After my 11-year marriage ended, I felt like a virgin again. I hadn't had sex in such a long time, it was almost like I'd never had it at all. And now I was a busy single mom-one who was also the proud owner of a farmhouse that needed some work.
Anxious to get started, I hired a friend's brother to help with odd jobs and heavy lifting. The day we met, he reached out to shake my hand, then turned it over and traced the calluses on my palm with his finger. A surge of energy pulsed through my body; my nipples hardened instantly.
"Not a fan of gloves?" he asked with a little smile.
Still, I wrote Aaron* off as a romantic possibility. He wasn't really my type. He was 15 years younger than me, wore homemade lace-up gladiator sandals, and lived in a yurt (yes, an actual yurt).
But as we continued to work side by side, I found myself studying his long hair, the golden strands gleaming in the sunlight. I watched his full lips nibble at the cookies I made for my son. My body tingled when his blue eyes studied me as I explained what I wanted him to do. Sometimes I swear I'd catch a sexy smolder behind his gaze, like he could see straight through my clothes...or like he wanted to, anyway.
Too bad he's so young, I thought.
One night, when I texted to ask if he'd be coming over the next day, he took it upon himself to inform me that he'd just made himself a rope mattress. He said it was comfortable and wondered how it would "perform." Then he asked if I'd like to help him find out.
At first, I wondered if this was a prank-maybe it wasn't him texting me at all. I tested him: "Tell me something only you would know about me."
"You like white chocolate tequila lime truffles." Fuck. It was him; we'd gotten those at a sweet shop days earlier.
I was gonna get laid.
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