The Fed Sex Man: Hot Contemporary Romance, Page 2

  Jenny’s description of him was spot-on. He was handsome, athletic, and filled out his two-tone blue uniform completely.

  “Are we expecting something?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know,” she breathed. “I hope so.”

  I turned away, hoping to seem less interested than Jenny, who was standing in the doorway with her mouth wide open and eyes bulging.

  “Don’t look so eager.” I grabbed one of LJ Shen’s books from the display and began pacing the floor as I flipped through the pages. “You’ll freak him out.”

  She laughed. “You look guilty as fuck.”

  I lowered the book and glared at her. “Of what?”

  “Of wanting to get on his dick,” she whispered.

  “I don’t want to get on his dick,” I said, even though the thought entered my mind for a fleeting moment. “I was just trying to see what he looked like.”

  She gave me a quick look and then shifted her eyes right back to the FedEx truck. “You’re pacing the floor like you’re guilty of something.”

  In school, while the other girls dreamed about boys, I spent my spare time in the library fantasizing about faraway lands, alternate forms of life, and escaping Allen, Texas.

  I’d since exchanged my pressed button-down blouses for more modern tops, replaced my pleated skirts with a wider variety of options, and wore low heels instead of Oxfords. Nothing changed, though. Since college, I’d become more transparent than when I was in school.

  A transparent and everlastingly single nerd.

  I still favored reading, but thanks to CD Reiss, LJ Shen, Vi Keeland, and Penelope Ward, my dreams were now filled with being sexually ravished by billionaires, bikers, and badasses. Sadly, my sexual encounters were limited to dreams.

  Wild dreams but dreams nonetheless.

  When the driver stepped through the truck’s open door and onto the sidewalk, I stopped breathing.

  Completely.

  I lifted my gaze the length of his lean muscular frame. The company-issued polo he wore clung to his wide chest. Mid-stride on his way to the door, the Texas wind blew the fabric tight against his flat stomach. The outline of a rippled torso was overshadowed by the bulging biceps that flexed when he handed Jenny two small cardboard boxes.

  She smiled and took them from his grasp. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll need a signature,” he said, revealing an envious set of perfectly straight teeth. They were a shade of white reserved for Crest commercials and internet ads for cosmetic dental surgery.

  No one with a smile so charming could be a bad person.

  He scanned the boxes and then handed her the device. Wearing a guilt-ridden smirk, she signed the screen with the stylus and returned the scanner. He clipped it to his belt and took a precursory glance around the store. While he did, Jenny’s gaze fell to his crotch.

  Naturally, mine followed.

  My heart began to beat so rapidly I feared he might hear it. I pressed my palm to my chest and stood statue-still, hoping he didn’t notice me gawking at his noteworthy nether region.

  Along the inner side of his upper right thigh was the outline of what God had graced him with. He’d been blessed with far more than a remarkable body and an infectious smile.

  Incapable of ripping my eyes away what was hanging heavily inside the leg of his shorts, I stared as if it were a ten-car pileup on highway 75.

  My thoughts drifted from the incredible chunk of flesh to him tossing me onto the mountain of boxes in the back of his truck and forcing every thick inch of his manhood beyond my deprived folds and deep inside my soaking wet warmth.

  The sound of the paperback’s spine hitting the floor brought me back to reality. Embarrassed, I bent down and picked it up, hoping he didn’t notice. As I straightened my stance, his curious stare pinned me to the bookshelf I’d been using as shelter.

  He held my gaze with hazel eyes unlike any I’d ever seen. Green with flicks of translucent brown sprinkled throughout the iris, they were fascinating to look at. Frozen in place like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming truck, I stared back at him feeling as if he was peering into my very soul.

  He grinned. “I like your shirt.”

  I melted into a puddle. Hypnotized by his presence and incapable of something as simple as formulating a response, I swallowed heavily and parted my drying lips.

  Hi, my name’s Jo.

  I’m single. Would you mind showing me your dick? I’m fascinated by them in general, and yours seems to be quite a specimen.

  Please?

  “Huh?” I murmured.

  “Your shirt,” he said with a nod. “I like it.”

  I was far too young for hot flashes, but one shot through me nonetheless. Uncertain of what shirt I had chosen, I brushed the wrinkles from the weathered fabric and glanced down.

  girl

  ɡərl/

  noun

  1. an attitude with boobs

  It was one of my favorite shirts, but not at all what I would expect someone to compliment me on. As all the blood in my body rushed to my face, I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose and returned a crooked smile. “Thank you.”

  He undressed me with his eyes and turned away. As he walked to his truck I braced myself against the bookcase and swam in the compliment he’d given regarding my choice of attire.

  “Ho-Lee-Shit.” Jenny spun around. “Did you see that?”

  Still mesmerized, I stared blankly as he drove away. “See what?”

  “The package he didn’t drop off.” She let out a long breath. “Jesus. H. Christ. That thing was huge.”

  I feigned innocence. “Huh?”

  She gestured toward the empty street. “He was hung like a freaking mule.”

  I desperately needed time to recover. My skin was on fire and my pussy was throbbing. The look he gave me pushed me over the edge of reality and right into a pool of lustful thoughts.

  On the surface, I remained calm. On the inside, I was being pressed against the bookshelf and shoved full of the world’s newfound eighth wonder.

  “I didn’t notice,” I lied.

  “It looked like he had a can of Red Bull stuffed in the leg of his shorts,” she said excitedly.

  I maintained my look of innocence. “A what?”

  “His dick was the size of a can of freaking Red Bull.” She raised her hands and held them a foot from one another. “Not the little one that sells for a dollar ninety-nine, either. The big one. The five-dollar can.”

  “Oh.” Still blushing from his remark, I turned toward my desk, hoping Jenny didn’t notice my level of embarrassment. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I can’t believe he made that comment about your shirt. Look at what I’m wearing.” She brushed her hands over her ample chest and then tugged at the hem of her shirt. “I’ve got Chris fucking Stapleton and titties hanging out my non-existent sleeves. He didn’t even take a second glance.”

  I sat down and fanned my face with the book. “Maybe he did, and you didn’t notice. Sounds like you were pretty busy checking out his energy drink.”

  She tossed the boxes on the floor at my side. “Well, if he noticed, he sure as fuck didn’t say anything.”

  After a moment, the blood drained from my face, leaving me disappointed that he’d managed to escape. I wondered when – or if – he’d ever return. Then, I realized I held his fate in my shaking hands.

  Most of what was delivered to the store was through the US Postal Service’s media mail program. I had the freedom, however, of choosing the carrier for non-book related freight. As Jenny mumbled obscenities and tidied up the book shelves, I ordered a new pair of shoes from Zappos.

  Next-day FedEx delivery with a signature required, of course.

  2

  Tyson

  “The box you left last week was upside down.” Her voice was edgy, like that of a smoker. “Everything was all jostled around,” she continued.

  Miss Everly was new to the neighborhood. In the past six days
I’d made six deliveries to her home, but I had yet to catch a glimpse of her. I preferred associating a face to a name, so I turned toward the raspy voice without hesitation.

  Athletic legs sprouted from fuzzy slippers and seemed to go on for miles. They disappeared beneath the hem of a monogrammed terrycloth robe that was far too short to be wearing anywhere but in the privacy of one’s home.

  She flipped her platinum blond hair over her shoulders. The edges of her full lips curled into a slight smile. She looked as if she’d stepped off the set of a centerfold shoot for Playboy magazine.

  I smiled in return. “Sorry about that, but I don’t pack the boxes or label them. I place them on your porch with the printed address facing up. If someone put the label on the bottom of the box, it would end up upside down.”

  Box in hand, she took a step in my direction. When she did, her robe fell open, revealing much more than a glimpse of her disproportionately large boobs. “Well, it’s not a big deal,” she said, making no effort to cover herself. “I just thought I’d say something.”

  “You might mention it to whoever packed the box.” I lowered my gaze from her bulging breasts to the box she held. I gave a half-hearted wave. “Have a nice day.”

  “Would you like a glass of tea?” She asked. “It’s terribly hot out here.”

  She was right. It was early spring, and over hundred degrees. Nonetheless, I knew myself well enough to realize a glass of tea with a half-dressed wannabe supermodel wouldn’t be limited to a glass of tea. I had somewhere else I was anxious to go and didn’t need – or want – the distraction.

  At least not at that moment.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’ve got a full truck. I’ll have to take a rain check.”

  She shifted her gaze to the sky. “One glass of tea won’t hurt.”

  While she ogled the cloudless sky, I stared at her tanned mounds of buttery smooth flesh for long enough to memorize the location of each freckle. With reluctance, I tore my eyes away from the scantily dressed temptress and cleared my throat.

  “I’m on a tight schedule,” I said, forcing the words past my lips. “Thanks for the offer.”

  “That’s a shame.” She cocked her hip slightly and threw me a hopeful smile. “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I said with a smile and a wave. “Maybe some other time. Thank you.”

  With a half-stiff dick and a mind reeling with ideas of what to do with it, I left Miss Everly’s home and completed my residential deliveries, finishing before nine am. An hour later I was on my commercial route, delivering a next-day package to a local book store.

  The book store’s owner was the newfound object of my sexual desires, and my reason for putting Miss Everly on the back burner. Jo Watson was a mirror image of the sexiest woman I’d ever seen. She also shared the last name of one of my idols.

  I had plans to seduce her.

  She was the twin to Miss Garber, my high school librarian. The subject of daily lunchroom conversations between every boy in school, Garber was thin with curves in all the right places. Her high cheeks, long legs, and pouty lips attracted the attention of every male within eyeshot and garnered the envy of the entire female population of Plano, Texas.

  Wearing form-fitting skirts and button-down blouses, she defined all that was sexy throughout my formative years. With horn-rimmed glasses perched low on the bridge of her nose she strode through the library, leaving a room of raging hard-ons in her wake. I ached to fuck her for four years and continued to fantasize about her long after graduating. I now had the opportunity to screw her doppelganger, and I intended to take advantage of fulfilling that fantasy.

  Eagerly, I grabbed the Zappos box and hopped out of my truck.

  Wearing a pair of cut-off jean shorts, boots, and a Johnny Cash tee shirt, her well-endowed co-worker stood with her nose pressed against the glass door. I flashed a quick smile and gazed at the bookshelf beyond her, where Miss Garber’s look-alike adjusted a row of books.

  Jo Watson’s ass was shaped like the waning crescent moon, perfect in size and as round as the glass sphere paperweight that sat atop the desk behind her. The pair of black-framed Rayban glasses she wore were in complete contrast to her pale skin, and her hair was in a braided messy bun that rested against the back of her bare neck.

  I reached for the door handle, paused, and took every inch of her into view. Dressed in a sleeveless black dress and black low-heeled shoes, she looked remarkable. While I revered her every feature, my cock acknowledged her beauty by stiffening a little more with each beat of my heart.

  Emotionally committed to delivering the package, and far too confident in my manhood to allow a stiff dick to embarrass me, I pushed the door open and stepped in front of the large-breasted cowgirl.

  “Good morning.” I glanced at the label on the box. “I need a signature from Jo Watson.”

  The cowgirl’s gaze was fixed on the growing bulge in my shorts. “Jo,” she said without looking away from the outline of my cock. “He’s got a package for you.”

  Jo looked up. When our eyes met, she grinned. I watched admiringly as she approached, all the while feeling the cowgirl’s breath against my neck.

  “Can I sign for it?” Cowgirl asked.

  “No,” I lied. “I’ve got to have the signature of the recipient.”

  Jo stepped to the cowgirl’s side. “Hi.” She removed her glasses. “How can I help you?”

  “Well, for starters,” I began. “You can put those glasses back on.”

  A confused look washed over her. “Pardon me?”

  “The glasses,” I explained. “I like it better when you’re wearing them.”

  “These?” Holding the temple between her thumb and forefinger, she twirled the spectacles like a prison guard twirled his keys. “They make me look dumb.”

  If anything, they completed her ensemble. I shook my head lightly in disagreement. “I disagree.”

  “Really?” She swallowed heavily. “Why?”

  I leaned close enough to smell her innocence. “Because, when you wear them.” I paused for effect. “You’re irresistible.”

  Her glasses hit the floor with a clank. While she stood in front of me with her mouth agape, I set the box at her feet and picked up the sexy frames.

  She stood statue-still as I raised them to her face.

  “Here.” I said. “Let me help you.”

  I slid the temples over her ears and positioned them on her nose. The addition of the glasses changed her appearance from attractive to irresistibly sexy.

  I crossed my arms and studied her. “Ir-re-sistable.”

  “Don’t you have packages to deliver?” Cowgirl asked in a snide tone.

  I gave her buxom coworker a lingering scowl, and then picked up the box. While Cowgirl’s attitude-infused glare burned holes into the flesh of my back, I sauntered toward the desk in the distance.

  I set the box beside the paperweight, and then scanned it. “Miss Watson?” I asked over my shoulder. “Would you like to sign for this?”

  She walked in my direction fluidly and precisely, like a lone soldier marching across a parade deck. I stole a few admiring looks of her rose-colored cheeks while she signed for the package, wondering if the color was natural or makeup.

  She handed me the scanner. “Thank you.”

  Her voice was feather-soft. I gave her a quick once-over, and then grinned. “What time do you close?”

  “Close? We uhhm,” she stammered. “We close at seven.”

  “Do you have plans after work?”

  Her brows knitted together. “Plans?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Do you have plans? After you get off work?”

  “I uhhm.” She folded her arms over her chest. “No. Not really.”

  “Care to grab something to eat?”

  “With you?”

  “Yes.” I struggled to remain straight-faced. “You and me. Together.”

  Her cheeks flushed from pink to red. “Oh, I uhhm,” she stamm
ered. “Thank you, but I don’t think so.”

  Her cowgirl counterpart stepped to her side. “She’d love to.”

  “No,” Jo insisted. “It’s probably not a good idea. I’ve got to get—”

  Her coworker led her away by the wrist. After a moment of inaudible whispering, the look on Jo’s face softened.

  Cowgirl shifted her gaze to meet mine. “She’d love to.”

  “Sooo.” I leaned to the side, looking beyond the cowgirl, who now stood between Jo and me. When Jo met my gaze, I raised my brows. “Which is it?”

  Jo’s face remained ruby red. Nonetheless, standing before me in her sleeveless black dress with her hair pulled into a perfectly imperfect bun, she was strikingly beautiful.

  “I uhhm…sure…” She adjusted her glasses. “We can get something to eat.”

  Cowgirl struggled to keep her shallow grin from morphing into a toothy smile.

  “I’ll see you at seven,” I said.

  The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Okay.”

  I offered a smile, nodded, and then turned away. Just before I reached the door, Cowgirl stepped in front of me and pulled it open.

  “If you do anything to hurt her,” she said under her breath. “I’ll dig your eyes out with a fucking spoon.”

  I stutter-stepped and grabbed the door’s frame to stabilize myself. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not joking,” she said dryly. “Not even a little bit. I’ll dig ‘em out and flush ‘em down the freaking toilet.”

  I gave her a quick look-over, waiting for her to laugh. The laughter never came. Nervously, I broke her glare and turned toward my truck.

  The last thing I needed in my life was vengeance-seeking spoon-wielding maniac.

  3

  Jo

  I lived in a bubble of well-being, limiting my outreach to family members and a handful of girlfriends I’d befriended over the years. Despite my social anxiety, it was easy for me to talk to women.