Elena Moore, 42, was the hottest woman on the block—curvy, single, always out watering plants in tight leggings and loose tanks with no bra. The neighborhood watched her. Fantasized. But none dared to act.
Until Rome' 24 moved in next door.
Ex-college athlete. Deep-voiced, chocolate-skinned, muscles everywhere, and packing something that made joggers illegal. He offered to help her with some renovations.
She needed her floor redone.
He brought the hardwood.
From the first time he stepped into her home, the tension was nuclear. One long look at her ass in yoga pants, and he was rock hard. One glimpse at his sweat-drenched tank top, and she was soaked.
What started as innocent hammering turned into pounding of another kind.
And the only thing that got nailed was her.
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