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This story contains explicit adult content involving fictional characters, all 18 or older. All intimate scenes are consensual. Reader discretion is advised.
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Brian hated how tight his khakis had gotten. At 39 years old, the summer heat hit him harder these days, and every step up the staircase of Solara Bay Apartments made his thighs chafe, his navy polo pulling up just enough to flash a sliver of his soft, pale belly. His big 6'2" frame huffed like a freight train, his broad shoulders stretching the sleeves of his too-small shirt. By the time he reached the second floor, he was red-faced, sweating through the cotton, toolbox clanging in one hand.
He wiped his forehead on his sleeve, cursed the heat, and checked the unit number. 204. Shower problem.
Normally, service requests took a day or two, but Jada had sweet-talked the leasing office into marking hers urgent. She knew how to get what she wanted -- and today, she wanted her damn shower fixed.
He knocked.
The door swung open, and Brian forgot how to breathe.
Standing there was Jada -- maybe twenty-two, twenty-three at most -- tall and devastating, with deep brown skin sheened with a light sweat from her workout. Her sports bra clung to full, proud C-cup breasts, the smooth planes of her stomach leading into a pair of black shorts that hugged every sculpted curve of her ass and thighs.
Brian flinched, almost stepping back.
"Uh--hi! I'm--maintenance--" he stammered.
Her full lips curled into an amused smile, one eyebrow lifting.
"You here to fix my shower, maintenance man?" she teased, arms folding under her chest, pushing her cleavage up invitingly.
She could tell he was older -- not by the way he looked exactly, but by the slightly awkward way he stood there, flushed and fidgety, trying not to stare. Cute, she thought. Like a big, sweaty, clumsy puppy.
Brian nodded so hard he nearly dropped the toolbox. He scurried inside, not trusting his tongue to work. The scent of her hit him immediately: faint vanilla, warm skin, and the lightest trace of shampoo from an earlier rinse.
As he followed her through the apartment, Brian tried not to stare -- and failed miserably. Every sway of her hips seemed exaggerated, every flex of her thick thighs hypnotic. A slow bead of sweat slid down the line of her spine, disappearing beneath the cling of her shorts, and Brian nearly stumbled just watching it.
"Bathroom's back here," she called over her shoulder, throwing a teasing glance that made Brian's cock twitch uncomfortably in his too-tight khakis.
The apartment was neat but lived-in. A floor fan buzzed lazily, stirring the humid air.
Brian crouched under the sink like a bear trying to fit into a doghouse. His shirt rode up his back, revealing a pale, squishy roll of flesh glistening under the bathroom light. Tools clinked beside him; every grunt sounded like a man birthing a wrench.
Jada leaned in the doorway, sipping from her water bottle, eyes traveling down his form -- tight waistband, sweat-darkened back, khakis barely holding on. She smiled lazily. He was a mess. A sweaty, bumbling, oddly endearing mess.
"You okay down there?" she teased, voice syrupy sweet.
"Uh--yep, just--uh, got the valve and--it might be clogged--"
Brian fiddled with the pipes longer than necessary, tightening things that didn't really need tightening. Maybe it was the nerves. Maybe it was the view from the doorway.
"Gotta check the shower valve now," he mumbled, wiping sweat from his forehead.
As he moved toward the tub, his foot slid on a damp hand towel she'd used to wipe herself down -- the slick mixture of sweat and leftover lotion offering no grip. With a wild flail of arms, he lost his balance and crashed straight into Jada.
They tumbled together, a tangle of limbs and gasps -- her hand instinctively grabbing for balance, landing squarely on... something.
She froze.
Something thick. Heavy. Pulsing warmly against her palm.
"Oh," she murmured, blinking down at him.
Brian froze, cheeks flaming crimson, belly pressing into her toned stomach. His pants had loosened and were halfway down his thighs, boxers stretched tight around his hips. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Squeaked:
"I--I didn't mean to--I swear I--"
She didn't pull her hand away. If anything, her fingers brushed again.
Brian trembled like a cornered rabbit.
"Easy, big guy," she purred. "Don't pass out on me. You've still got a shower to fix."
With slow grace, she helped him up -- her touch lingering at his thigh, her eyes drinking in the very obvious bulge.
"And maybe," she added with a wink, "something else you can help me with later."
--
Brian got the shower working after several torturous minutes, his hands trembling every time Jada wandered into view. Maybe it was the frustration of her broken shower. Maybe it was the delicious way he blushed every time she looked at him. Jada wasn't exactly sure what tipped her over the edge -- but the more she watched his clumsy, sweaty fumbling, the more she craved the idea of wrecking him.
When she "accidentally" dropped her hairbrush, she didn't just bend to retrieve it -- she squatted slowly, thighs spreading, her round ass lowering right into his view. She made sure he was watching.
She loved the way he kept stealing glances when he thought she wouldn't notice -- the older maintenance man completely undone by a little squatting and a sweaty smile.
Brian almost dropped his wrench again.
When he finally tested the water pressure, the shower sputtered... hissed... then roared to life with a satisfying gush.
