rather dim so I opened the thick indoor shutters to let in the light.
He was in his garage with the door wide open. His shirt was off and he kneeled next to a motorcycle, appearing to tinker with one of the wheels.
I slowly closed the shutter so it was only open a crack. I didn’t want to stop watching him, but I didn’t want him to see me watching either.
Marco leaned back on his heels and seemed to be thoughtfully regarding the hulking vehicle. Finally he took a long drink from the open bottle at his side and selected something out of a tool box, returning to work. I stared at the muscles rippling across the ‘Seventeen’ tattoo on his back as his strong hands fought to turn the gears.
Marco dropped the tool abruptly and stood. He turned, looked directly across the street, and waved.
“Shit,” I said , hastily closing the shutters all the way. I looked down, realizing I was still wearing the oversized t-shirt I had slept in.
After quickly rinsing off my dishes, I ran back to my b edroom and rifled through my suitcase. I’d been unsure about packing the stonewash denim dress; it was a little short for my taste, falling a full three inches above my knees, but the color and the full bust line were flattering.
I paused by the bathroom vanity mirror, generously spraying my thick hair and crunching the curls. That hair had been the bane of my existence when Charlie’s Angels flat waves were in. Fortunately a wilder look had come into vogue and my thick dark locks were well suited to Aqua Net heights. After carefully applying a touch of mascara and a dash of lip gloss, I took a deep breath and opened the front door.
The garage was still open but I didn’t see Marco anywhere. As I walked slowly across the quiet street the echo of a child’s carefree summer laugh reached my ears. And under that, a radio in the Gilliams’ driveway was playing Cheap Trick.
The can Marco had been drinking from was still on the concrete floor next to the bike. Not beer, but ginger ale. I stood next to the bike. Slowly I ran my hands over the gleaming handlebars. It was different , larger, than the one I recalled him riding in high school. It was painted red, with silver coils which looked like strange lightning bolts. The long seat was smooth and gray on the surface, black on the sides.
“You can sit on it.”
I didn’t turn around at the sound of his voice. The pounding of my heart was enough.
He crept close. “Sorry,” he whispered , rather theatrically. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Again.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t.”
Marco seemed to be waiting for me to do something. I swung a leg over and straddled the bike. The leather felt cool between my thighs. “What do you think?”
His eyes swept over me with a ferocity which made me shudder.
“Good look for you,” he said hoarsely. Marco was still bare chested. It was a struggle not to stare at the breadth of tanned muscle right in front of me. I swallowed, already knowing how this would go.
“Stop,” I gasped, looking around nervously as his hands dove unapologetically underneath my dress. The garage door was still wide open but that didn’t stop Marco from reaching between my legs. Weakly I pushed his hands away. “People will see.”
He mocked me. “People will see.” His thumbs traveled underneath my panties and then were crudely inside of the instantly slippery core.
I heard my own small whimper as he massaged with expert precision and my hips bucked in response. The rise of the rapidly approaching orgasm was threatening to engulf me and I gripped his strong shoulders to keep steady. I trembled, biting my lip, worrying about our visibility and then not caring if the whole of Polaris Lane was standing by the curb ogling us.
Marco pulled his hands back suddenly and reached up, yanking the garage closed. I started to climb down from the bike but
He was in his garage with the door wide open. His shirt was off and he kneeled next to a motorcycle, appearing to tinker with one of the wheels.
I slowly closed the shutter so it was only open a crack. I didn’t want to stop watching him, but I didn’t want him to see me watching either.
Marco leaned back on his heels and seemed to be thoughtfully regarding the hulking vehicle. Finally he took a long drink from the open bottle at his side and selected something out of a tool box, returning to work. I stared at the muscles rippling across the ‘Seventeen’ tattoo on his back as his strong hands fought to turn the gears.
Marco dropped the tool abruptly and stood. He turned, looked directly across the street, and waved.
“Shit,” I said , hastily closing the shutters all the way. I looked down, realizing I was still wearing the oversized t-shirt I had slept in.
After quickly rinsing off my dishes, I ran back to my b edroom and rifled through my suitcase. I’d been unsure about packing the stonewash denim dress; it was a little short for my taste, falling a full three inches above my knees, but the color and the full bust line were flattering.
I paused by the bathroom vanity mirror, generously spraying my thick hair and crunching the curls. That hair had been the bane of my existence when Charlie’s Angels flat waves were in. Fortunately a wilder look had come into vogue and my thick dark locks were well suited to Aqua Net heights. After carefully applying a touch of mascara and a dash of lip gloss, I took a deep breath and opened the front door.
The garage was still open but I didn’t see Marco anywhere. As I walked slowly across the quiet street the echo of a child’s carefree summer laugh reached my ears. And under that, a radio in the Gilliams’ driveway was playing Cheap Trick.
The can Marco had been drinking from was still on the concrete floor next to the bike. Not beer, but ginger ale. I stood next to the bike. Slowly I ran my hands over the gleaming handlebars. It was different , larger, than the one I recalled him riding in high school. It was painted red, with silver coils which looked like strange lightning bolts. The long seat was smooth and gray on the surface, black on the sides.
“You can sit on it.”
I didn’t turn around at the sound of his voice. The pounding of my heart was enough.
He crept close. “Sorry,” he whispered , rather theatrically. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Again.”
I shook my head. “You didn’t.”
Marco seemed to be waiting for me to do something. I swung a leg over and straddled the bike. The leather felt cool between my thighs. “What do you think?”
His eyes swept over me with a ferocity which made me shudder.
“Good look for you,” he said hoarsely. Marco was still bare chested. It was a struggle not to stare at the breadth of tanned muscle right in front of me. I swallowed, already knowing how this would go.
“Stop,” I gasped, looking around nervously as his hands dove unapologetically underneath my dress. The garage door was still wide open but that didn’t stop Marco from reaching between my legs. Weakly I pushed his hands away. “People will see.”
He mocked me. “People will see.” His thumbs traveled underneath my panties and then were crudely inside of the instantly slippery core.
I heard my own small whimper as he massaged with expert precision and my hips bucked in response. The rise of the rapidly approaching orgasm was threatening to engulf me and I gripped his strong shoulders to keep steady. I trembled, biting my lip, worrying about our visibility and then not caring if the whole of Polaris Lane was standing by the curb ogling us.
Marco pulled his hands back suddenly and reached up, yanking the garage closed. I started to climb down from the bike but
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