Chapter 6
six
. . .
Jason
This is so wrong.
Amelia stares at me with defiance in her eyes as she drops her towel, baring her nude form to me. I should look away. I should be the bigger person. We have to work together.
But as my eyes drink in the sight of her, the dips and curves of her body, her rounded belly, her full breasts… The flush high in her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes…
She likes this.
She likes being watched.
And fuck, do I ever like watching.
My gaze roves over her delicious body, memorizing each and every inch. What I would give for us to be alone in the same room, to devour her the way I’ve wanted to ever since her first show for me nine days ago.
It’s torture knowing it can never happen, not if we’re working together. Not to mention the supreme awkwardness of sleeping with my neighbor. What if it doesn’t go well? We’d still have to see each other, and then we wouldn’t even have the privacy of the workday to distance ourselves.
No. This can’t happen. I should put a stop to it. Right… now.
Or now.
Or… maybe tomorrow.
Amelia turns, offering me a glimpse of her backside as she looks over her shoulder at me.
Her hair is in a messy knot on the top of her head.
I want to pull the tie out, watch it cascade over her shoulders.
Want to grip her hips with my hands, to cup her ass and knead it.
Maybe smack it a few times. It’s rounded and full, and I bet it would give a good jiggle if I fucked her from behind.
Fuck. This is so wrong.
She’s a team employee. We work together. She’ll be putting her hands on my body…
My cock kicks, lengthening against my thigh in my joggers, and still, I can’t look away. I’ll have to ask Derek to take care of my aches and pains from now on. There’s only one ache I want her to handle, and it’s the one in my cock.
It’s so much worse knowing who she is. Before, I could chalk it up to an accident, a one-time thing. I never had to see her again.
Now…
Amelia turns around, giving me a full-frontal view of the most beautiful body I’ve ever seen. Her chin lifts, her eyes locked on mine as she trails her fingertips over her breasts and down her rounded belly to the apex of her thighs. She touches herself, practically daring me to do the same.
I’m going to hell. Book me a one-way ticket because I’m out of here.
Slipping my hand into my pants, I stroke my cock to full hardness, and then pull myself out.
I don’t think she can see me—my balcony has a half-wall, offering me a specter of privacy—but I’m certain she knows I’m touching myself, watching her touch herself.
Taking advantage of the pleasure she’s so freely offering.
She has to know. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want me to.
Will she still meet my eyes in the cold light of day? Will I be able to meet hers?
I’m fixated on the sight of her, the pebbled tips of her nipples, the way her fingers disappear into her cunt.
Even though I can’t see it, I know she’s slick and wet, ready for me.
I wonder what she tastes like, what she would feel like if my fingers pushed inside her, the sounds I’d rip from her throat while I pleasured her.
My fist works over my cock, the tip leaking pre-cum like a geyser. The stickiness helps my hand glide over my length, but it’s not enough. I want more.
I want her.
Across the way, Amelia’s mouth drops open as her fingers work her pretty pink clit. But she doesn’t look away. Her gaze locks on mine while she brings herself to the brink.
Come for me.
Her body tenses, and then I watch from too far away as she lets out a groan I wish I could hear. She bites down on her lip—hard, I can tell—as her body wracks with pleasure.
I want to be the one tearing her apart. I want to be the one putting her back together.
Lightning travels down my spine, and my balls draw up high and tight. That’s all the warning I have before my orgasm barrels through me. I come into my fist, my moans stifled by the windows separating us.
Amelia holds up her hand to me, fingers wet with her juices.
Huffing out a laugh, I hold up my hand too, showing her the cum streaking my palm.
She grins, making a motion as if to high-five me. I shake my head, a smile crossing my face. This woman. What am I going to do with her?
She opens a nearby door—an en suite, maybe?
—and disappears, returning a few minutes later, still naked as the day she was born.
She pulls out her hair tie, shaking the strands loose, before tying it up again in a more secure knot.
She turns off the main ceiling light, and the only glow in the room is a soft lamp on the nightstand.
I can’t look away as she picks up a tablet or e-reader, and then climbs into bed. She glances back at me—still with my pants down, cum drying on my hand—and gives me a smile and a wave.
Dismissing me.
Kicking off my sweats, I trudge to the bathroom and clean myself up, too. I take a hot shower, throw on a new pair of sweats, and then collapse onto my bed to watch ESPN. Every few moments, I glance over at her window, at the soft glow of her bedside lamp, and the blue light from her e-reader.
Eventually, I look over and the lights are out.
She’s fast asleep, the covers pulled up over her shoulders.
I have the inexplicable urge to kiss her forehead.
I don’t know this woman, not really, not outside of our two incredibly intimate encounters.
Watching her sleep is like an invitation to intimacy I haven’t earned.
But I don’t close my blinds.