The Voyeur Next Door (6 page)

Shutting my eyes, I tipped my face beneath the spray. One fisted hand planted into the tiled wall and I leaned in close. Warm rivulets traced down my jaw and followed a path along the arch of my throat to cascade down the planes of my chest. I held my breath and counted the beats of my heart to fifteen before exhaling.

Damn woman.

My mind jumped right back to Ali as though it had never left. She filled the black place behind my closed eyelids with images of her soft, pink mouth. All the places she had melded into me burned in recollection. My cock thickened at the memory of her backside settling firmly over it. She had fit perfectly along the length of me. I almost hadn’t wanted to let go. Truthfully, had she not pulled away, I probably wouldn’t have.

The reality of that fact jerked me back. My eyes snapped open and I stared at the white caps of my knuckles.

I twisted the shower off and snatched a towel off the peg, attempting to ignore the raging hard on bobbing against my abdomen. The thing had been a constant companion the last day and a half, reminding me just how long it had been since I’d had a woman, not that I needed it. I knew exactly how long it had been. Six years, to be exact. While the date was hazy, I could vividly recall the events. But I had studiously bottled those needs. I had shoved them deep in the chasm of my mind and kept them trapped there for what I had hoped would be an eternity. Instead, two minutes in her presence and my cock was a starved dog confronted by the promise of a steak. I honestly wasn’t sure who to blame for my problems, me or her. I decided her. It was all her fault. She was the antichrist set out to destroy my life.

Pitching aside my damp towel in true man form, I ambled over to the window across the room and yanked up the blinds. The cord caught about midway and refused to budge no matter how hard I yanked. Relenting, I reached through the twenty four inches of space and threw open the window. Muggy night air swirled in, mixing with the steamy air trapped in the bathroom. Both washed over my bare skin like a welcoming caress. I closed my eyes, hoping the change in temperature could somehow taper the fire crackling awake inside me.

It didn’t. If anything, the desire was a white hot throb that refused to be quashed. It brewed, hotter than ever until I had no choice but to fist it tight and grit my jaw. My nostrils flared as I fought the urge to just spray all over the wall like a kid learning to masturbate for the first time. The hard thump of my heart pounding against my chest echoed through me. Behind my closed eyelids, all I could make out was pink lips tilted just a little too far on the right. It took no time at all for my imagination to build on that, to visualize them open and stretched around the fat head of my cock. I could see my hand fist in that wild mess of hair, ripping out the elastic and gripping her to me as she took me deep into the hot cave of her mouth.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I opened my eyes and squinted at the window. The world outside was a smear of black broken only by the soft, golden glow from the apartment directly across from mine. The other windows were dark, the occupants not home, or maybe already in bed. One had their curtains drawn. But the one adjacent to mine, the terrace doors were open, the blinds drawn apart wide to expose a six drawer dresser topped with a gilded, oval mirror, the foot of a wide bed, one of those bed benches women liked so much and … a woman.

I blinked, not because I believed she was some kind of hallucination, but because of the way she was leaning against the open frame of her doors. The light from behind her painted her in a dark outline, making it almost impossible to make anything out, but I saw enough.

She must have just gotten out of the shower as well, because her dark hair was a cascading tangle of damp curls all the way to her hips and the shimmery, peach colored fabric of her satin robe was stained by wet patches. But what captured my attention, and had my cock twinging in a new burst of lust, was the unknotted sash waving in the night like a pale snake. It hung free at her sides, leaving the front parted to the evening. The flimsy thing barely covered miles of long, perfect legs, legs that were ever so slightly parted to accommodate the hand tucked high against her mound.

Her face was bent forward, obscured by the thick curtain of hair swinging around her shoulders. One forearm was braced against the wood as she leaned into the steady strokes of her fingers. She seemed lost in that place between passion and release. I knew it was wrong to watch, but hell if I was going to stop.

My fingers tightened around my weeping erection. The vein pulsed steadily beneath my palm as I matched my strokes to hers. It could have been the wind, or my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard the quiet moan of pleasure. It seemed to hum between our two buildings before fading to nothing. A breeze drifted through the crack and swept aside the flap of her robe, not enough to show a damn thing, but it was enough to make me want to slide up behind her, take a hold of her hips, and push home inside her. I didn’t even care what she looked like, or who she was. All I wanted was to feel myself replace her fingers. I wanted to close my hand in her hair, bow her body back into mine, and fuck her right there on the terrace. I wanted to expose her breasts to the night and my hands. I wanted to hold them in my palms as I rode her long and hard.

A choked gasp brought me back and I watched her knees tremble and the hand on the frame tightened. The one nestled between her thighs quickened and I could have sworn I could hear the wet sound of her pumping fingers moving deep inside her slick channel.

She came with a shudder. Her head dropped even further forward and she slumped into the doorjamb.

The hand I had braced against the window ledge tightened at the same moment as the sagging folds of skin around my balls did.

I came. Hard.

Thick ropes of come splattered over the wall and trickled across the white linoleum. My knees quivered and I swayed forward slightly. Ragged tufts of breath expelled with every tremor until I thought I would suffocate. By far, that had to have been the most intense climax I’d had in ages, and I didn’t know what the hell to make of it. Sure I’d seen porn, but this was different. The high was incredible.

I lifted my head to peer at the woman and was relieved she was still leaning against the door. Her hand slipped slowly from inside her and the light from her apartment shone over the gloss coating her fingers. My own desires reared its head as I imagined her coating my dick in that fashion. I imagined pushing her down on her knees and making her clean us both off my cock. Then taking her inside and starting all over again. Instead, all I could do was watch as she stood there and silently will her to lick her fingers clean.

She didn’t.

She drew her robes together and hurried inside without me ever seeing her face. A moment later, the light snapped off and I was alone in the new darkness with a fresh erection and a familiar beast pacing inside me.

Ali

I was a pervert.

I mean, I always knew I was somewhere deep inside. You kind of had to be to do what I did. But last night I had reached a peak in my own perverseness that shocked even me.

I had fingered myself to an earth shattering climax right there on my terrace, while watching my neighbor masturbate in the privacy of his bathroom.

Wow. If I could somehow die of pure mortification, I would be in a state of decomposition. What had I been thinking?

Okay, I knew at the time what I was thinking, which was basically
holy fuck dude was hot.
Things after that had become hazy, like that sense of fake liberation one felt when getting drunk. Taking your clothes off and dancing on the table always seemed like a really good, and logical idea at the time. But come morning, the memories of it made you want to shove your brain into a grinder.

I was horrified and I won’t lie, kind of aroused. I’d never done anything like it, and while I wasn’t a prude, my solitary lover in all of twenty-three years had left me very little to be desired in the way of coupling. What I knew, I was self-taught thanks to the wonders of the internet and my neighbor watching. On the off chance I was actually turned on by what I saw, which was seldom, I took my horny self to bed, got myself off, and went to sleep like a normal person. Instead, I had been captivated by the scene of that magnificent cock gripped in a strong, firm hand. I was drawn by the steady strokes over the rigid length. Something about the sight of him, hard, thick and leaking had lit a fire in the pit of my stomach that made my knees weak and my clit ache. It had seemed like such a waste not to enjoy the moment with him and I was a girl all about the moments.

It had annoyed me that I couldn’t see more than a square notch of beautifully cut abs, parts of a trimmed waist and toned thighs, but something about that fact had also fanned my excitement. I let myself delve knuckle deep inside my forbidden pool in time to my mystery lover’s steady strokes and found he had an amazing rhythm. The motion was perfect for rubbing the heel of my hand over my mound, over the swollen nub. At some point, I was no longer even watching him. I sank into my own pleasure and the explosion promising me the most exquisite bliss. It had been an experience that had literally rocked me to my very foundation. It had been so wrong, so dirty and so fucking amazing, part of me had actually wanted to risk the leap onto his terrace.

I wanted more.

It was sick and disturbing, but just the thought of it got me hot and wet. Part of me wondered if he did that after every shower and if I would have the courage to watch again.

Oh who was I kidding? I was so going to watch again, and again, as often as he kept those blinds up. The man was beautiful and I was addicted to my new neighbor. My only regret was not knowing if there was a Mrs. New Neighbor somewhere in the background. I didn’t whack off for just anyone, but when I did, I kind of liked knowing he was free to be whacked over.

Dressed for the day, most of my embarrassment cooled by my morning shower, I crept to the open terrace doors and cautiously peeked around the corner, half expecting him to still be standing there, naked, cock in hand. So imagine just how disappointed I was to find his blinds all shut and him nowhere to be seen.

I crept out of my hiding spot and stood at the railings to study the glossy sheet of glass separating me from my fantasy lover. I judged the distance between our balconies and estimated a quick and painful plummet to the concrete below. I wasn’t athletic. Any notions of becoming a superhero, or a burglar, was out of the question, so no way in hell would I be able to make that lunge. Realistically, I wouldn’t even if I did have levitating powers. I wasn’t
that
crazy, or desperate. But if I could, I wasn’t sure what I would do, except maybe stand on his terrace and leave greasy forehead smudges on his window. But in my head … oh, in my head, I would ravage that boy silly and leave him in a sticky, sated mess on his living room floor, because in my head, I was a badass sex goddess.

I laughed at my own clever new nickname and headed back inside. Beneath my bare feet, something went skidding across concrete to bump into the patio frame and stop. I peered down in surprise to find a neatly folded note just peering up at me like it was no big deal. Curious, I picked it up and turned it over in my hand, marveling at the teenage folding abilities that went into its creation. The talent it took to fold each little corner in perfectly was a thing of art. The last time I had seen one so skillfully done, I had been in high school. The note hadn’t been for me, but I assisted in its passing during an especially boring science period. I like to think I made a difference that day. But all in all, I almost didn’t want to open this one. Something this unique needed to be framed, especially since this was the only note anyone had ever sent me. Unless the sender was hoping I would pass it along to another occupant in the building.

But no. It was addressed to me, or rather, it was addressed to:
I saw you
in a very bold and un-miss-able scribble.

A crazy surge of excitement, panic, and confusion almost made me pitch the thing over the railing and start packing. It was the rational part of my brain that stepped up and took control.

I opened the note carefully, the way I suspected the bomb unit handled explosive devices, and cautiously flattened the creases, prolonging what was sure to be the pit that finally swallowed me whole. All I could think in that moment was that if it was Large, Hairy Man in window three, row three, I would set myself on fire.

No joke.

I started reading.

I don’t want to know your name. I don’t want to know what you look like. But I know you were watching me. I know you liked it. I hope enough to let me watch again.

I stopped reading a moment to give my heart a chance to ooze out from between my ears and return back to my chest.

The good news was that it wasn’t Large, Hairy Man in window three, row three. The bad news was that he,
Sexy, New Neighbor
had known I was there, had
seen
me getting freaky with myself … and wanted a repeat performance.

While a very loud cheerleading squad took residence in my nether regions and started doing cartwheels, the mature, adult parts of me, like my brain, pointed out a very real problem: he wanted a repeat performance, meaning, he wanted to watch me. I wasn’t sure how he wanted to accomplish that without seeing my face—paper bag maybe?—but there wasn’t a paper bag big enough to hide the rest of me and that was a concern.

By all logical sense, of which I had a plenty, I wasn’t overweight. I was barely over. I sat at a solid one thirty-five, which to some, seemed like a stupid reason to hate one’s own body shape. But when you grew up with a mom who fed you weight loss granola bars and constantly poked at your baby fat to make a point, body issues were a very real part of your day by the time you hit that pesky, self-conscious age of fifteen. By sixteen, I had wanted to kill myself. Some days, literally. Unlike my sister who went on to open her own gym and spent her days telling cake lovers everywhere they should worship at the temple that was their own bodies and be more socially acceptable, I liked my body wrapped nice and tight beneath layers. Layers gave me an excuse to hide the pudge I could see drooping off me every time I looked in the mirror.

It was strange that I would get the inferiority complex about my image, while Lana, who was older by six years, had to live six whole years more with that woman than I did. Growing up, she had gotten the worst of our mother’s abuse. Everything from her face, to her voice, to the way she walked and chewed her food was criticized and my mom was not known for holding back the punches. While she had never lashed out physically, the taunts, jabs, and cruel remarks were so much worse. From the years between fifteen and seventeen, I had no mirrors in my room. When I did happen to catch a glimpse of my reflection, I could never meet my own eyes. I was twenty by the time I had the courage to stick my head out from behind books and my hair. I only had to leave the country and put thousands of miles between me and my mom to do it. So to say I had a slight problem with Sexy, Next Door’s request was an understatement.

But I read on, mind already made up that I would ignore the request.

Call me tonight at seven. Block your number.

P/S, if you’re with someone, ignore this.

Sincerely,

The Voyeur Next Door.

There was a series of ten numbers written at the bottom and they stared up at me with a mocking sort of slant. The cheerleaders had stopped their whooping and hollering to giggle and pondering just how sexy his voice would sound telling me to touch myself. Yet my rational brain couldn’t help wondering how he planned on making this fantasy a reality with all his conditions. I may not have had sex in a while, but even I knew people had to get damn close to make magic happen.

Didn’t matter, I told myself with haughty indignation. I wasn’t going to do it. I wasn’t going to expose myself to some stranger who could possibly take one look at me and flinch. Last night had been a onetime thing. The way I saw it, we both came and it was good times all around. Why ruin that by adding to it?

Setting aside the letter, I grabbed my purse and went off to do the one thing I’d been dutifully putting off for the last two weeks—grocery shopping, or as I liked to call it, foraging for sustenance in the heart of a warzone.

I hated the whole process. I hated wheeling that rickety cart up and down overflowing aisles, bypassing idiot shoppers and their hell spawns only to stand at the only register open out of thirty for two hours. There were days I preferred gnawing on my own arm rather than endure that bullshit.

Nevertheless, I liked my arms. They helped me do things, like masturbate to my next door neighbor, so grocery shopping it was.

For a miserably hot Wednesday afternoon, everyone and their mother was at Mike’s One-Stop Shop. I barely found a cart, and when I did, I had to snatch it away from a woman in hot, pink spandex pants and a tank top that read:
Future Trophy Wife.
She snarled something at me in Spanish that I was pretty sure wasn’t a blessing. But in my defense, I had my hand on the thing first. Wasn’t there a universal code for that? Like finders keepers?

She called me a
puta
bitch and threatened to
mess me up
when I came out, to which I asked, why wait? I took advantage of her temporary surprise and hurried away, because for all my big talk, she had claws and about six inches of stiletto over me.

Cart in tow, I threw myself into the fray. Mothers with their irate, screaming children seemed to be the main theme of the place. I didn’t even bother risking my life going through the snack aisle. It seemed to be the main hunting grounds, like the zombie apocalypse gone horribly wrong.

At the dairy section, I slowed. My gaze lingered on the eggs and I thought of Earl, which inadvertently, made me think of Gabriel. I felt no remorse for drowning him in my iced tea. He deserved it as far I was concerned, but it did make me feel bad because I knew Earl had his heart set on me being there and, unlike his grandson, I actually liked him. He reminded me of the grandfather I never had. Plus he was actually a decent guy. How many people went out of their way to hire a complete stranger? He didn’t have to, but he did and I was grateful to him for his kindness. It was just too bad his grandson was such a dick.

I grabbed a carton and flipped open the top to check for breaks. It was a habit I learned the hard way back in university after a heated debate with the store clerk about whether or not the eggs had been broken before, or after I bought them. Neither one of us could prove it wasn’t our fault. Ultimately, the blame was placed on me for not checking before buying and I learned a valuable lesson.

“Ali!”

The unexpected explosion of my name sent every nerve ending in my body into automatic panic mode. I jumped. The eggs shot out of my hand and splattered in a yellow mess across the linoleum, yet the worst part was my undignified screech as I whirled around.

Gabriel stared back at me, gray eyes enormous in surprise, like he couldn’t understand what the fuck just happened.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I exploded, clutching at my chest where my heart was threatening to vomit in fright all over my ribcage. “Why are you sneaking up on people?”

He continued to gawk at me from beneath a filthy black baseball cap that was drawn low over his eyes. Stray wisps of hair curled around his ears and along the back of his neck where his t-shirt collar began. It was also black, as were his jeans and disgusting boots.

“Are you robbing the place?”

His brows furrowed as they seemed to do often whenever I spoke. It made me wonder if maybe we didn’t speak the same type of English.

“I called you,” he said finally. “Everyone in the store heard me.”

“I doubt that,” I countered, letting my hand drop down to my side. “This place is like the set of some war movie.”

He said nothing and I wondered if I had to start explaining myself to the guy. I knew my wit wasn’t for everyone, but seriously, I thought I was hilarious.

“So…” I began slowly. “This is awkward.”