The New Neighbor Mowed My Lawn the Week My Divorce Went Through novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Deck

She breaks her own rule on her back deck, and Tyler says into her hair that he would have waited longer.

"Come here," I said.

I was standing on my back deck at eleven at night in a robe and nothing else.

The grill beside me was still ticking as it cooled.

He was standing on his own deck, thirty feet away, in the porch light, with a beer he was not drinking.

The cedar fence ran between us, four feet high, with a gap at the corner where the gate would go someday.

I had texted him all day, small things, and he had answered every one within a minute.

Then at ten-thirty I had written: "Stand on your deck at eleven."

Now he stood there, and he looked at me for a long moment.

"Windows only," he said, not loud. "That's the rule."

"It's my rule," I said. "I can break it."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

"Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry. Lena," he said.

"Better," I said. "Come here."

He set the beer on the cooler and put one hand on top of the fence.

He went over it in a single move, with his boots clearing the top rail and his weight on his arm.

He landed on my grass without a sound.

I had never seen anyone do that outside a movie.

Then he was on my steps and my deck, close enough that I could smell soap and sun on his skin.

He stopped one pace away from me, with his hands at his sides.

His chest was going up and down fast.

"You're not going to touch me?" I said.

"I wanted you to say it," he said.

"I'm saying. I'm thirty-seven years old, Tyler."

"I know," he said.

"I'm fourteen years older than you."

"I know how old you are," he said. "I can count. Tell me what you want."

I untied the robe, and I let it hang open.

I stood there in the porch light with the whole front of me bare, and I made myself hold still.

His eyes went down slowly and came back up.

They did it again, slower.

"Come here and kiss me," I said.

He crossed the pace between us and put one hand behind my head, into my hair.

The other hand went to my waist, under the open robe, and landed on bare skin.

His palm was rough and hot, and I felt it all the way to my knees.

He kissed me.

It was not careful and it was not polite.

His mouth was warm and sure, and he tasted like the beer he had not drunk, a little, and mint.

I made a noise into his mouth that I had not made since I was twenty-five.

My hands went to his bare chest, and then around his neck, and I pulled myself against him.

He was already hard against my belly, through his jeans.

I felt it and I ground against it, and he groaned, low, and bit my lower lip.

"Lena," he said, against my mouth. "Fuck."

"Yes."

"Tell me where."

"There," I said, and pointed behind me, at the chaise.

It was a long cushioned lounge, the only good thing on the deck that Greg had never once sat in.

I backed up to it with my hands in his belt loops, and I dragged him with me.

I shrugged out of the robe and let it fall behind me on the boards.

I sat on the edge of the cushion, naked, with my knees at his hips.

Beyond the fence the lights of the houses on the next street were dotted in the dark.

Every one of them had a back window.

I did not care.

I took hold of his belt and undid it.

"Wait," he said, and his voice cracked.

"What?"

"Let me do you first."

I looked up at him.

"I've been thinking about it since last night," he said. "I couldn't sleep. Please, Lena."

That word again.

"Then do it," I said, and lay back on the chaise with my head on the cushion and my feet on the cold boards.

He got down on his knees on my deck.

He put one hand on each of my thighs and pressed them apart, slow, until I was open to him and the night air.

I felt the air on me, on my wet skin.

"God," he said, hoarse. "You're so pretty."

Nobody had said that about that part of me, ever.

I put my hand over my face and laughed, and it came out shaky.

"Don't laugh," he said. "I mean it."

"I'm not laughing at you."

"Good."

He lowered his head and put his mouth on me.

He started with a long, slow stripe of his tongue from the bottom to the top, and my hips came up off the cushion.

"Oh, fuck."

He did it again, with his tongue flat and warm, and I tangled my fingers in his short hair.

"You like that," he said, into me.

"Don't stop."

"I wasn't going to."

He found my clit with the tip of his tongue and circled it, light, then harder, then light again.

My whole body clenched around the rhythm.

I heard a sound go out over the yard, high and open, and it was me.

I did not stop it.

He slid a finger into me, and then a second, and curled them up toward my belly while he sucked.

My heels dug into his back.

"There," I said. "There, Tyler, right there."

He found the place and stayed on it.

I was so wet I could hear it, and he made a sound in his throat that was pure hunger.

The pleasure climbed, and I tried to hold on, and then I could not.

I came with his name in my mouth and my fingers in his hair and my thighs clamped on either side of his head.

It went on and on, because he did not let up, and I shook until my vision went white.

When I could breathe I pushed his head away, because I was oversensitive, and then pulled it back, because I wasn't done.

He laughed against my thigh and kissed it.

"You taste like I'm going to make you do that again," he said.

"Come here. Come up here. I need you inside me."

He stood up fast.

He undid his jeans and shoved them down, and his cock sprang out, thick and flushed and so hard that it bobbed.

I had seen it last night across forty feet, and it was nothing like this.

It was close and hot and heavy, and I reached out and wrapped my hand around it.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth.

"Lena," he said, with a shake in it. "I have to tell you I'm not going to be good at slow."

"Then be bad at it on top of me," I said.

I lay back on the chaise and pulled him down by the shoulders, and he came over me with his weight on his forearms.

He was lean and heavy at once, and his skin was hot against mine.

I opened my legs wide and he settled between them.

He held his cock at my entrance and looked at me, at my face, in the porch light.

"Look at me," I said.

"I'm looking."

He pushed in slowly.

It was thick, and it stretched me, and I felt every inch of it.

I made a sound that was nearly a sob.

He stopped, with half of him inside me, and his whole body trembled.

"Fuck, you're tight," he said.

"If you stop, I'll kill you."

He laughed, a short helpless breath, and then he pushed the rest of the way in.

He filled me up.

My pussy fluttered around him, and my eyes closed, and I wrapped both legs around his waist.

"Fuck," I said. "Oh my God. You feel so good."

"You're so tight," he said. "You're so wet. Lena."

He started to move, long and slow, pulling almost all the way out and sliding back in.

The chaise creaked under us.

I put my hands on his ass and pulled, and he got the idea and went deeper.

My breasts moved against his chest with every thrust, and my nipples dragged on his skin.

He lowered his mouth and took one into it, and sucked.

"Harder," I said.

"Yes."

"I'm not going to break."

He braced his hands on the cushion beside my head and gave me what I wanted.

His hips snapped against me, and every thrust hit the place he had found with his fingers.

The sound of it carried across the deck, skin on wet skin, and the chaise banged against the boards.

Somewhere down the court a dog barked once, and neither of us stopped.

"I'm not going to last," he said, through his teeth. "I'm sorry, you're so-"

"Yes, you are. You'll last until I say."

"Lena."

"Slow down," I said. "Look at me."

He slowed, shaking, and looked at me with his gray-green eyes.

He was sweating, and his face was open and wrecked, and he was looking at me and at nothing else.

I reached up and put my hand on his cheek.

"Good boy," I said, and felt him jerk inside me.

I had not planned it, but now I knew something about him.

"Again," he said, in a rough whisper. "Say it again."

"Good boy. Now move."

He moved.

He drove into me at a steady, hard pace, and I reached down between us and found my clit with two fingers.

I rubbed it in fast circles, in time with him.

The second climb was higher than the first.

My toes curled, and my breath came in short, broken pieces, and I said his name, and then "Don't stop," and then nothing.

I came around his cock in a long, hard clench.

I felt myself pulse on him again and again, and my back arched off the chaise.

"Fuck, I can feel you," he said. "Fuck."

He buried his face in my neck and gave in.

He thrust three more times, deep and ragged.

I felt him swell and shudder and come inside me with a groan that went on and on.

He collapsed on top of me with his full weight.

I held him there.

I put both arms around his sweaty back and my face in his hair.

We lay there on my chaise while the grill ticked and the crickets went on.

After a long time his breathing slowed.

"Hi," he said, into my neck.

"Hi," I said.

I stroked the back of his head, and I did not want to let go.

He stayed still, with his nose against my skin, and then he said something so softly I almost missed it.

"I'd have waited longer," he said, into my hair.

I smiled.

I thought it was the sweetest thing a man had ever said to me, and I let it go.

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