Christa Wick

Sexting Curves

Major Logan Jones opened the front door of his three-bedroom ranch before I landed my first knock. Surprised, I glanced at my watch. 'I'm not late, am I?'

The major is very particular about people being on time. After five plus years of babysitting his son Stevie, I still had a clean record. Working a summer job at a downtown office, however, meant that I had been cutting it close all summer long.

'No, I heard you pull up.' Taking a step back, he opened the door wider and motioned me inside.

I passed him in the hall, my thick hips and the narrow space conspiring to force the brief rub of my body against his. A familiar heat flared along the surface of my skin. My nipples puckered, the sensation triggering an outbreak of goose bumps and wet need.

Continuing down the hall, I rubbed at my arms, hoping my body would behave before the major noticed his effect on me. Not that he ever has — I've been nursing a crush on him since I started babysitting Stevie over five years ago. He has remained blissfully ignorant even when my body's reaction to him kicked into high gear after Mrs. Jones ran off to parts unknown in search of her 'true self.'

Ugh…Mrs. Jones.

I'm pretty certain her true self is some kind of dumb ass space alien because Stevie is the cutest little bug I've ever babysat and the major is the sexiest thing on two legs. Logan is tall and lean, with muscles so big it would take both my hands to circle one of his biceps. Add to that intense fuck-me eyes, finely chiseled features accentuated by the military cut of his dark ash brown hair, and a mouth that looks like it could melt an iceberg and my pussy is instantly soaked when he's around. Hell, even when he's wearing his ACUs, he's hot as sin. Pour him into a tight t-shirt and a pair of jeans and I'm ready to pop.

I also love how protective he is. Not just with Stevie, but with everyone he thinks of as his extended family — including me. Since he isn't overbearing, it's a complete turn on knowing he has my back.

Ready to leave, the major interrupted my reverie before I had a chance to drift into a middle-of-the-day, full- on wet dream and embarrass myself.

'I'll be home by midnight.' He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone and started tapping at the screen. Half a second later my phone buzzed in my purse. 'Just sent you another number to call if you have trouble reaching me. Building I'll be at is a bit of a black hole for signal reception.'

'Okay.' I watched him move through the front room to retrieve his gear. Another shiver ran across my skin when he bent over to grab his backpack. Seeing that tight ass, I wanted to step behind him, press my hips against it and run my hands up his sides before reaching around front and palming his dick.

'No visitors.'

Snapping back to reality a second time, I nodded. It's the same discussion every time. He means 'no boys.' Like I could possibly be interested in someone else or stupid enough to invite them to the major's home.

'Make sure Stevie is in bed by ten.'

'Yes, Major.' I wondered how I would make it to ten. Stevie is easy to watch, but looking at Logan had me all worked up. My nipples remained hard as steel ball bearings and my clit had been slowly swelling from the second he opened the door. I already ached to go into the bathroom, lift my skirt and run my fingers over my pussy until I came.

'Logan, not Major, not Mr. Jones. Just Logan.' He gave me one of those looks that would be stern if his pale blue gaze didn't glitter like frosted diamonds. 'Or I'll go back to calling you Lilliput.'

I crinkled my nose at him and faintly nodded but didn't say anything. I couldn't bring myself to call him Logan. I was certain I would make a fool of myself if I did. His name would eventually issue all breathless and shaking, exactly like it does when I'm touching myself. And his threat was no good because I only half mind him calling me Lilliput. It makes me feel special, even if it means he still thinks of me as the seventeen year old he first hired instead of a woman he can legally fuck in all fifty states and the District of Columbia.

After a few more seconds of my only nodding, he lifted a brow and offered me an exasperated snort. 'Just promise me you'll work on it, Lily.'

Watching him shoulder his bag, I smiled. 'Yes, Major.'

With the major gone, I went into Stevie's room to see what he wanted for dinner.

His gaze went adorably evil as the right side of his face crept upward in a grin. 'Shepherd's Pie!'

'Get serious, little man, I don't even know what that is.' Last time he had requested haggis. Then we Googled it and he immediately reconsidered and asked for meatloaf. This time, I negotiated him down to spaghetti with asparagus tips.

After five years, we had a routine, one that had grown a little cosier after his mom took off. Before, he'd want to play Xbox or get on the computer in the front room. After she left, he wanted to sit on the couch and watch movies with me. This visit, he selected home videos I'd never seen before.

He was missing his mom and it broke my heart more than a little, so I agreed. When nine rolled around, I sent him to his bedroom to give it a quick clean, change into his Transformer pajamas and brush his teeth.

Alone in the front room, I went back through the DVD, stopping each time the major was alone on screen. When I got to the part where he'd just lost a water balloon fight with Stevie, I replayed it frame by frame. The major wore a t-shirt and running shorts. The fabric was soaked through and clung to his muscled body. With the camera still running, he stripped the tee away, revealing small, hard nipples that made my pussy drool and my tongue thick with the need to lick and taste them.

On screen, he grabbed a towel then ran it over his biceps and chest. Realizing Mrs. Jones had continued filming him, he gave her a sinful grin and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. For someone with a mad, lustful crush on Logan, it was one helluva sight to see. By the fourth replay, the tension running along my clit had stacked so high that I popped into the laundry room with my cell phone in hand while Stevie brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

Locking the door, my gaze skipped over the full-length mirror attached to its back. Before Mrs. Jones skipped out, mirrors had filled the house — one or more per room. She was totally weird like that. I had caught her a dozen plus times looking in whatever mirror stood behind me as she gave me instructions.

Mrs. Jones, who had never invited me to use her first name, is a stick — at least she was eight months ago. So at first I thought she was staring at, and unfavorably judging, my double-wide butt, which made me even more self-conscious around her. Later I realized she only looked at herself in the mirror. She did it all the time, even when Logan or Stevie talked to her, her smiles reserved for her reflection.

The mirrors had slowly come down after she left. I never talked to the major about it, but I think he didn't want to shock Stevie with their sudden and complete disappearance. Except for the bathroom mirrors and the one attached to the dresser in Logan's bedroom, the laundry room mirror was the last survivor.

Hopping onto the washing machine, I braced a foot against the door on each side of the mirror. Normally, I hate looking at mirrors, especially large ones. I hate it so much that I raised the mirror in my bathroom at home a foot higher so it only shows my face. But I had come to terms with the mirror in the laundry room, ignoring it except for those few times I needed to use the room for stress relief when I kept my gaze focused on one spot only — the pink, wet one between my plump thighs.

With my skirt riding around my hips, I watched my reflection as I pulled the gusset of my panties to one side to reveal my waxed pussy. A thin, translucent syrup had leaked from the thick press of my labia to coat the seam. Spreading their swollen folds, I revealed the darker pink of my sex.

Oh, Major, look what you've done. My pussy is soaked and swollen thinking about you.

Sighing over what would never be, I opened the browser on my phone and navigated to wardick — my favorite tumblr page. I thumbed through the posts with one hand while the other stroked my clit. I glanced at the mirror every few seconds to see how much more cream dripped from me and the lustful blush making the skin on my mound glow a pale rose. Half a dozen posts in, I found the perfect picture. It was a lap shot, the camera looking down as the subject sat with his pants pushed low. The image was hi-res, showing me a strong, tanned hand

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