Body Check (Boston Grizzlies Hockey Club #2)

Chapter 1

one

. . .

Amelia

It’s two o’clock in the morning, and the neighbor whose window faces mine has their lights on.

Day or night, the lights are always on. I’m not sure if the apartment is vacant or still being renovated.

I only know that when my curtains are open, like they are every night, the glow from the other unit casts gentle warmth into my apartment, more soothing than a nightlight.

But I’ve never seen a person over there before.

The baby cries and I lurch out of bed, plodding my way across the hallway.

As I reach Ainsley’s door, my brother barrels out of his room and into the next, a bottle in his hand.

From the doorway, I watch as he picks up his newborn daughter and snuggles her, soothing her cries.

In short order, her snuffles die down as she gulps down her milk, and I can rest easy, knowing she’s taken care of.

Returning to my room, I notice movement throughout the window. There’s a dark figure in the apartment across from mine, illuminated by the bright, yellow lights.

Male. Tall. Broad.

A shiver runs down my spine when I realize I’m only wearing a tank top and undies.

And it’s not until he crosses his arms over his chest, attention clearly focused on my window, that I realize he can see me.

All of me.

For some reason, that terrifies me and exhilarates me at the same time. I don’t know him from Adam. He could be an investment banker or an insurance salesman or a serial killer, for all I know.

The distance between us and the poor lighting hides his features, but there’s no mistaking the burn of his gaze on me. How long has he been standing there? How much has he seen?

I should close my curtains. Now that I know someone lives there, I should cover up and retain my last bit of privacy before it’s stripped away.

Too bad I like being watched.

And it’s not like he’s looking away. No, his gaze is intent on my barely clothed body, burning me up inside. I don’t need to see his face to know he’s looking at me, and that he likes what he sees. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be watching.

Crawling into bed, I expect him to turn away. His eyes are locked on me as I kick back the sheets. I reach for the bedside drawer, pulling out a toy.

Am I really doing this?

The man braces a thick forearm on the balcony’s glass door, his attention locked on me.

Peeling off my tank top and panties, I lay naked in bed, guiding the toy between my legs and turning it on. The vibration increases as I twist up the intensity until my nipples pebble into tight buds and my back arches.

My eyes drift across the way to my neighbor, shrouded in the dark of night, highlighted by the lights behind him.

He doesn’t look away.

He’s shirtless, a pair of sweatpants riding low on his hips. Even from here, I can tell he’s in shape. Athletic. A broad chest leads to a narrow waist, and although I can’t see definition from here, I’d bet dollars to donuts he’s built.

My eyes fall closed and I force them open, back to him. His inscrutable gaze is locked on me, on the toy disappearing between my legs, on the way I’m riding it.

Wishing it was a man surging inside of me and not silicone.

Wanting more. Needing more.

I play with my breasts, tugging and pinching my nipples. Heat coils low in my belly, but it’s not enough. My head lolls to the side as I watch my neighbor.

And then his hand slides down his muscular chest to the waistband of his sweats. His hand doesn’t dive inside; not yet. He seems content to let this play out.

Touching myself, I drive the toy between my legs, letting my hips ride the silicone. Everything inside of me burns white-hot, the fire in my core threatening to overtake me.

When he finally slips his hand inside his pants, touching himself, allowing himself to let go, I shatter.

I shatter into a thousand, million pieces, splintering apart and coming back together anew.

My pussy clenches around the silicone, wringing every last scrap of pleasure from the toy, and as I turn off the vibration and pull it from inside me, his heavy gaze burns into mine.

I don’t know him. But I know what he likes.

Watching me.

His arm moves faster now, the balcony hiding his lower body from me.

But he’s breathing harder, and his arm shifts with every stroke.

And something splashes onto his bare chest before he sags onto the balcony door.

What will he do next?

The stranger pushes off the patio door, grabbing a nearby something—a rag, or maybe a t-shirt, or a towel—and wiping the cum from his chest. His gaze is locks on me, his expression inscrutable.

Lifting a hand, I give him an awkward wave.

His entire body goes still. I bet he even stops breathing. Does he think I can’t see him?

Finally, he shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning away. Then, with a long, last look over his shoulder, he turns out the lights.

I lay naked and sweating in bed, thoroughly spent. Curling onto my side, I pull the blankets over my shoulders and try to sleep.

I don’t close the curtains.

But the next night, his apartment is dark.