The Plumber: BWWM Romance Series (The Handyman Series Book 2) Read online

  “What the hell?”

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I can’t do this.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Listen we can’t do this okay? ‘Cause I’m fucking nasty and the filthy things I want to do to you will only scare you away.”

  My mouth hung open. Was this thirty-something-year-old man really convinced he could scare me away after I’d seen his monster cock and went for it?

  “Are you joking?”

  “No,” he replied, “I’m not. I like you Tasha, but I can’t let myself do this.”

  “Oh… Okay.”

  “I’ll get my clothes.”

  He shuffled out of the room, his large dick swinging like a pendulum as he walked away.

  My head was spinning. Had I done something?

  The filthy things I want to do to you will only scare you away.

  What had Brock meant by that?

  He returned fully clothed and embarrassed, I mumbled that his money was on the counter and pretended to be cleaning my refrigerator door as he grabbed the money and left. My cheeks burned with shame.

  I rushed upstairs, wondering if I should call Shontal or Kishawn. Not Shontal, she’d judge the heck out of me. And Kishawn? I didn’t want her to know I’d failed where she’d managed to succeed. I’d come close to claiming my controversial prize. I’d even touched him.

  That night, I was more morose than ever. Gerald left me a cutting voicemail about how he’d sent the check and I was a bitch for expecting him to do it on time because I “never let a man be a man”. I knew that wasn’t true, but I couldn’t help but feel pretty low. I’d screwed up with my husband and I’d been rejected again.

  I shouldn’t have cared so much, but Brock made me want him. He was the first man in a long time to make me feel beautiful -- really beautiful. He didn’t want me to feel beautiful “despite” my age, but because of it.

  I didn’t call any of my friends. I carried my secret shame all the way through Sunday brunch the next week.

  That Sunday night, my phone rang at an unusual hour. I assumed it was Beulah, calling to tell me that her daddy’s check finally cleared.

  “Hey hon,” I answered the phone.

  “Uh, hi. Is this Mrs. Woodstock?”

  A male voice. A distinct voice.

  “Brock?”

  “Yes…”

  “Oh. I thought you were my daughter.”

  He chuckled.

  “Nope. But how old is your daughter?”

  “Very funny.”

  He sighed as if working up the courage.

  “Look, Tasha, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s my fault.”

  “No,” he said “it isn’t. I just didn’t want to scare you.”

  “You didn’t scare me.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “Not at all,” I replied, “Listen you may be different, but I’ve been around the block. Ain’t nothing that can scare me anymore.”

  He laughed.

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Those are fighting words,” I challenged.

  “You don't seem like the sort of woman to pass up a good fight.”

  “Should I be offended by that?”

  “No. But be ready. I’m coming over at 8.”

  He hung up before I could ask him any more questions or snoop any further into what sort of filthy desires he’d been talking about.

  Our phone call had been foreplay enough and I fantasized about Brock all day.

  Shontal texted me to make plans for our weekly book club but I ignored her. Book club could wait.

  I hadn't made love to a man in so long and I knew Brock would be the sweetest way to break my involuntary fast. 8 couldn't have arrived faster.

  I didn’t overthink it. At this stage of my life, I wouldn’t get another chance like this: a hot plumber with a monster sized dick offering himself to me with no strings attached.

  At 8, I waited near the door, desperate for the sound of Brock’s camo truck. My heart raced. I’m really doing this, I thought, I’m going to sleep with a man decades younger than me who fixes pipes for a living and drives a camo truck.

  The thought had me dripping.

  A roaring engine approached and I rushed to the door. Chilled wine condensed on my counter top, but I prayed he wouldn’t be interested in exchanging pleasantries.

  I watched Brock get out of the truck, run his hands through his brown hair and approach my doorstep. He knocked and I swung the door open.

  “Good —“

  I didn’t have time to finish my sentence. He grabbed me roughly by the hips and pulled me in close for a kiss. The kiss knocked me off balance and when he pulled away, I gasped for breath.

  “You and I have one hour,” he said, “here are the rules. I’ll do whatever I want to you and you have to accept it. If you want me to stop, all you have to do is use a safe word. If you use the safeword, I really will stop. I’ll leave your house tonight and we can try again tomorrow. Any questions?”

  “What’s the safe word?”

  “Monkeywrench.”

  “Got it.”

  “Now strip. I want you naked in bed with your ass in the air in sixty seconds. Go.”

  He smacked my ass and I squealed, prompted to run into my bedroom leaving a trail of clothing along the way as I slipped onto the sheets naked. I positioned myself on all fours, exposing everything to him.

  I’d prove to him I could handle him.

  What could a young buck like him bring to the table that I couldn’t handle?

  He entered the room, his body casting a shadow into the bedroom and blocking the light from the hall.

  “Perfect,” he whispered, “just how I like it…”

  He took two steps, each one thudding gently as he approached me. I heard him murmuring under his breath.

  “Perfect…”

  “Spread your cheeks for me.”

  I obeyed him.

  He’d promised me freaky, let’s see what he could bring to the table.

  “Good,” he said, “have you ever touched yourself before?”

  I smirked but didn’t turn around to look at him.

  “Yes.”

  “For your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you touch yourself now?”

  “Is that an order?”

  “Yes.”

  My fingers danced across my lips and I drove one inside me, gasping as I entered myself. I’d touched myself before of course and I picked up a rhythm fast. My fingers pushed deeper between my legs and I moaned, arching my back as I touched the spongiest part of my wetness and coated my fingers in my own juices.

  “Good… Keep going.”

  I probed my wetness until I felt an intense tightening in my core. I moaned as I exploded. My legs shuddered and collapsed beneath me with my fingers firmly embedded between my thighs.

  I lay on my chest, my fingers coated in my own juices and my thighs splattered with my honey.

  “Stay there,” he commanded.

  I inhaled shuddering breaths as I listened to him strip his clothes off.

  The mattress dipped as he pressed his knees into the bed. His outer thighs touched my inner thighs. I shivered.

  “Nervous?”

  “About that monster between your legs? Yes.”

  He chuckled.

  “Don’t be.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “I’ll go easy on you.”

  “You’re lying.”

  He laughed again.

  “Just trying to make you feel better. Now relax. I can’t do this if you’re all tense.”

  I expected to feel the throbbing heat of his cock against my entrance. I shuddered in anticipation but instead of his cock, his tongue flicked against my fleshy entrance. I gasped as his tongue pried my lips apart and he darted deep inside me.

  I moaned and he gripped my thighs, holding them still as he worked me with his tongue. His
hands maintained a powerful grip as he stroked me soft and gentle. My moans grew louder and heat built in my chest as he rubbed my clit with his tongue then performed long and slow strokes all the way to my back door.

  I cried out and erupted with pleasure.

  “Ohhh!”

  “Cum for me…”

  I moaned and obeyed his command. I whimpered as he continued to stroke me after I had cum.

  My thighs were soaked. My wetness pulsed and exploded with pleasure. He pulled away from me and smacked me on the ass hard. My cheeks jiggled and a rush surged through me.

  “This is mine,” he demanded, “this pussy is all mine.”

  He moved away from my wetness. He had stripped naked. His hardness was inches away from my opening. Now, he pulled back.

  “That was enough for today.”

  “What?!” I exclaimed.

  “What? I didn’t please you?”

  He asked. The question’s intent was rhetorical.

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just —“

  “You want to do things your way, not mine,” he replied.

  My mouth hung open. I turned around, sitting upright on the bed to speak with him now.

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “It is. And I’m telling you we had enough for today. If you’re a good girl, next time we’ll go further.”

  My mouth hung open. How could he get so close and deny himself? How could he deny me the satisfaction of tasting and riding his hardness?

  “You’re really leaving?”

  “Yes,” he replied, “I’m leaving. Don’t worry, when I come back, you’ll be glad you waited.”

  He dressed, teasing me by covering his flawless body slowly, inch by inch.

  “This is torture.”

  “Baby, you haven’t seen torture.”

  He came over to me and kissed me on the lips, then he left.

  Two hours later, Brock called.

  “Tomorrow, 10 p.m.”

  No further instructions required. I only had to be ready for him when he came.

  The next day at work, couldn't stop thinking about my plumber. The way he gazed at me with those brilliant green eyes and the way he handled me like I belonged to him turned me on.

  I craved his touch more than ever before. I pictured him returning to my house that evening. He would strip his clothes off and then mine and maybe this time I would get a chance to feel that monster pounding between my legs.

  The organ I once feared had grown into a coveted object for me. I longed to experience his prowess as he plunged between my thighs and exploded with enormous force.

  A man of that size could reach parts of me that no man had ever touched. I'd gone past temptation into a full-blown obsession. On the way home from work, I was tempted to call him and beg him to come over early.

  I had never come this close to begging for a man.

  I waited until 10, anxious the entire time. I couldn’t bring myself to sip wine and settle my nerves. I paced, dressed in nothing but a silk kimono roped at the waist with a thick rope cord.

  Brock tortured me with the wait. He arrived at 10, but when he entered, he didn’t rush and kiss me at all.

  He leaned forward, pecking me on the lips and pulling away.

  My mouth hung open.

  “That’s it?”

  “No,” he replied with a smirk, “But you need to get warmed up first.”

  “Warmed up?”

  “Mhm. I need to see you nice and loose.”

  Trust me, I’m loose, I thought to myself as my hand dangled near the knot in the kimono, ready to pull it undone and expose myself.

  “What are you waiting for? Get over here.”

  He glared at me.

  “I make the orders around here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I squeezed my thighs together, delighted to play along. A game like this could only benefit me.

  “Come,” he growled, “show me what you’re wearing.”

  I walked closer to him and spun around, the edges of my kimono flaring out slightly around my ankles.

  “Good,” he replied, “but not slutty enough.”

  He smirked, letting me know he was joking.

  “I can make it sluttier,” I whispered, reaching for the roped belt again.

  “Not yet,” he said, “kiss me first.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I leaned in and he kissed me, slow and tender. When he pulled away, he gripped my cheek, squeezing it tightly and gazing into my eyes.

  “Are you ready to obey me?”

  “Yes…”

  “Are you ready to give me your pussy?”

  “Y-yes, I whimpered.”

  “Are you ready to be tied to the bed and spanked ‘til your ass is sore?”

  “Yes…” I whimpered.

  “Good.”

  He let go and swatted me on the buttocks.

  “Get upstairs and get naked. If you take longer than 60 seconds, I’m walking out of here tonight.”

  I ran. I didn’t just sprint up the stairs, I thumped so hard I threatened to break through them. My heart raced as I undid my belt and dropped the kimono to the ground, throwing myself on the bed as I heaved, exposing every inch of my flesh to Brock.

  He came upstairs behind me with a smile on his face.

  “Good girl.”

  I giggled and he reached into his back pocket and pulled out silk scarves.

  “No more sound, Tasha. Submit to your senses.”

  “What does—“

  Before I could finish he glared, so I never asked the question. He walked around the bed, fastening me to the posts by my arms with tight knots.

  When I thought he was finished, he tied a scarf around my eyes, cutting me off visually. He tied my mouth with another scarf so I could no longer make a sound, not to scream, not to beg.

  I mumbled and thrashed my arms in gentle protest but the bonds held.

  Brock spoke in a vibrating bass.

  “I am going to pleasure you until neither of us can take it anymore. Don’t be afraid. There will be pain but it won’t be anything you can’t handle.”

  I shuddered in response.

  “Good. You’re ready. Now spread your legs.”

  I heard his clothes land on the floor and then the mattress shifted with his weight. I longed to reach my arms out and touch him. But I couldn’t. I had to remain satisfied with my thighs. I pressed them up against his torso, running my pointed toes down his legs until he grabbed my thighs forcefully and pinned them back.

  His firm grip held them steady. I heard the metal wrapper open and inhaled the faint smell of rubber as he rolled protection onto his hardness.

  The tip pressed up against my entrance and my hips bucked of their own accord, resisting entry. The memory of his largeness lingered inter recesses of my mind, prompting an involuntary fear response.

  “Relax.”

  His commanding voice kept me sane. I breathed in slowly and he eased just the head between my legs. His girth stretched me so wide that I was already forced to take shallow breaths. He gripped my waist, his warm hand pressing against my undulating stomach.

  “Easy…”

  He pressed another half inch inside me and the binds around my mouth muffled what would have been an enormous scream.

  My thighs thrashed again and he pinned them back growling, “Still.”

  I whimpered and he forced another inch inside me. Another scream muffled. I thrashed again and a single tear rolled out of my eye. I’d never had my wetness stretched so much to accommodate a man.

  He forced another few inches inside me and I screamed as loud as I could…

  MMMM!! MmmpMMHHHMMPHHHH!!

  “I can’t hear you, babe,” he said.