Her Neighbor's Hot Tub

Riley had been home from college for three weeks, and every night she watched Marcus through the gaps in the fence. Forty-eight, divorced, still built like the athlete he’d been—broad shoulders, thick arms, that salt-and-pepper hair she wanted to fist. When he texted her that afternoon—Parents gone? Hot tub’s free. Come over—she didn’t even pretend to hesitate.

She walked through his gate in a tiny bikini, heart hammering. Marcus stood by the steaming water in nothing but black swim trunks, water beading on the hard planes of his chest, the dark hair trailing down his stomach. The secluded backyard felt suddenly smaller.

“You look good, Riley,” he said, voice low. “Better than I let myself imagine.”

She stepped into the bubbling water, heat licking up her thighs. “You’ve been imagining me?”

“For months.” He sank onto the bench beside her, close enough that her knee brushed his. “Every time you sunbathed next door. That little blue suit. I jacked off thinking about peeling it off you.”