Page 5 of Hidden Desires

After lunch, Gerald insists on showing me “his real pride and joy”—the backyard vegetable beds, which he claims are better than anything at the farmers’ market. He brings Eliza along, bragging about her “green thumb” and how she designed the whole layout herself. I nod and admire the symmetry, but mostly I admire her. When the young blonde bends to tie up a tomato stalk, her shorts ride up just enough to make me question every good intention I’ve ever had.

We walk the perimeter, Gerald gesturing like a proud general inspecting his troops. Eliza trails a step behind, arms folded, lips pressed into a smile that’s half amusement, half boredom. At the far end of the yard, she slips off her sandals and steps barefoot into a patch of grass. She stretches, arms overhead, tank top riding up to reveal a soft, tanned stomach.

Gerald is talking, something about pest control, but I can’t hear a word of it. All I see is Eliza, silhouetted against the late afternoon sun, a goddess in cutoff denim with big breasts that bounce, and a round rear end. She glances back at me, eyes gleaming, and I look away before I embarrass myself.

But I can feel the heat between us. It’s stupid and dangerous and entirely predictable.

Eventually, Gerald runs out of things to point at, and we head back to the patio. Nancy joins us, and Eliza disappears inside to “get started on dessert,” which is a pie she baked herself. Gerald offers me a beer, and I take it, even though I shouldn’t. He leans back, the king of his suburban kingdom.

“So, Jack. Any big plans now that you’re settled?”

I shrug. “Take it easy for a while. Maybe travel. See what happens.”

He nods. “You earned it. But if you ever get bored, we always have room for another hand around here.” He jerks his chin toward the house. “Eliza’s got big ideas for the garden, but she needs someone who can keep up.”

I smirk.

“I’m not sure I know anything about vegetation, but sure, I’m happy to give it a try.”

There, that sounds like a normal reply, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the illusion that this could be my life—simple, domestic, anchored to a plot of land and the people on it. Then Eliza returns, her hair down now, carrying a pie so beautiful it almost makes me cry, with its whipped cream turrets and gleaming red fruit. She sets it on the table and smiles sweetly.

“Cherry pie, Mr. Landry? I know you’ve got a taste for cherries.”

Holy fuck, is she implying something with those words? Is she saying that I like to pop young girls’ cherries, claiming their virginity once and for all? There’s no way that Eliza could be a virgin, right? So I merely grunt in reply as the conversation continues … but there’s the promise of something reckless just out of reach.

Unfortunately, Gerald’s still blabbering on even after dessert. When did my bud become such a fucking chatterbox? But he drones on for the next half hour, his mouth moving at a rapid pace. It’s a running commentary on city council races, his fantasy football prospects, and a long, meandering story about a neighbor’s dog that ate a sock and had to have it surgically removed. All the while, Eliza smiles at me, something naughty in those big blue eyes.

It’s subtle at first. A glance that lingers a half-second too long. The tiniest smirk when I fumble my napkin. But then it escalates: she props her elbow on the table and rests her cheek in her hand, pushing her chest forward. When she leans in to grab a tomato, the neckline of her tank top sags, and I catch a sliver of a bikini top. Holy fuck, it’s all string with no fabric and I clamp down on my body’s reaction. I’m too old for this. I’m not nearly old enough to want it less.

Midway through a story about a power outage and spoiled venison, Eliza reaches for a napkin, and so do I. The square is mid-table, and our hands collide—skin to skin, firm grip to soft fingers. For a split second, I could swear there’s electricity in the air, or maybe that’s just how hard I’m overthinking it. I freeze, but Eliza doesn’t hesitate; she curls her fingers around mine, gives them a gentle squeeze, and then lets go. I can’t tell it even really happened, it was that fast. But I stare at her, my cock hardening as the young blonde merely smiles innocently, pushing a wisp of blonde hair from her face.

“Daddy, you have cherry pie smeared on your lips!” she laughs while handing Gerald the napkin. “Was it sweet?”

“So sweet, sweetheart,” her dad responds, blotting his mouth with the napkin. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to regale you guys like a caveman with food all over my face.”

“It’s no problem, Daddy,” Eliza mewls with a quick glance at me. “I love cherries too.”

Holy fuck, is the young blonde saying something to me again? I stare at her, and then quickly look away, pulse racing. Meanwhile, Gerald blabbers on about generator brands. “You know what they say, Landry: always be prepared,” he says, oblivious to the way his daughter’s foot has migrated under the table and is now pressed lightly against my shin. At first, I think it’s an accident. Then she slides her big toe, slow and deliberate, up the inside of my calf. I nearly choke on my beer as my cock jerks.

Eliza asks innocently, “What’s your opinion on the best generator, Jack?” while rubbing her foot on my leg.

“I—uh—depends what you want to power,” I manage, voice about two octaves higher than normal.

“Oh, I know what I want to power,” she says, eyes locked on mine. There’s a little curl at the edge of her sweet pout, and my brain short-circuits. Literally, I can’t think as she swipes her tongue over her lips, leaving them glossy.

Gerald interrupts by getting up for more beer. “You want another, Jack? Or you still working on that one?”

I hold up my bottle, label facing out so he can see it’s empty. “Wouldn’t mind another.”

He disappears inside. Eliza’s foot is still on my leg. I turn to her, trying to sound casual. “You do this to all your dad’s friends?”

She rolls her eyes. “Only the hot ones.”

I growl, because I don’t know what to say in return. “Sweetheart, do you know how old I am?”

“Forty-something? You and Dad are buddies, so it has to be around there. But you look good for it.” She shrugs, unconcerned. “Besides, I like older guys because they know what they’re doing.”

She slides her foot up another inch, and now it’s definitely not accidental. My entire thigh is on high alert. “Have you ever thought about boundaries?” I ask, hoping I sound like an adult and not a total horndog.