by Nina Auril
“Fuck.” I grab the promised hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and throw it at the cabby as I exit the car and start running towards my street. When I reach it, I see the cab pull off the sidewalk and drive off. I look around the street, but there is no sign of her. I kick at a tree that’s been minding its own business next to me and place my hands on my hips with a sigh. She’s gone.
I shake my head and scrub a hand down my face. Well, so much for that.
I cross the street and walk up to my building, I rip open the door and press the button on the elevator repeatedly like everything that’s transpired tonight is all its fault.
When I finally reach my apartment, I let myself in and rip off my mask. I throw it onto my drawing table and tug at the bow tie around my neck. I stalk to my bedroom, flip on the light and throw my jacket on the bed. I take off my shoes and resist the urge to throw them across the room.
I need some fucking air.
I open the doors in my bedroom and step out onto the balcony. I look out onto the street again in some faint hope that I will spot my snowflake down there. I roll my eyes at myself and look up at the sky. It’s a clear night out, even if it’s freezing. When I look back down, I spot my cute neighbor in a golden dress kissing Beau in his Santa outfit on her balcony across the street. I turn around and place my hand on the door to go back inside.
Wait. Hold the fuck up.
I freeze and turn around again.
That dress.
That blonde hair.
That dress.
That cat.
MY fucking cat.
That. Dress.
I blink a couple of times trying to decipher what I’m looking at. She turns and goes back inside her apartment, her back covered in smudged glitter. I look down at my hand. I look at the gold glitter covering my hand. I look back at the now empty balcony and narrow my eyes.
Couldn’t be. Could it?
She’s wearing the exact same dress as the woman at the party. While I’m ready to accept the weird coincidence of two women wearing the same dress on the same night, I’m not ready to accept the coincidence of both being covered in glitter. They have to be the same person.
But what was Beau doing there? I know the little bastard entered the building on the day we watched him but could… No. No that would be too weird.
I open the door and go back inside, turn on the coffee machine, stand there for a minute waiting for the brew, and then go back outside. I squint at her apartment, trying to catch another glimpse of her. I stand there for a few minutes, and I’m about to give up when the light in her bedroom flickers on. She’s rubbing a towel over her wet hair, and she’s dressed in a skimpy shirt and panties. A shirt and panties that looks a lot like the ones I have in a folder on my phone named ‘Spank Bank.’ I can’t make out the words on it to be sure. I pull the phone from my pocket and turn the camera on, aiming it at her I zoom in as far as it will go. Though I still can’t quite make out the words on her shirt, it’s clear enough to make out the distinct edges of the Harry Potter font. It must be her.
I close the camera on my phone and begin typing out a message.
Me: Hey, you awake?
I look up from my phone to see her reach for her phone on the bedside table. I see her typing and my phone dings in my hand.
Ophelia: Yes, just getting ready for bed now though.
It IS her. My neighbor is Ophelia, who is Snowflake.
Let’s go over this again. My cute stalker neighbor who watches me from her apartment is the sexy cat thief with the nerdy dirty talk who is the golden snowflake from the ball who made me come as I’ve never come before.
Me: Been up to much tonight?
Ophelia: I just came from a Christmas party my publishing company held.
I close my eyes. I’m not mentally equipped to deal with this.
Me: Was it a good party? Anything exciting happen?
I watch as she sits down on the bed, she lifts her head to the ceiling before she looks down again and starts typing.
Ophelia: Not really, no. How was your night?
Not really? That little liar. I know she was just as affected as I was. Well, time to have some fun with my little sexy, stalking snowflake.
I go back inside to turn the living room light off, standing in total darkness I dial her number and put the phone on speaker.
“Hi,” there’s a smile in her voice and my cock reacts immediately. “Miss me?” she taunts.
“Yes,” my voice sounds gruff. Being turned on, frustrated, and annoyed all at the same time takes a toll on a person. “So, tell me about the party.”
“Ugh, too Christmassy for my liking. I left early.”
“Oh?” I feign ignorance as I walk to my bedroom. I place my phone on speaker and put it on the windowsill. Her next words become inaudible as I walk back to the light switch on the wall. I flick it on and off until it attracts her attention and she looks in my direction. Smiling with satisfaction now that I have her eyes on me, I walk back to the window and start slipping off my jacket.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” I say as I unbutton my shirt.
“Uh… I… um… what was the question?”
“I wanted to know how the party was.” I take my shirt off and drop it on the floor before reaching for my zipper.
“Oh, um… It was… um…”
“Are you distracted, Ophelia?” I ask and pull the zipper down.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ophelia
My mouth goes dry at the image in front of me. My ridiculously hot neighbor is taking his clothes off, in front of the window, and I don’t seem to be able to take my eyes from his well-cut abs or the thin line of hair that points to the hidden treasure in his pants.
“Ophelia?” Hendrix’ voice shakes me from my drooling.
Fuck, I’m such a slut. In the last 24 hours, I had phone sex with Hendrix, fucked a stranger in a crowded business party, and now I’m drooling over my neighbor.
“Seems like my pussy needs attention,” I murmur to myself.
“You’re what?” Hendrix asks, and the realization of what I’ve just said hits me.
“I mean… Austin. You know, my cat. He wants to eat again,” I mumble quickly. Dammit, can I just stop thinking with my pussy for a second today?
“Oh, yeah. That pussy is always hungry,” he says, a smile is evident in his voice. “Do you want me to come and help? Or I can help on the phone, too?”
“Oh my god, stop,” I laugh, but my laugh turns to a cough when I see my neighbor is now naked, totally, mouthwateringly naked.
I gasp when his hand moves on his torso.
“Ophelia, are you sure you’re okay?” Hendrix asks.
“Yes, yes,” I mutter and try to focus on him, but when Neighbor Hottie wraps his hand around his cock, it’s a lost cause. “Oh my god,” I breathe out.
My hands are shaking. I put the phone on speaker as I unabashedly keep staring at Hottie’s body. I’m hypnotized by the way he slowly works his cock. He rests his left hand on the mirror and the new angle compliments every delicious muscle in his body, giving me a personal live porn experience.
I don’t realize my hand is between my legs or a moan escapes from my lips until Hendrix curses. “Fuck, baby. Are you touching yourself?”
“Ye-yeah,” I breathe out.
Pushing my panties aside I tease my folds with my fingers. My pussy’s still sensitive after the rough fucking on the balcony, and even that pushes me more. My gaze is glued to Hottie as he takes his sweet time while giving himself pleasure and Hendrix’s quickened breath is the soundtrack to this weird threesome.
“Is it me? Is it for me?” His voice is husky, sending vibrations through my spine.
I watch as Hottie quickens his pace on his cock. His head is bowed, resting against his arm and for a second I wonder if he can see me. And I rub myself faster, circling my clit. “One of the reasons,” I murmur.
“What are the other reasons?” Hendrix
asks. He’s now clearly panting, and I close my eyes for a second to absorb everything.
“I…” I start but don’t continue. How would it sound if I tell him that I’m watching my neighbor jerking off? “I’m watching porn,” I blurt out. It’s not a lie. Watching Hottie feels like watching porn, so much more arousing than that actually.
“Are you hard, Hendrix?” I whisper. I feel like a sex addict tonight, and I’m too aroused to stop myself.
“Yes, baby. I’m so hard for you, knowing that you’re touching yourself. Tell me what are you doing? Tell me how it feels,” he rasps.
“I pushed my panties to the side and rubbing my clit now. It’s so sensitive, Hen, but I want more. This doesn’t feel like enough.”
“Do you want something to fill you, baby? Do you want a big cock to push into you and stretch you?”
I shudder, remembering how the stranger pounded into me.
“Yes,” I breathe out.
“Push your fingers inside yourself, Ophelia. Pretend like I’m watching you like I’m right in front of you.” His voice is almost strangled with lust. I focus my eyes on my neighbor and slowly push two fingers inside me. That’s when Hottie lifts his head and looks straight at me. I gasp for air as his eyes hold mine captive.
“Hendrix,” I breathe out.
I can see Hottie’s arm move faster on his cock and I thrust my fingers faster, harder, deeper into me. I arch my back, rocking on my hand and listen to Hendrix’s grunts.
“Fuck, Ophelia. The notices you make will bring me to my knees,” he says.
I can’t break the eye contact with my neighbor, and I answer Hendrix with the cry of my orgasm.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Hendrix
My cock throbs in my hand as I curse the walls, and glass, and the street below that separate us. I wish I could be right in front of her, touching her skin, smelling her scent, but most of all I want to be able to stuff my painful cock inside her while she makes those sounds.
“Fuck, baby,” I grunt as I come in my hand, her orgasm still ringing in my ears. I take a few steadying breaths and then chuckle into the phone. “I wish you could see me up close right now. My cock is covered in cum and the glitter from your back.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth I know, I messed up.
“W... what?” My entire body freezes when I hear the confusion in her voice.
“Um… I said I came so hard I could feel a flutter up my back?” That wasn't supposed to be a question, dumbass.
“No, no that's not what you said.” I see her rise into a sitting position on her bed.
“I…” I stop. I have no idea what to say. I run a hand through my hair and then throw it up in the air like I'm trying to grab the words out of thin air. However, the only thing my movements do is catch her attention. She looks up at me, and the emotions must be written all over my face because I watch as her eyes grow big.
“Hendrix?” It's a whisper; I'm not sure it's even directed at me. I sigh in defeat and pick my phone up from the windowsill and bring it to my ear.
“Hi, Ophelia.” I smile softly.
“OH MY GOD!” She shouts down the line. “It's been you all this time?! How… how long have you known?” There's panic in her voice. “Is this some kind of joke?!” Ok, that sounded more like anger.
“I just…”
“You've been playing me all this time? Austin and the ball and… Oh, my god.” That's the last thing she says before the line goes dead.
I hit the dial button on my phone and call her again. And again. And again. I watch as she paces her bedroom floor and just lets the phone go to voicemail each time.
“Just pick it up, Ophelia,” I mumble to myself as I call her again. When she doesn’t answer, I take the phone from my ear and stab out an angry text.
Me: Just answer the phone, so we can talk about this.
She refuses to look at me, but this time she at least reads the text.
Me: Please?
She takes a deep breath, the phone still in her hand. I call again, hoping that this time she’ll answer.
She doesn’t.
Instead, she drops the phone onto the bed and stalks over to the window. She looks at me for two seconds right before she flips me off and pulls on the string to close her blinds.
“Fuck!” I throw my phone onto the bed. “FUCK!” I scream again. I don’t even know what I’m screaming about. I’m so fucking confused.
I stand with my hands on my hips, still naked and covered in glitter. I take a deep breath and try to decipher what I’m feeling. Shocked, confused, annoyed, frustrated, angry? I think angry is the emotion I feel most strongly right now. Angry that she won’t talk to me. Angry that she’s angry at me. Angry that I didn’t realize any of this sooner. I mean, she was right there all this time.
And what reason does she have to be angry at me for anyway? She’s the one who… who did what? Had phone sex with one person and then fucked another the day after? You did the exact same thing, dick. And you’re the one who grabbed her in the first place. I rub both of my hands over my face and grunt in frustration. No wonder she thinks I played her.
Why am I so bothered by this anyway? She’s just some girl I spoke to a handful of times.
And had the most explosive sex ever with.
I shove that thought out of my mind. I don’t need her. So,what if she’s funny. And hot. And likes cats and Harry Potter and could have been the most fun I’ve ever had? Plenty of girls like that out there. I ignore the little voice at the back of my mind saying that there probably aren’t and head to the shower.
I stand under the warm spray and tell myself some more lies. Like she isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Or that I don’t ache to take my time with her and touch every inch of her. That I don’t care to find out what else we have in common, or what things we’ll disagree on. I tell myself that I will never need to know how she takes her coffee or what she likes to eat. Or what her favorite color is or what shampoo she uses to make her hair smell so fucking great.
By the time I’m settled into bed, I’ve convinced myself that I don’t care anything about her in the least and that I will have already forgotten her when I wake up.
***
Miserable.
Completely miserable.
Christmas decorations? Miserable.
Christmas carols? Miserable.
Christmas movies? Miserable.
Christmas food? Miserable.
Everything? Miserable.
I slump down on the couch and cross my arms over my chest. I kick at a half-empty pizza box on the floor and continue to sulk over how miserable everything is.
It’s been three days of radio silence. Not a single word from Ophelia. I see her though. I see her all the time. During the day I see her through my window going about her business like nothing happened and at night I see her in my dreams, naked and writhing underneath me.
What makes everything worse is that I’m bored. I have no deadlines to meet and no Carter to keep happy. There’s nothing on TV worth watching and all my Christmas shopping has been done. No book can hold my interest, and even pizza has lost its luster.
I reach toward my phone on the coffee table and check to see if I didn’t put it on silent by accident. Then I open my messages to check that I didn’t miss anything from her. But nothing.
I have called her six times and have sent her twelve messages. I’ve managed to limit myself to only four texts a day. Because five a day would make me a stalker. I grunt at myself and type out another text.
Me: What do you call a pile of kittens?
Me: A meowntain.
I sit back and wait. That tiny glimmer of hope that she will reply this time still alive inside me.
Me: Come on, Cat Thief. Stop being stubborn.
I don’t know how to get through to her. I shake my head and dump the phone on the table. I get up and walk to the window. There’s been no movement in her apartment yet this morning.
I turn to look at Beau where he’s waking up from his morning nap.
“What am I gonna do, buddy?” I watch as he stretches himself out and I swear he rolls his eyes at me when he jumps off the coach and saunters over to my drawing table. He plants his butt right on the wilted mistletoe mask I wore to the ball and stares at me. I stare back. He meows. I stare. Then he shoves at one of the markers on my table, inching it ever closer to the edge. When it drops to the floor, an idea drops into my head.
“Beau,” I say as I grab him and kiss him on the head. “You’re a fucking genius.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ophelia
One thing you need to know about me?
I can pretend like everything is fucking fine. I would sit at my desk every day and write words like I always do. I use my writing as my shelter, as my armor and you can’t see me being miserable. I hear the constant ping from my phone, letting me know that I have a text, but you wouldn’t see me reading those messages, even though I feel empty without them. You wouldn’t even realize there’s a big hole inside me. I don’t hit that call button even though I want to, especially at night, when I’m lonely in my bed. That’s the only time I take off my armor and let myself read his texts.
Some of them are apologetic; some are just random jokes. Some messages are demanding. But when I wake up the next morning, I’m back in business.
“Austin?” I call out for him as I head to the kitchen. He’s nowhere to be seen, and I know he’s with him, back to being Beau.
With a sigh, I put some breakfast for him on his plate. He’ll come whenever he wants anyway.
Eating my granola bar, I wait for my coffee to be ready. I’m ready to finish that fucking Christmas book and everything it reminds me of.
Just when I’m about to sit in front of my computer, comforted by the delicious scent of coffee, Austin comes through his door. I don’t try to call him to me. He’s after one thing at this time of the day, and it’s definitely not affection. He would prefer his affection through a meat flavored cat meal.