Authors: JT Harding
Tags: #lesbian, #threesome, #anal sex, #oral sex, #lactation
The Beach House
Published by JT Harding at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 JT Harding
Discover other titles
Also available at Smashwords by JT
Georgia’s English Rose
Smashwords Edition, License
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook
may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like
to share this book with another person, please purchase an
additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and
did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only,
then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Jenni Adams parked her rusted pickup behind the
and killed the engine, sat at the wheel as an east
wind brought rain over the steep shingle roof and drove it hard
against the windshield. The surf would be big today and she
anticipated a fight getting through the waves. She wanted this
moment to last, sitting perfectly still, letting the urge to swim
build inside, the anticipation almost sexual. For Jenni, a lot of
things were almost sexual.
She considered her life, her future, and
whether a place existed for the couple staying in the beach house
next door. She needed to decide two things – hell, at
two, she thought, but let’s get those nailed down to start.
The first was a biggie. She believed the
time had come for her to give serious consideration to leaving her
By comparison, the second was easy. Which of
the two people staying in the beach house did she want to make love
with most? And then, with a shiver: why not both?
Neither question came with any easy answer.
She had been here before, nagging away at what to do about her
marriage, like a tongue probing a sore tooth and with pretty much
the same result. Leave well alone; worrying only makes the pain
worse. Except now the marriage, like an ignored tooth, was reaching
a point where she
to do something. As for the couple
next door, the couple with the baby… Well, she guessed that was
mostly wishful thinking.
Jenni had come to the beach to swim, same as
she did nearly every day of the year, summer or winter. September
came and the Harpers returned home, letting Jenni know the house
was hers to use whenever she wanted. She would drive over the spine
of the island from town and park on the rough sand and grass strip
behind the house, change into her swimwear, then use the electric
shower indoors when she returned from the ocean. Even though Kate
and Tim were good friends, even though they said use the place
whenever she liked, some faint guilt touched her each time because
this was their house. She felt like an intruder; although less of
one now than she had, after what happened two years before.
It had been a warmer day back then when Jenni
arrived early at the row of beach houses, as she did every Saturday
during summer. Late July, the height of the vacation season, with
all six of the houses occupied. At a quarter before seven the sand
stretched clean and empty, washed by last night’s tide, not yet
disturbed by kids with spades and buckets, dry bathers with sun
loungers, teenagers making scratch games of beach volleyball
scuffing up the surface, or a hundred footprints from people
wandering with nowhere particular to be. The sun struggled to clear
the fog which still blanketed the edge of the ocean, overhead the
sky cloudless. Jenni knew this would change in the afternoon as
heat built over the land and cumulus began popping. She sniffed,
tasting the air. No rain today.
Jenni parked her pickup behind the last but
one house. Kate and Tim Harper had owned it for as long as she
remembered. At one time the house had been filled with kids and
laughter, the smell of sun oil, drying swimwear and toast – someone
was always making toast.
Now the kids had grown and some had kids of
their own. Kate and Tim continued to arrive each summer, retired
now and with time on their hands. They asked Jenni to use the place
out of season, from early September on, their offer mostly but not
completely altruistic because Jenni kept the place aired and clean.
The houses were let until the end of November, a couple of them all
year for those hardy souls craving wild winds and gray skies who
didn’t mind freezing their butts off for the sake of fresh air,
exercise and deserted sand.
September through March was quiet, the beach
undisturbed, and Jenni came down to change in the house, as a base
to swim for an hour or more a day and a chance to escape her home
life. When the sea grew too cold to swim in her bikini – the one
created from visitor cast offs, the top skimpy black nylon too
small for her breasts, the bottom mismatched gray lycra in a
different style, cut square like boy shorts – she wore the even
older wetsuit someone had thrown out and Jenni retrieved after they
vacated the house. The wetsuit had a rip on one shoulder, the seams
starting to part, but the application of gaffer tape worked
wonders, keeping her warm enough to continue swimming right through
winter. The Gulf Stream helped as well.
Today the Harper’s were in residence. When
Kate heard Jenni’s pickup still its noisy rattle she came out on
the porch and waved.
“Coffee’s fresh if you want some, Jen.”
Jenni started dragging the first of the
laundry bags from the back of the pickup, checked blue and white
nylon, each containing fresh sheets and towels for one of the
houses. She tugged the Harper’s bag off the back of the truck and
let it drop to the ground, dragged it around to the steps leading
to the porch.
“I’ll take you up on the coffee,” Jenni
said, putting her back into pulling the bag up the three wide steps
between beach and porch.
“Hang on, Jen, I’ll get Paul to help
“I can manage.”
“I know you can, but you don’t have to. Come
Jenni stopped struggling and stepped up onto
the porch, tall and lean, the morning sun caught her sun bleached
auburn hair, cast light into her dark steel gray eyes. Kate Harper
pulled the screen door open and called inside. “Paul, come out here
and bring our laundry up.”
A muffled reply sounded and a moment later a
boy came out. Jenni stared at him, appreciating his perfect young
beauty. Dressed only in swim shorts his flat stomach rippled with
underlying muscle. No hair showed on his chest, his chin clean
shaven, hair straw blond and not far from the same texture, thick
and unruly. His blue eyes sparked as he smiled at Kate Harper, the
smile stopping short when he caught sight of Jenni and he
“This is Jenni Adams,” Kate made
introductions. “She works the houses along this stretch, but I
prefer to think of her as my friend.” Kate slipped her arm around
Jenni’s waist and gave a hug.
Jenni smiled, unable to stop herself. She
had known Kate so long she felt the same way.
“This is Paul,” Kate said. “My grandson.
Barbara’s eldest. You remember Barbara, don’t you?”
Jenni grinned, nodding. “Of course I do.”
Paul had inherited his mother’s blonde hair, although as Jenni
recalled Babs’ hair had been fine and silky. Barbara had been
Jenni’s first crush, twelve years old, hormones starting to kick in
and Barbara had been nice to her. Nice, and with a killer figure
and the face of an angel. Jenni offered her hand, and after a
moment’s hesitation Paul took four steps across the porch and shook
hers, pulling away almost as soon as their fingers met, as though
her touch had transferred an electric shock. His blush deepened and
he nodded stiffly. Young men, Jenni thought – you just gotta love
“Great to meet you, Paul.”
“Pleased to meet you too.” Paul spoke
without looking at her. “Is this the stuff you want fetching up,
Gram?” He took the steps in one long jump and gripped the carry
handles on the laundry bag, relieved to take the offered
“In the back room please, Paul.”
He lifted the bag easily and Jenni let
herself admire the way muscle bunched in his back and shoulders,
how his thighs popped hard as he lifted. He slung the bag over his
shoulder and pushed through the door.
“Take the weight off, Jen.” Kate poured a
large mug of coffee, pushed cream and sugar across the faded wooden
table. Jenni added both and sat in a pale chair and sipped,
enjoying the aroma and taste. Kate made the best coffee on the
“I can’t believe he’s all grown, Kate. Last
time I saw Babs she was what, twenty-four, twenty-five, and he must
have been two, three years old?” Jenni retrieved an image of Kate’s
pretty daughter, long blonde hair and good figure, a small round
boy on stocky legs marching up and down the beach with buckets of
water holding crabs, which his Mom made him take right back.
“I guess,” Kate said. “You can’t have been
much more than twelve yourself.”
Jenni laughed. “No, I guess not. Where does
the time go, Kate?”
Kate returned the laugh. “Tell me. Just wait
until you get to my age.”
The screen door opened and her husband came
out on the porch.
“Hey, Jen, I didn’t know you were here.” Tim
Harper was still lean at seventy, with a full head of hair now
turned completely white. The first time Jenni met him his hair had
been dark brown and he wore a mustache; but that was the late
eighties for you, and Jenni had been about five, accompanying her
mother who had done this job before her.
“How’s it hanging, Tim?” Jenni asked, and he
laughed at the usual greeting, laughed as he did every time.
“Same as ever, though sad to say a little
less every year.”
“Tim!” Kate wasn’t as shocked as she
sounded, smiling as she always did, accustomed to the innocent
flirting that went on between Jenni and her husband.
As if emboldened by the presence of his
grandfather Paul returned to the porch, the screen door slapping
back against the wall once more. He leaned against the railing on
the far side of the table, trying for casual but succeeding only in
looking sexy as all hell. Or so Jenni thought.
“You swimming later?” Tim asked her.
“What do you think, old timer?”
He laughed. “I guess you are. God, I wish I
was still young enough to keep up with you, Jen.”
“You still could, I reckon.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Jenni tried to remember the exact time they
had started playing these little games. Probably there had been no
first time, only a slow shift in their relationship. She would be
horrified if she thought Tim really meant anything, but the game
was fun, nothing more, Kate playing along as much as her husband,
giving them all satisfaction.
“Paul swims,” Kate said. “He swims for his
“Not anymore, Gram,” Paul said, his first
words since coming back out, though he still refused to look across
“No, of course not. I forgot. He’s going to
college in the Fall, Jen.”
“Where?” Jenni asked, interested. She liked
to hear about people bettering themselves. She might have wanted
that for herself, but too late now. Twenty-seven and settled into a
miserable marriage with a loser husband and no obvious way out.
Still, she enjoyed other people’s success, other people’s
“Cal Tech,” he said, staring at the beach as
though something important lay on the sand, something only he could
“That’s a long way from home.”
“No, Jen. Barbara lives in San Jose now,”
Kate said. “I’m sure I told you.”
Jenni laughed. “You probably did, Kate, but
you know I can never remember anything like that. So how good are
“Good?” He finally glanced in her
“In the water. Think you can beat me?”
She caught him suppressing a smile. “Guess
so.” He didn’t seem impressed by the challenge.
Tim Harper laughed and slapped his grandson
on the shoulder. “Don’t make promises you can’t deliver on, boy.
You’ve never seen Jen in the water.”
“I reckon I can still beat her.” Paul
straightened up, turned his head to glance at Jenni. He was tall
and lean in the way swimmers are, and Jenni tried and failed to
stop her glance skittering down to the respectable bulge in his
swim shorts. She hoped he didn’t catch where her eyes went, because
if he did it would be her turn to blush.
“A challenge, I think, don’t you Jen?” Tim
“A definite challenge.”
“Race–race–race,” Tim chanted.
“Not till I’ve finished the houses,” Jenni
Paul had worked his courage up and looked
directly at her. He was so damn beautiful, so sexy, Jenni hoped the
tingle stiffening her nipples did not betray her lust.