Free MaleOrder by Amy Ruttan

Chapter One
     
    When the clock chimed ten in the morning my heart beat a
little bit faster. I ran to the front window and peeked through the drapes,
from the open window I could hear my neighbor’s mailbox squeaking. I could also
hear the sound of his iPod blasting out a steady beat of hip-hop music, which
kept him moving as he walked his route. Usually I wasn’t this excited about the
prospect of getting mail—that was until about four months ago, when the mail
started coming later.
    I was very pleased to find out why when I met the new
mailman Bastien.
    Letting the curtain I was clutching drop back into place I
ran to the entranceway and stood in front of the mirror above the cherry wood
table where I usually dumped my keys. I straightened my tight, white halter top
and ran a hand over my already-smooth hair.
    I can’t believe I’m going to do this.
    It was something I had been fantasizing about for months,
ever since Bastien had started delivering the mail in my neighborhood. I had
been living a somewhat cloistered life since my divorce. I settled into a
routine, and the days began to blur into one another. It was the day I went out
at eight to get my mail and it wasn’t there. It freaked me out. It was part of
my routine, it broke up my day.
    So I waited in my sweats, clutching a cup of coffee watching
for Hank the mailman. Instead I learned that morning Hank had retired and was
replaced by a thirty-something, muscle-honed, ebony Adonis.
    The Adonis handed me my mail, tipped his hat and said
“Ma’am” in a honeyed southern drawl that made my toes curl in my Crocs. His
chocolate eyes seemed to take me, and I couldn’t help but picture all the
naughty things we could do together. Yet, in my shocked state of mind, all I
could do was push my glasses back up the bridge of my nose, take the mail and
then run inside to hide my crazy, bag lady-type appearance from him.
    Bastien delivered the mail around ten in the morning. He
always had a bright smile and a suggestive look in his eyes. I began to
fantasize about him when I pleasured myself at night—it was his face, his body
I pictured thrusting into me.
    The mailman of all people!
    Bastien was not the typical hero I wrote about. I was a
romance writer, I wrote to people’s fantasies. I wrote about cowboys,
swashbucklers, leather-clad bad boys. Never in my wildest dreams would I have
ever thought about writing an erotic romance about a mailman—a sweet, smiling
and very courteous postal worker.
    Still, Bastien wasn’t what you would call the typical
mailman. At least not the type I was used to seeing. Bastien was
broad-shouldered and had rippling muscles and a smile like Denzel Washington.
His smile brightened my day, made me feel like a giddy schoolgirl with her
first crush. I hadn’t felt this alive in a long time. My divorce has certainly
sucked the life out of me—in fact I had been dwelling in a writer’s block for
some time. When Bastien showed up and gave me a glimpse of his sweet southern
charm, my muse became fired, among other things.
    I found reasons to be waiting by the door for my mail.
Suddenly my neglected garden was getting much-needed attention—digging in the
dirt, weeding was the perfect excuse. Also pretending to just be going out as
he walked up was another of my favorites.
    We always had a nice chat before he carried on his way. I
was the last house on his delivery route. Of course I never got past the
initial pleasantries. What I wanted to do was throw myself in his arms and beg
him to take me. I knew I was a few years older than he and really, what would a
young stud like him want with me?
    I decided to take a leaf out of one of my own books. I was
going seduce Bastien and pray it didn’t blow up in my face and he didn’t laugh
at me. I thought he wanted me though, I saw the way his eyes raked over my body
the other day. There was lust there, and I didn’t want a relationship. I just
wanted no-strings-attached sex.
    I wanted to be