Chapter 3 Ginger
Ginger
I should stop perving on the hot new neighbors. But here I am five minutes after I’ve hung up with Wren, phone still clutched in my fist, face practically pressed against the damn window, watching.
Ryan holds Vanessa’s head, and she looks completely lost to him, loving every second of it; it’s filthy and rough and…fucking hot. Dammit, now I’m jealous of the Love Island neighbors.
My eyes go glassy as the memory of him fucking into my mouth surfaces, like it has numerous times since that night six months ago, and I’m surprised at the whimper that escapes me.
The taste of him, the sight of him towering over me, dominating me, taking pleasure from me…
It’s still so fresh all these months later.
I could say that seeing my neighbors banging each other is the only reason I’ll probably be flicking the bean tonight, but I’d be a liar.
Shoving the memory of that night away, I focus back on the pool, bottom lip tucked between my teeth.
My eyes trail up Ryan’s lean body. Muscles flexed, powerful hips thrusting, defined abs and pecs, strong shoulders, short, cropped hair and… Our eyes meet through the window, a sexy smirk curling his lips.
“Fuck,” I gasp, dropping out of sight. My ass hits the floor, and my back collides with the wall behind me as a laugh bubbles up out of me.
I move to my knees and crawl across the floor before pulling myself onto the couch.
I shake my head at myself. What the hell, Ginger?
I swipe up my beer from the cute little seashell coaster and take a desperate drink, a little dribbling down my chin.
I groan. I can’t believe he caught me watching them.
Now, not only am I the old spinster next door, but I’m a fucking peeping tom, too.
I grip my beer so hard my knuckles turn white.
Why did I keep watching?
“Because it was hot as shit, and you haven’t had actual sex in almost two years,” I mumble aloud.
Well, that’s pathetic.
Still, another light laugh bubbles up out of me. That was like a train wreck. A hot, slippery, sexy, train wreck. I couldn’t look away.
A cold sweat coats my neck even though my cheeks are on fire.
I was so caught up in acting like a crazy stalker, I didn’t stop to think about it being pitch black outside and the light inside would be like a gigantic spotlight illuminating me while I hovered in the window like a lunatic, unable to tear my eyes away.
I blow out a breath, shake my curls back, and square my shoulders. You know what? This is fine. It’s completely normal to be turned on after months of nothing but the attention of a battery assist.
My mind drifts again. I’ve never been with two men at once, not really my style, but watching that, seeing how they just…used her? And the way she welcomed it. No control, unabashedly giving herself over to their dominance. I’ve never been so turned on.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of good sex in my life.
Granted, most of it was with the same man.
Peter wasn’t particularly adventurous, but he was attentive, tender, and sweet.
The sex was never mind-blowing, but there is something to be said about a man who always makes sure you come.
And Peter did. Even if it was in the most vanilla ways.
I’ve had three mind-melting sexual encounters in my life, and none of them involved my ex.
The first was a one-night stand with a boxer I’d met while on business two years ago, when ‘dry spell’ didn’t even begin to describe my sex life.
And the last two orgasms I’d had that didn’t involve silicone and triple-As were quick, hot, and dirty one-offs that never even led to penetration.
Hutch Hayes had commanded my body with nothing but his filthy words and skilled tongue. Too bad he was a vapid, shallow, asshat who never passed up the opportunity to push my buttons.
Actually, it makes perfect sense that I’d be turned on by what I saw. I mean, I’ve watched porn. Doesn’t really do it for me; it’s all fake moans, faker tits, and female crotch shots aimed at men and their pleasure.
But Josh, Ryan, and Vanessa are so very real. It’s been six months since I’ve been touched. So after watching that, it stands to reason that I’d be turned on.
I wouldn’t mind my very own Ryan or Josh right about now. Except maybe a little older? The last thing I need in my bed is a college kid with mommy issues. I have real mommy issues of my own to navigate without adding someone else’s shit into the mix.
I toss back another swig of lukewarm beer with a grimace. “Men only complicate shit.”
I have zero time for a relationship. And even less desire for one. But I wouldn’t be opposed to some hot, steamy, freaky sex.
Unfortunately, having two almost six-year-olds around doesn’t make hooking up easy, especially when one or both end up in my bed at least once or twice a week.
Still, I find myself crossing back over to the window. I could peek and see if they’re still there, right?
Rolling my lips together, I part the curtains. I can’t tell which emotion is stronger when I find the pool empty and the yard dark: relief or regret.
After dropping the curtains back into place, I head for the couch, feeling a bit annoyed and a lot turned on.
I used to have a life. Not one like that—with tiny bikinis, pool parties, enough weed to kill a horse, and two dudes railing me at once, but a life, nonetheless.
Now my life is one long boring string of the same sequences of events day after day, where nothing changes, and everything stays the same.
Instead, here I am on Friday night, watching my twenty-something neighbors screw in their pool and drinking alone like some kind of middle-aged sad person. Fuck, at least I don’t have three or four cats. Then I’d really be pushing it.