Free Dirty Heat by Cairo Page B

senses, and I feel so shamelessly dirty. So, so, scandalously perverted. Fucking someone almost twenty-six years younger than me.
    And, yet, I keep letting him crawl back between my thighs, plunging his hard, horny dick deep into my wet, trembling cunt.
    Lord, help me.
    I’ve always been a flamboyantly sexy and beautiful woman comfortable in her own skin, confident and seemingly carefree. And although, I am way much closer to forty-five that I am to ever being thirty-five, you’d never know it. And, yes, I’m about fifteen pounds heavier than I was ten, fifteen, years ago, but thanks to Pilates and a slew of yoga classes, I’ve painstakingly maintained my curves in all the right places. Despite the stretch marks that fan out over my stomach, I have a body better than some of the young women half my age.
    And the way Kyree and the rest of the young men his age drink in the sight of me—with hot, hungry gazes—every time they see me, confirms what I already know. Like any man, those young horny boys are enthralled with big, bouncy asses, beautiful breasts, powerful hips and lots of wet pussy.
    I briefly allow my mind to roll back to when it began. When I’d first discovered it. Felt it. The temptation. The stirring between my legs that undeniably made me feel weak. The looming desire that seemed to balloon from out of nowhere.
    It was the week following the Memorial Day weekend. Both of my sons were home from college, and my husband, Sebastian, had flown out to Toronto on business earlier that morning and wasn’t expected back until the following week.
    My twenty-one-year-old son, Dillon, spent most of his time either working at a job he’d had every summer since his freshman year of college, or he was with his girlfriend, Paige, out in Brooklyn where she lived. So I rarely saw him.
    Jacob, on the other hand, was another story. He preferred to stay close to home, particularly when his father traveled. And any girlfriends he had, he’d rather bring them home rather than spendhis time at their places. He’d said he preferred to “freak them” in his own backyard. So basically he was telling me he was screwing his fast-assed girlfriends right here under my nose. My sons were very open—sometimes a bit too open—with me about their sexual conquests. Still, some things I simply didn’t need to know, or hear.
    Anyway, this particular day, I was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I heard the alarm chirp, alerting that the front door had been opened. A few moments later, I heard, “Hey, Mrs. Lang.” It was Kyree. He and Jacob have been friends since second grade so he was like family, and pretty much always had free rein to come in and out without ringing the doorbell. Truthfully, he was practically like one of my own sons.
    He walked into the kitchen where I was standing at the sink, washing a pot. I could feel his gaze on my back, my ass, my legs.
    I craned my neck and smiled. “Oh, hey, Kyree.”
    He grinned as he stalked over wearing a V-neck tee and a pair of green camouflage cargo pants—one leg rolled up showing his bulging, heart-shaped calf—with a pair of wheat Timberland boots.
    I tried not to stare at the way his T-shirt clung to his barreled chest or the way his biceps bulged under his sleeves as he made his way over and kissed me on the cheek.
    â€œDang. You smell good,” he said, mischief glinting in his eye. “You’re making me hungry,” he said low and sexy for only me to hear.
    I playfully rolled my eyes, waving him on. “Boy, stop. It isn’t me that has you hungry. It’s that barbecue chicken you smell baking in the oven.”
    He laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s you , for real. You smell real nice, Mrs. Lang.” He paused, looking me over. “You always do.”
    The only thing I could do to keep from swooning was, smile and let the compliment float over my head. Kyree was