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I gasp and cover my mouth.
I know that voice.
This might be worse than a serial killer.
It’s Maryanne - my nosey neighbor…
“In the kitchen!” I call out.
I wave my hands at Cutter, telling him to get away from me.
I do not want my neighbor to find me in the kitchen with my pants and panties down to my knees and a baseball player writing a love letter with the tip of his tongue against my clit.
As I pick my panties and pants up, I glare at Cutter.
This is a very new situation for me to be in.
“Figure something out,” I whisper in a growl to him.
When my panties touch between my legs I cringe for a second.
I’m soaked.
My panties absorb what they can and then they pull up against me.
And if you want to know the truth, Cutter has me so worked up and so close I’m afraid one wrong step will result in my panties pressing my clit the right way that sets me off.
Can you picture that?
Me talking to Maryanne and having an orgasm?
Maryanne steps into the kitchen.
Cutter in still crouched down on the floor.
Fuck!
What’s he going to do now? Pop up like a stripper from a birthday cake?
“Piper,” Maryanne says. She has some kind of strange looking goggles on her head. “Are you busy?”
I shake my head.
No, not at all. Just on the verge of a great orgasm from a guy who went down on me without being prompted to, begged at, or worked out a deal for.
“We have to talk about the cardinals,” my neighbor says.
“You broke into my house because of birds?” I ask, gritting my teeth.
Maryanne starts to walk closer to me.
I wiggle my left fingers and Cutter takes the hint and inches back.
A famous baseball player sliding across my kitchen floor…
“The door was open,” Maryanne says. “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”
“I was getting ready to leave in a few to go get Saxon.”
