Damn. I need some lube but it’s all packed away. It would take too long to find it. And I can’t tear myself away from the window, anyhow. I fear I’ll miss the best part of the show.
I squeeze the root of my cock and move up to the head, working along my length as I watch her.
Her hand blocks a clear view of her pussy, but what I see looks neatly trimmed. Her thighs are spread wide and her knees have fallen outward. The motion of her hand mesmerizes me, draws me in, turns my cock to stone, my balls tight. And I pretend it’s my fingers invading her tight snatch. Sliding in and out, teasing her clit, fucking her relentlessly with my hand.
I need to hear her, so I pause only long enough to slide my window completely open. And for a second I listen carefully, my ears straining to catch any noise, whimpers, moans.
And I do hear them. The sounds that escape her make me grip my cock even tighter and tug harder, faster.
I match her rhythm, my hips thrusting forward as hers lift and fall. Her head rolls back and her neck arches when she cries out. Her hips shoot off the mattress while her hand moves rapidly and then stills a second later.
Holy shit. She came. She caught me unprepared, I wanted to come with her. I didn’t expect her to get off so soon. I blow out a disappointed breath but continue to stroke my dick from the root to the tip. Squeeze, gather the precum, and repeat. My heart thumps violently in my chest as I watch her lay there quietly, her legs still apart, one hand lingering across her breasts.
Then, just when I think she’s done and about to get up, she rolls onto her side and opens the drawer of her nightstand, pulling out something pink, long, and shaped like a—
Sweet Jesus.
The woman owns toys. As she falls to the bed again, I step back to ensure I’m in the shadows. I don’t want to be caught with my pants down and my rock-hard dick in my hands.
I don’t want to be caught being a depraved pervert.
The vibrator sounds so powerful I can hear a slight hum all the way in my house. I groan as she holds it against herself. And then the tone changes as she slides it along her pussy, pressing it to what I can only guess is her clit and, once again, her hips jump off the bed.
She’s killing me. This is so not fair. I should be sliding into her wet warmth not that battery-operated substitute.
I snort at my asinine thoughts. I don’t even know her damn name and I’m jealous of a pink toy.
But as she slides the dildo inside of her, I no longer hear it. But I hear her. I see her rubbing her clit frantically with one hand and using the other to fuck herself with the vibrator.
My knees buckle and I brace a hand on the wall next to the window, fisting myself double time. I can’t stop watching her. Her head rocks side to side and she cries out again. This time she’s screaming out a name.
“Oh, fuck me, Reid. Fuck me, Reid. Fuck me!”
I shake my head because now I’m imagining things, since there’s no fucking way she’s calling out my name. I don’t even know this woman.
“Reid, fuck me harder.”
My strokes falter and I frown. But, look, I’m a man. I shrug that shit off and ignore the impossibilities.
And when she screams out she’s coming, so am I. My cock gets even harder, I squeeze my eyes shut, and blow my load into my palm. Now, I’m the one crying out and I forget my window’s wide open. When I lift my eyelids, we’re staring at each other. And I wonder…
Am I wearing the same oh-shit expression as she is?
We both scramble. I drop to the floor, pressing my back against the wall. I still have one hand full of cock, the other full of cum. My heart is about to pound out of my chest.
Did she really say what I think I heard? Does she know me somehow? How is that even possible?
Was this a trap? Did my ex-wife set me up somehow? Could this have been planned? Maybe someone is outside taking photos of me jerking off to my neighbor. “Blackmail” echoes through my head. But if that’s true, then the woman next door is in on it.
And now it only makes sense. Otherwise, how would she know my name?
I see my career going down the toilet, my pension disappearing. My finances drying up.
Fuck.
All because of whacking off. I slide up the wall and yank my jeans back up around my hips with my empty hand and I head to the master bathroom to rinse off the evidence.
I am a depraved fuck. I am no better than any other perv I’ve arrested for doing the same shit.
But again, maybe it was a set-up. As I stand over the sink, I study myself in the mirror. My own angry expression is reflected back at me. The more I think about it, the more pissed I become.
3
Sydney
The pounding on my front door makes my heart jump like it’s just been zapped with an AED. I can’t say I’m not panicking, because I am fucking panicking. I don’t want to answer the door, but he knows I’m home.
Holy hell, does he know.
I didn’t leave both the curtains and window open on purpose. Unless I did subconsciously. Maybe deep down inside I wanted him to watch me.
But I certainly didn’t expect him to show up at my front door to confront me. I snag my black satin robe off the back of the bathroom door and wrap it around me, pulling the sash tight.
I don’t know if I should go downstairs and answer it, or hide and hope he goes away until we both forget about what just happened.
As the pounding continues, I realize he won’t forget anything at all. And neither will I.
“Open the fucking door!” His deep voice easily rises to the second floor, and he doesn’t sound happy. Not. At. All.
If I don’t answer the door, the neighbors will peek out of their windows, wondering what the ruckus is about.
And I’m already embarrassed enough.
I run down the stairs and skid to a stop at the front door, unlatching the dead bolt. As soon as I turn the knob, the door shoves open and I fall back from the force. He pushes into the foyer and slams the door behind him. His eyes look wild, but the anger behind them is unmistakable.
He leans back against the door and his chest heaves like he’s out of breath. “What the fuck. How do you know my name?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out but a squeak.
Brilliant.
If I thought he looked hot this afternoon from a distance, he’s blazing just feet from me. Especially with the cords of muscle and veins popping out in his neck. Anger becomes him.
“How do you know my name?” He pronounces each word slowly and carefully like he’s talking to an obstinate child. “Fuck!” He drags a hand over his short hair and narrows his gaze in my direction. He pushes off the door and takes two steps toward me. “Answer me.”
I’m sure I look like a fish out of water with my mouth opening and closing and no sound escaping. “I…” I clear my throat. “Why do you think I know your name?”
“Because you screamed it out when you came.”
Heat rushes up my chest into my cheeks, partly from embarrassment and partly from irritation. His anger fuels my own. “Why were you watching me come?”
Now he’s the fish out of water. I watch with satisfaction as he tries to formulate a reasonable answer. He has none.
“Your window was open,” he shouts, like it’s a valid answer.
“So was yours,” I shout back.
“You should close your curtains,” he says, more quietly.
“So should you,” I answer, also losing some steam. I watch his anger suddenly dissipate into thin air.
He rubs a hand across his forehead. “That was fucking hot.”
“It would have been better for me if I realized you were watching.”
His expression tells me he can’t believe I just said that. That makes two of us.
His hand scrubs his short hair again, this time faster, and he abruptly drops his hand and makes a fist when he realizes what he’s doing. “Who are you?”
“I’m your neighbor.”
I stand my ground, grabbing the ends of my sash and pulling it tighter. “Maybe I don’t.”
“You know my name.”
“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.”
He hesitates and I can see the wheels spinning in his head. Then he shakes it and says, “No.”
I arch an eyebrow. “You sure?”
He nods and steps close enough that I can smell a faint odor of beer on his breath. “Yes.”
Unfortunately, I hate beer. But I love Reid Fucking Turner. So, you take the good with the bad. “It doesn’t surprise me you don’t know who I am.”
His eyebrows furrow deeply. “You know my ex-wife? Did she set this up?”
What? What is he talking about?
I chose my words carefully. “I actually do know your ex-wife.”
“You’re friends?”
I laugh, though it comes out sounding a bit bitter. “Hell no.”
“Then how do you know her?”
I lift a shoulder. “We went to school together.”
He’s now inches from me, staring down into my face, searching, trying to place me. “Were you a couple grades behind us?”
“No. I was a couple seats behind you at graduation.” Boom! And I shut up.
His eyes rake over my face and he steps back enough to continue his inspection down my body. “Impossible.”
I say nothing.
“What’s your name?”
I stay quiet. He glances around, looking for some sign of who I may be. I know he’ll find nothing. At least, not where we stand.
He suddenly grabs my upper arms and I wince from surprise more than discomfort. “Who are you?”
I give him a slow smile and he curses, releasing me.
“Fuck you, then.” And with that, he spins on his heels and rushes out the front door, slamming it shut behind him.
Once again there’s a pounding at my front door. I groan, roll over and eyeball the radio clock. 12:12. What the fuck.
I had fallen asleep in the spare bedroom, still only wearing my robe because I didn’t dare go back into my bedroom with the window still open. I didn’t feel like waving a greeting to my now angry neighbor, who just happens to be my lifelong wet dream.
Could it be him at the door again? Or did he send his cop buddies since he has this weird conspiracy theory that his ex-wife set him up? I knew Pam was a bitch, but really, was she that big of one?
What did he do to deserve that? Cheat on her? Is she a scorned woman looking for revenge?
Whatever. Not my problem. My problem is downstairs still knocking very loudly at my door.
I sigh, secure my robe and pad down the stairs. I can see the top of his crew cut through the high window panes at the top of the door.
“Open the door.” Déjà vu all over again.
As soon as I flip the deadbolt, he’s pushing his way in and shutting the door behind him. At least he didn’t slam it this time. But I watch him secure the deadbolt. Okay, then. This isn’t going to be a quick visit like the last one.
“It took me two hours to find this. It was buried deep in one of the moving boxes.” He pulls a book from behind his back. My eyes widen when I realize what it is.
“Sydney Ryan. 'Syd Viscous' takes college prep courses and plans to attend State. Go State! She enjoys watching wrestling, baseball, and RFT. Her favorite food is pizza, and she loves chick flicks,” he quotes from memory.
RFT. Fuck.
Ryan Fucking Turner.
I put a shaky hand over my gaping mouth and my eye widen when he cracks the damn yearbook open to a page in the back.
He points to a picture. “Is that you?”
I lean in a little, just enough to discover he now smells more like whiskey than beer. He must have found his booze buried next to his high school memories. I look at a picture of him wrestling and, yep, in the background is me sitting in the bleachers with a lame lovesick expression on my face.
He flips through the pages and suddenly stops. “Is that you?” It’s a picture of him in the batter’s box swinging at a blurred baseball with me very clearly plastered to the fence behind him.
With a lame lovesick expression on my face. “Holy shit,” I whisper.
He slams the book shut and stares at me. “Why don’t I remember you?”
I gather my scattered wits, straighten up, and step away from him. “I don’t know. Why don’t you?”
He shakes his head and pushes past me to my living room where he drops the yearbook on the coffee table and sinks onto my couch. He plants his elbows on his knees and rakes both hands over his hair. It would work better if he actually had a head of hair like he did when he was younger, but he doesn’t. His hair’s so short that when he drags his fingers through it, it doesn’t have the same effect.
But I like it short. It reminds me how mature he is now. And it’s like he’s Ryan Fucking Turner 2.0. I decide right then and there that I will make him mine. All mine. (Cue the wicked laughter and the rubbing of my palms together.)
I’ve waiting a long time for this man to notice me. And now that he knows I exist, I plan on taking full advantage of it. I tug at the knot on my robe and loosen it slightly before following him. I move to the center of the room, keeping the coffee table between us.
I plant my hands on my hips, making sure the top of the robe gapes enough to give him a peek. And, like taking candy from a baby, his gaze beelines right to the cleavage I’m flashing and he licks his lips. He’s on the hook and I’m about to reel him in.
When I finally speak, my voice sounds huskier than normal. “Ryan, this was in no way a set-up and I’m not friends with Pam. Never have been, never will be.”
“I realize that now.”
His words make me wonder if I should be insulted. Apparently, I was never considered good enough to be one of Pam’s friends.
I push the thought away. Who cares? Ryan Fucking Turner is in my living room, right now, while I wear nothing but a satin robe. And I saw his cock just a few hours ago and I plan on seeing it again, but much closer this time. I actually plan on more than just seeing it.
Baby steps, I remind myself.
It’s my turn to rake my fingers through my hair, which makes my nipples harden as they slide along the satin and I nearly flash a nipple.
His eyes jump from my almost nip slip to my face. “Did you stalk me in high school?”
I have two choices. One, I can lie. Two… “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” I laugh lamely.
His eyebrows almost reach his forehead. “Have you seen yourself in the mirror? Why would you need to stalk anybody?”
My smile flattens. “I didn’t look like this in high school. You just saw the proof.”
“Yeah, but—”
I shake my head and hold out a palm. “When you have big breasted, blonde cheerleaders bouncing in front of you, fighting for your attention, the last thing you’re going to notice is a shy, dark-haired girl who’s as flat as a two-by-four.”
“And look where that big breasted blonde bitch got me.” He grimaces, pushing to his feet, and steps around the coffee table to stand toe-to-toe with me. That’s when I notice he’s barefoot and the top button of his jeans is unfastened. Hot damn.
He gathers a strand of my hair and winds it around his finger before watching it unwind. “I’m sorry I never noticed you. I’d like to make it up to you, if you’d let me.”
Let him? I insist! I tilt my head and give him a smile. One I hope looks sexy, sultry. And not like a crazed loon. “What do you have in mind?”
He presses his finger against the indentation of my throat then slides it down until it reaches where my robe V’s loosely. He hooks it in the fabric but holds it there. His eyes darken as he stares where his finger stopped and when he glances up, his nostrils flare.
His voice sounds husky and low when he says, “Any
thing you desire.”
My knees weaken, but I lock them in place so I don’t freaking collapse to the ground in front of him and kiss his damn bare feet. Not to mention, kiss the ground he’s standing on. Because holy hell, I have waited my whole life to have sex with Reid Fucking Turner. And now the man tells me I can have anything I desire.
Just. Like. That.
If he sucks in bed, I’m going to just give up. I’ll sew my pussy shut and never have sex again. Become a crotchety old spinster.
If he only knew what pressure he was under, he might have performance anxiety. So, I can’t tell him that it’s only ever been him for me.
Then I realize he needs to pay for making me wait so long. For making me want only him.
4
Reid
I want to punish you.”
At her words, the blood rushes through me and my ears ring. Did I hear her correctly? This night just keeps getting crazier.
My voice breaks as I ask, “Have you ever punished a man before?”
She shakes her head slowly. “No.”
“And how do you plan on punishing me?” My cock is so fucking hard right now, I want to tear at my jeans and let it escape. It’s like Godzilla wanting to smash some buildings.
But I need to hold off, let her express herself first. Give me a clear indication of what she wants to do to me.
Though, most likely, I won’t say no to whatever she comes up with. I am the luckiest guy in the world right now. I never thought my shitty luck would turn around like this.
She has no idea how she’ll punish me. None whatsoever. So, here’s where I have to step in. Take control until I can hand it back over to her.
No matter what, I want to see her naked again. And this time, it’s not going to be some latex or plastic vibrator fucking her. Guaranteed.
“Want some suggestions?”
Her eyes widen and she stares at me like I grew two heads. Then her expression changes as her mind processes the possibilities.
I like this woman. Oh yes, I do.
She’s got potential.
Only Him (An Obsessed Novella Book 2) Page 2