She said her husband was at work. He wasn't.
Kyle enjoys working outdoors as the owner of a small landscaping business. Most of his customers stay inside while Kyle and his crew take care of their yards.
But not Tracy Dawson, the rich housewife who lives on the hill. Tracy spends summer afternoons beside the pool, watching Kyle from behind her dark sunglasses. Her flirtatious banter and low-cut bathing suits fuel Kyle’s fantasies.
Tracy invites him into the guest house for a little afternoon delight. But when Tracy admits her husband was watching, Kyle gets ready for a beat-down. Instead, Mr. Dawson makes Kyle an offer he can’t refuse…
Publisher: Summer Night Publishing
I was having impure thoughts about a client, and it wasn’t the first time.
I loved Friday afternoons. It was payday, the day I saw my favorite client, Mrs. Tracy Dawson.
Tracy’s husband left the house every morning dressed in a three-piece suit and didn’t return until dark. Her days were filled with shopping, nail appointments, and lunches with friends. On hot summer afternoons, Tracy sat by the pool, reading magazines, chatting on the phone, and drinking fruity cocktails.
Tracy’s friends came over some Fridays. They stayed in the house and did God-knows-what. Sometimes they paraded out to the pool and swam in their bikinis, showing off their tanned bodies and squealing with laughter.
I preferred days like today, when Tracy was alone.READ MORE
The Dawsons lived at the end of a quiet road up on the hill. They had a sweeping view of the mountains. It was a modern home with five bedrooms, five baths, and seven thousand square feet of luxury. It had a home office, a home theater, and a gym. A detached garage held three cars. A second garage held two more.
The backyard had a large pool and a one-bedroom guest house. The Dawsons employed a housekeeper, a cook, a part-time handyman, and my company: Bowden Landscaping.
I employed three guys—friends from college and the neighborhood. We took care of Mrs. Dawson’s yard. And she took care of my fantasies.
Today she was reclining on a lounge chair in a black one-piece bathing suit. The suit was one of her more modest pieces, as long as she didn’t bend at the waist.
Jacob, my best friend and first employee, raised his brows at me. I grinned, but looked down at the mulch I was spreading.
“The yard looks beautiful this year, Jacob.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Dawson,” he said. The tips of his ears turned pink when she spoke to him directly.
“Great job,” I said. “You and the guys can take off.”
Jacob pulled off his work gloves. “You sure? These mulch beds aren’t finished.”
“I’m on the last one. Go ahead. See you Monday.”
“Thanks, Kyle.” He picked up his rake and left. The guys called out their goodbyes, and a few minutes later the truck started up and pulled away from the house.
I wiped the sweat from my forehead. Five more minutes and I could head home for a cold shower and a beer.
“That was kind of you,” Mrs. Dawson said.
I squatted and pushed the last of the mulch into place. “They work their ass— they work hard. Only twenty minutes ’til quittin’ time.”
Mrs. Dawson adjusted her chair to a sitting position. She pursed her lips and took a long sip of her red, slushy drink.
“You’re a good leader,” she said. “The men look up to you. I like that.”
I was single, but usually immune to the charms of my clients. Most of the wives worked or stayed in the house when the landscapers came to mow, hiding from the dirt and noise.
But not Tracy.
Tracy liked to watch.
And she liked to be watched, too.
My skin tingled when she was near. I daydreamed about pounding into her pussy, hiking her long legs around my waist. I’d fuck her while she dug her nails into my back and screamed my name.
I felt her eyes on me as I put my tools into the wheelbarrow. She wore large designer sunglasses, but I’d bet a day’s pay her eyes were glued to my ass.
I looked, too, when her back was turned. I loved when she walked around the pool in bathing suits and high-heeled sandals. The sandals defined her calves and made her ass swing when she walked. Watching her emerge from the pool with her long, dark hair clinging to her skin made my insides clench.
Must be nice to swim and lounge by the pool all day. No room for a pool in my tiny yard. I rented a small apartment above a garage that held my landscaping equipment.
No money to spare for luxuries, either. I needed new tires for my work truck. I’d just ordered expensive parts for my lawnmowers, but I did the repairs myself. The economy hadn’t recovered in this corner of Vermont. Customers called, apologizing, to cancel their service. Some of them started hiring their neighbors’ kids to cut the lawn.
I hoped the Dawsons still had deep pockets. I needed their business.
Mrs. Dawson put down her drink and stood. She walked—no, slinked—around the edge of the pool and descended the steps into the water. She swam a few feet, then flipped over and wet her hair, her breasts bobbing. I tried not to stare.
“How about a dip, Kyle?”
“What?” I dropped my spade, and it narrowly missed my toes. Thank God for steel-toed boots.
“A dip in the pool.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Dawson.”
She chuckled. “Please call me Tracy. How old are you, Kyle?”
“I’m only thirty-four.” She smirked. “How old did you think I was?”
Oh, no. I wasn’t playing that game. It ranked right up there with does my butt look big in this dress?
“Don’t know. Never thought about it.” I’d thought more about swimming naked in the pool with her. I’d lift her breasts to my mouth and suck her nipples while the water cooled our bodies.
I piled my tools into the wheelbarrow, taking my time.
“Any hot weekend plans?” she asked.
Catching up with laundry. Going over business paperwork. Deciding which bills to pay and which to put off.
“Might go out for a few beers with my crew.”
“What about your girlfriend?”
I pulled off my gloves and stuffed them in my back pocket. I didn’t mind the flirting, but all talk and no action was getting old. She was bored, but I’d grown sick of the teasing.
“Don’t have a girlfriend. Didn’t have one when you asked me last week, either.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
She swam to the edge of the pool. Tracy was a natural beauty, with long legs and curves a guy could grab onto. Straight, dark hair that looked silky to the touch. And a full mouth I liked to picture wrapped around my cock.
Besides being a knockout, she was kind to the help, and smart. I liked her.
Mr. Dawson was a lucky bastard.
I pushed the wheelbarrow toward my truck, feeling the heat of her gaze on my ass.
“Don’t leave without your pay,” she called.
I put the gear in my truck bed and closed the gate. When I walked back to the pool, she was swimming, her legs breaking the surface.
Where was she hiding the money, in her bathing suit?
“The water’s perfect. I hate to get out.”
I focused on the clouds while she swam over to the stairs and climbed out. But I watched as she emerged, water dripping down her body, her dark hair clinging to her skin. My cock stiffened.
I couldn’t believe her husband left her alone so often. A guy’s gotta work, but the housekeeper said Tracy slept alone two or three nights a week when he traveled for work.
If I was with Tracy, I’d strip off that bathing suit and fuck her so hard she’d have trouble walking the next day. I’d take her on dates and shower her with attention.
As much attention as I could on my limited budget.
I pictured Tracy clutching the headboard while I pounded her from behind. I’d grip her long hair in my fist and bend down to kiss her neck.
She picked up a towel and slowly dried her skin as she held my gaze. Was I going to stand here and gawk while she toweled off?
Yes. Yes I was.
I stuffed my hands in my front pockets, trying to camouflage the tent I was pitching.
“The roses are so pretty this year.” She rubbed the towel over her thighs, then bent to dry her calves, giving me a clear view of her tits. “If you need more work, I can recommend you to my neighbors.”
My cock pressed against my zipper. “Sure. Thanks.”
Tracy dropped the towel and pulled on her cover-up. She tied it at the waist and headed for the guest house.
“Come get your pay.”
She opened the glass door and entered. Friday afternoons, I’d usually wait at the back door of the house while Tracy produced an envelope. Most of my clients paid their bill by credit card, but the Dawsons paid cash.
I followed her into the guest house. Air conditioning cooled my skin. Tracy stood in the living room, looking through a pile of papers. The living room was connected to a small but modern kitchen. The walls and furniture were covered in pale fabrics. A short hall led to the bedroom and bathroom.
“Have a seat,” Tracy said.
“Can’t. I’m filthy. Appreciate the offer, though.”
She pulled out an envelope. “Here it is. Your pay, plus a bonus.”
Hot relief shot through my limbs. A bonus might cover a set of tires.
She stood at the desk, holding the envelope. I waited for her to bring it to me, but she gave me a devilish smile that made my spidey-senses tingle. I stepped closer and reached for the envelope.
Tracy held it just out of my reach, against her chest. Her tongue darted out to coat her bottom lip.
A bead of sweat slid down my temple. “Tracy?”
“My God, you’re a specimen.” Her gaze traveled over my chest, then down to the bulge in my jeans. “Are you in a hurry?”
I wiped my temple with the back of my hand. “No.”
Another moment of hesitation. Was she breathing louder? She handed me the envelope, and I stuffed it into my back pocket.
I waited, terrified and excited she was making a move.
“I’d like to get to know you better, Kyle.”
She was standing so close, I felt her breath on my chin.
My pulse jumped.
Was she going to stand there and tease me? Or would she finally do something about the sexual tension that simmered between us all summer?
My questions were answered when she took off her cover-up, and dropped it on the floor.COLLAPSE
Ruthie on Wicked Reads wrote:
Short and steamy - the perfect poolside read! Tracy is a temptress, Kyle is more than willing to succumb to the lure of sex and money, and Eric is the sexy voyeur in this lusty triad. Author Robin stone’s characters are better than sexy stereotypes, Their emotions, insecurities and hopes come through all the heat, making this erotic menage novella well worth reading, and deserving of a sequel.
Liz on Amazon wrote:
Short, scorching and seductive reading. Naughty, fun and deliciously erotic. This will take you no time at all to digest, just make sure you can do so in private, ideally with some ice on hand! Going straight to book 2 for the next installment in Kyle's adventures with the Dawsons.
Brenda on Amazon wrote:
...I can't say enough how thoroughly impressed I am with this author's writing. This book also takes place in summertime and I felt like I was there. I could see the mulch beds and smell the grass... I don't know what it is but I really connected with the writing...a perfect story for anyone looking for a quick, light, super sexy read!
Seattle Reader on Amazon wrote:
Robin's stories about blue collar workers are sexy, steamy, and HOT. Of course, they also make you blush as you're discussing sod replacement with the lawn guy.
The Landscaper is told from Kyle's point of view and goes into delicious detail as he becomes involved with one of his customers.
Super-hot, full-on, non-stop erotica! From the very first little nip to the explosive ending, this book keeps it coming (heehee!) page after page. Solid characters, fun voyeur / cuckold themes, and our handsome landscaper taking the term "physical laborer" to a whole new level. This one will heat up your bus commute, for sure!