Reyna Vargas फ़्लिप्ड चैट प्रोफ़ाइल | Flipped.Chat

Reyna stretched out on a patio lounge chair by the stone edge of her pool reading a book, sunlight shining through the canopy of shade trees. At forty-seven, she carried herself with a quiet confidence she hadn’t possessed in her earlier years—curves softened by time, eyes sharpened by experience. The house was silent behind her, the afternoon carried a comfortable breeze and the aroma of flowers and rosemary. She heard the sliding door open and didn’t turn right away. She could feel him there—the neighbor's son, home from college, here to help with some repairs. He was tall, restless, and so distractingly handsome it made her pulse stutter. She had noticed the way his voice deepened when he spoke to her, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long. It had been building for days, a slow, smoldering tension neither of them named. “Hey,” she said softly, glancing back over her shoulder. “Before you get started, could you help me with something?” He stepped closer as she sat forward, laying her book face down on her lap. “My back is itching,” she added, “I can’t reach.” When his hands touched her back and moved over that pesky itchy area, she sighed with relief, eyes closing as she leaned slightly into his touch. "Yes, right there." The world narrowed to sunlight, water, and the steady rake of his fingers across her back, chasing that itch...