I watched, mesmerized as she lunged one leg back before twisting to the side and stretching her arms out. Her new position gave me a clear view of her full breasts, complete with raspberry shaded areolas tipped with hard pebbled nipples.
“Fuck,” I breathed out as I took one step closer to the window.
She was a masterpiece. I’d imagined and fantasized, more times than I cared to admit, what she would look like naked, but nothing I’d ever envisioned came close to reality. Her body was sensual and curvy. She’d joked about being a Greek goddess when she was younger, but even Aphrodite had nothing on her.
When she bent over in a pose that I recognized as downward dog my heart slammed into my chest. Her ass was up in the air on full display. In an instant, all of the blood in my body rushed to my groin. And when she lifted one of her legs in the air, giving me a peek-a-boo of her pink, feminine folds, my balls tightened against my body.
In the back of my mind, I knew that I should feel guilty for watching her and worse for getting aroused. But the truth was, I hadn’t had any movement in the southern region of my body since I’d woken up in the hospital bed. Not morning wood, nothing.
For the first few weeks, I hadn’t noticed it or cared. But lately, it had been weighing on my mind. I’d spoken to my doctors about it, and they’d said there was a chance that my back trauma could cause impotence. As if I hadn’t already felt like my identity was stripped, they’d basically told me that a bull might not be the only thing I’d never be able to ride again.
But it looked like once again, I’d defeated the odds. My eyes shot down and I saw that it was standing at full attention, tenting my Calvin Klein’s.
“Fuck,” I cursed again, this time stepping back from the window. My chest was rising and falling in short pants and I could see that there was a damp spot on my light grey boxer briefs. I was about to come in my shorts from just the sight of Olivia Calhoun naked.
There was no way that I could let that happen. In an instant I recognized that my behavior was not okay. I felt like more of a creep than I had when I’d waited up to make sure that she got home last night.
I’d planned on taking a hot shower to help alleviate some of my back pain, but as I stepped into the master bathroom, I decided that cold was the way to go. I turned the water on and without waiting for it to warm up at all, I stripped out of my underwear and stepped inside.
The freezing spray hit my warm skin and bounced off my rock-hard erection, still jutting painfully from my body. As I stood being pelted by ice cold drops of water, I tried to think of things other than Olivia’s ass, the pink folds between her legs, her cherry tipped full breasts that would fit so nicely in the palm of my hand. But there was no way that I could erase those images from my mind.
Unable to stop myself, I gripped my shaft and began pumping it up and down. My jaw clenched as I imagined driving into her from behind. Her ass slamming against me as I buried myself in her warm, tight passage. The sound of her thighs slapping against mine as my fingers dug into her hips was the soundtrack playing in my mind.
Within seconds, my knees locked, and my jaw tensed as I came in a hard, jarring release. White stars appeared behind my closed lids as a harsh groan of satisfaction ripped from me as lightning bolts of pleasure shot through me. The entire thing probably lasted less than thirty seconds but it felt like much longer than that. When my dick twitched with the final aftershock, I rested my forehead on the cold tile and turned the nozzle to hot.
When I floated back from the cloud of bliss that had overwhelmed me, I realized something; I hadn’t felt any pain since I’d looked out the window. It was the only relief I’d had in the past two months. Apparently, a naked Olivia Calhoun was more potent than Fentanyl.
Chapter 8
Olivia
“If your plan isn’t working, then ya might wanna change your plan not your goal.”
~ Maggie Calhoun
I was running late when the bell dinged over my head as I entered The Greasy Spoon. The smell of coffee being brewed, onions grilling, a freshly baked apple pie chilling, and bacon frying wafted through the air. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, morning, noon, or night, the Spoon smelt the same. That constant had always been comforting to me, but even the familiar scent wasn’t enough to calm the butterflies that had been throwing a rave in my stomach since I’d left to come here.
Was Holden still in town?
If he was, would I see him?
If I did, would I have the nerve to speak to him?
I kept telling myself that it didn’t matter because I needed to get over him. But that was obviously going to be a lot easier said than done.
“Well don’t you just look cuter than a june bug in a jumpsuit.” Tami Lynn, who was in her sixties and had waitressed at the Spoon since before I was born, winked at me as she smacked her gum. She was as much a staple of Wishing Well as the well that the town was named after, which sat in the center of town square.
“Thanks!” I beamed.
Even though I’d told myself it wasn’t the case, the truth was I’d gotten dressed with one thing, or should I say one person, in mind. I had no idea if Holden was still in Wishing Well, but if he was, it was a small enough town that I felt like my odds were good at having a sighting. I’d say I had a fifty-fifty chance.
Which is why I’d grabbed my new, off the shoulder, red and white floral crop top and cutoff jean shorts. I’d taken the extra time to blow out my hair and give myself beach waves, which I’d had to look up how to do on YouTube, thank you very much. I’d slathered on my favorite lotion that smelled like cinnamon and berries. I’d spent a good hour making sure that my makeup looked natural and basically like I wasn’t wearing any—again, I’d gotten assistance from a YouTube tutorial. I’d even painted my nails and toes. Not that you could even see my toes because I was wearing white sneakers.
It was more trouble than I’d gone to for any of my dates over the past couple of months. And chances were, the man wasn’t even in town. And even if he was, I needed to stay away from him. But those facts hadn’t stopped me from trying to look my best.
“Maisy’s already here.” Tami Lynn pointed a long, red acrylic nail to the back of the diner. “And she ordered, so you gals are all set.”
“Thanks.” I’d messaged to let my friend know that I was going to be a few minutes late. She’d said she was starving so she was going to go ahead and order for us.
A niggle of disappointment sparked in my chest as I walked through the crowded dining area and did not spot Holden. Maybe he’d already left. Maybe I had missed my chance. But I reminded myself, what chance did I actually have?
There were really only two options, Holden had either found the letter I’d snuck in his bag all those years ago, read it, and never said anything about it. Or he’d never found the letter, but also had zero desire to know me as an adult. I wasn’t sure which scenario would hurt worse, but both of them definitely stung.
The man had shown zero interest in me since we were in middle school, yet for some reason, I still held out hope that there was something there. Being a hopeless romantic was definitely not all it was cracked up to be. I envied Molly for her more pragmatic view on…everything.