oh my goodness." Her hand fluttered to her breast, hovered there like a butterfly.

What if she cries? he thought. His mind played with an image of his arms around her delicate shoulders while she cried against his chest. "I'm real sorry, Bernie. Sometimes men are crude like that."

"I . . . thank you, Jake. Thank you so much." She lowered her eyes.

"No problem." He felt like a heel. He had wanted to do the right thing, but he'd made her feel bad.

"Jake?" She looked up at him from beneath dark lashes and he felt a stirring in his crotch. "Jake, were you--? I mean, did you look in my windows, too?"

He swallowed hard. He didn't want to admit that he was just as perverted as the guys that he was now ratting on.

"Because I wouldn't mind," she continued. "I mean, I wouldn't mind if you saw me. I like you, and you had the courage to come over here and be a man."

His chest swelled with pride. His conscience cringed with guilt. His cock twitched with lust.

"I admit you're a beautiful lady, Bernie." He hoped that would suffice for a confession to his voyeuristic misdeeds.

"I want to do something nice for you. To show my appreciation." Her hand slid up his thigh one centimeter, two, three.

"Unh?" was the only sound he could manage.

"I was wondering," she cooed, "when you looked at me—you know, naked—did you like what you saw?"

"Hell, yes!" he blurted. "I mean, you got great tits and all . . . " Her hand moved another inch up his thigh. He dug his fingers into the soft leather arms of the chair.

"I want to return the favor."

"Bernie, I didn't come over here to take advantage of you."

Now she was sliding her hand up and down his leg, and every time she moved, her robe fell open a little more. He twisted his head around like a curious puppy to peek inside the edge of the robe.

"Won't you let me express my gratitude?" she asked

He licked his lips and tried to remember how to speak English. The words "Yes, ma'am" came out in a hoarse whisper.

She pried his fingers from the chair's arm, and gently guided one sturdy hand toward her breast. When his flesh met hers, she closed her eyes and let her head drop back with a soft sigh. His instincts kicked in and he grabbed her round breast and squeezed. With his other hand he opened her robe.

She sucked in her breath and thrust her breast against his hand, letting the robe drop from her shoulders so that she was fully exposed. "I like that. I like you."

"I like . . . you, too," Jake's words were punctuated by labored breaths. His focus on her breasts was intent, and he manipulated them in his palms like clay, as if he was alone in the room with only those two magnificent objects.

At some point she slid to the floor on her knees with her body wedged between his thighs, and worked the zipper of his jeans down—so skillfully that he barely noticed. If he was consciously aware of anything, it was that she was doing exactly what he wanted her to do before he even knew he wanted it.

"That lucky bastard," breathed Smitty.

Larry concurred by groaning something like "gnugh," as the two men watched the lusty woman kneel before their co-worker. All they could see was the back of her brown head bobbing up and down over the young man's lap, but their imaginations filled in the image of her swollen pink mouth wrapped around his trembling cock.

"Five bucks he comes in her mouth," said Smitty.

"He probably came five minutes ago when she took off her robe," Larry panted.

Smitty squinted, taking in every detail: Jake, legs spread, mesmerized by the slow-motion dip and rise of the brunette's head in his lap, gripping the chair arms to keep from spinning off into space; the luscious brunette's shapely naked back, tapering to her slender waist, then flaring out to rounded hips.

The woman rose up, leaned in towards Jake for a lingering kiss, and strolled off to the kitchen. The two men got another quick glimpse of her breasts, swaying as she walked.

In a flurry of motion, Jake stood up, banging his shin on the coffee table, limping slightly as he zipped his pants, and flew out the door just as she re-entered the living room with a puzzled look on her face and two fresh drinks in her hands.

"What, no afterglow?" Smitty snorted.

"At least we don't have to pay him the hundred."

Smitty cackled. "True."

In that instant Jake appeared at the top of the ladder. "Okay, you guys, I did it, and—" He looked from one flushed face to the other. "Oh, don't tell me you guys watched the whole thing."

"Should have stayed a little longer, Jakey. That broad probably would have let you stick it in her ass, then—"

"Shut up, Larry," snarled Jake, abandoning his characteristic politeness. "You owe me fifty bucks."

"What are you talking about? I told you fifty bucks if she DIDN'T give you a little."

"You said she wanted to give me some p-p-pussy." Jake stammered. "Said for me to prove you wrong."

Smitty guffawed, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. "Kid's right, Larry." Larry looked at him, confused.

Jake went on. "You said you'd pay me if she didn't want to screw. All she did was give me some head. Pay up." Jake's freckled face lit up with victory.

Larry fumed, yanked out his wallet.

Smitty gave Jake an affectionate slap on the shoulder and handed him the crumpled bills. "And well worth it, too, kid. Well worth it."

Bernie awoke the next morning in a cranky mood, having fallen asleep on the couch waiting for Sam, who never showed. She'd even dressed in his favorite outfit—tight black slacks and a too-small T-shirt that read "Spoiled Brat" in shiny purple letters on the front, now wrinkled from a night on the couch. Even more irritating was the persistent ringing of the doorbell, dragging her from her dreams. It might be Jake, back for a second helping, And if it was Sam, she would expect gifts and groveling. No man had ever stood her up before.

She arranged her face in a sexy pout, prepared to make Sam pay his dues. But when she opened the door, it wasn't Sam. And it wasn't Jake.

It was somebody else.

The man who filled her doorway exuded a powerful presence. His face and posture evinced a mood, and the mood was dark. Blue eyes glowered from a strong, suntanned face. A square jaw, firmly set, spoke of anger—before his sexy, hard mouth said a word. She wondered if he was in a perennial state of barely suppressed pique, as he was now.

Slightly mussed brown hair, kissed gold by the morning sun, made her fingers curl with tactile desire. Broad shoulders strained at a white cotton shirt, the sleeves of which had been rolled up, displaying muscled forearms sprinkled with dark hair.

He braced himself with one hand on either side of the doorframe. Strong legs clad in faded blue jeans spread wide, as if to prevent her escape.

Oh, those hands. Powerful and square, large and masculine—working hands. But with long fingers—artist's hands. And clean, well-manicured nails—a scholar's hands.

He was a contradiction: fierce and elegant, intellectual and carnal, casual and intense, wound up like a panther about to spring, yet totally in control—relaxed within the framework of his energy.

"Are you Bernadette?"

His probing gaze both discomfited and intrigued her.

"Yes . . . Bernie." The words came out as a hoarse whisper.

His eyes dropped to her chest, the shiny purple letters on her T-shirt: Spoiled Brat. "Figures."

Her hand fluttered to the hem of her T-shirt, and she twisted the knit fabric around one finger, pulling the shirt away from her bare breasts to prevent the hard buttons of her nipples from poking at the thin fabric. She wished she were wearing something more "grown-up"—or at least her sexy robe. That would set him off-kilter a bit, and she wouldn't have that disturbing feeling that this man was calling all the shots.