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me fired,” he said, a glint in his eye. “I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Anything.”
    My pink zones lit up like Christmas tree ornaments. “Anything?”
    “Anything,” he said.
    “Go trim some hedges,” I said angrily, closing the window. “And stop peeping.”
    With the window shut, we stared at each other through the glass.
    As he was watching, I ran both hands over my breasts and torso. I was still wearing my unbuttoned blouse, and I let it drop to the floor, so he could see my pink bra and more of my skin.
    He nodded at me to continue.
    The sun behind him was bright, and his face was in shadows, but I could still sense the fire in his eyes.
    I reached behind me and unlatched my lacy pink bra, letting it fall to the floor with my blouse. I had already slipped off my shoes earlier, when I was moving the furniture, and now the expensive creamy sisal carpet felt sensual under my bare soles.
    My nipples stood at attention, the bright pink raspberries pointing right at the gardener, reaching out for him.
    In response, he shifted one hand slowly to arrange his package, beneath his jeans. Funny, his jeans looked like a designer pair, not the grubby type you’d expect to see on a gardener.
    I’d had an idea about who he was, but it wasn’t until I walked up to the window and pressed my body against the glass that my conscious mind became aware of what my subconscious, animal mind already knew.
    I pointed and gestured for him to show me what was in his jeans, and he did. One thick-fingered hand unbuttoned and released his manhood. I knew that cock. I’d know it anywhere. It was the same one I’d hungered after the day before, while I was hiding under the desk, breathing my hot breath in its direction as I’d desperately rubbed myself into my palm.
    He pressed it against the glass, and then pulled back again, looking sheepish.
    “What?” I said.
    He mouthed the words and I heard him, albeit faintly, through the pane that separated us, “That glass is hot,” he said, grinning.
    I licked my lips. “Want me to kiss it better?”
    He made a pouty face and nodded.
    I unlatched the window again.
    “May I come in?” he said. A good portion of him was already inside the room, pointing at my upper body.
    I grabbed him by his sturdy handle without even thinking about it, tugging at him tenderly. “Let me help you.”
    He groaned and closed his eyes, gripping the edge of the window frame with both hands. “That feels good.”
    I used my other hand to give his base and balls some feathery strokes as I tugged gently with the other hand. “I’ll kiss it better if you wanna come inside.”
    He gripped the window frame tighter. “I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t enter the house. I’m not allowed .”
    “Really?” Were we still playing this little game, pretending that he was the gardener? I looked at his face, at his half-closed eyes and the pained, hungry expression on his mouth. “You’re the gardener ,” I said, stressing the word gardener . “You’re dirty , so maybe you should stay out there, on your ladder. If you come inside, you’ll probably make a big mess all over Mr. Thorne’s nice carpet.”
    At the mention of Mr. Thorne , his equipment throbbed in my hand.
    “I promise I’ll be good,” he said.
    “Maybe you should stay out there,” I said. “Where you belong. Not in here, on Mr. Thorne’s nice Egyptian Cotton sheets.” He thrust his hips at me, his member pulsing back and forth in my hand, slick with the sweat from my excited palms. I paused for a moment and licked my hand, then returned it.
    His hands were still gripping the window frame, his knuckles turning white. “This is dangerous,” he said.
    “I’ll say.” I paused my handwork and removed my skirt. I took two steps back and buried one hand inside my pink panties, the other one near my mouth, so I could suck my thumb. “Too bad you can’t come into Mr. Thorne’s nice bedroom.”
    He removed his hat and threw it far, into