Page 2 of Big Burly Neighbor
Shaking my head, I get home and lock the door behind me. I force myself to forget the mysterious handsome man, opening the box and exploring its contents. It’s only when I’m seated, with a brush in hand, that I notice a tiny thing.
How did he know the floor I live?
2
ZION
There’s something deeply wrong with me. I’ve never been the best of men, and I always knew that, but when it comes toherI reach a new level of rotten. There must be something dark and wicked blooming inside me. It’s the only explanation.
It’s the only plausible explanation as to why I feel this way.
Drenched in darkness, I stand near the windows of my living room, watching. Gaping from the shadows like a predator, like a wild animal, starved for its next meal. My eyes heavy-lidded, my body strung with expectation, I wait. I wait for her to show up.
And she does. Even when that’s what I hoped for, I’m so taken aback by the sight of her I jerk away, the blinds closing. My heart thunders in my chest, every chug a punch to the ribs. I slam my eyes shut for a moment, and let the darkness soak in. This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing it… But isn’t this what I tell myself every time? Every single time, every day, I repeat this like a mantra.
This is wrong. I shouldn’t be doing this. This is illegal. I should be arrested, thrown into jail, never to see the daylight again.
Rationality disappears when my fingers find the opening in the blinds and I peek through once more. There she is. So close, and so far at the same time. Pretty Aileen, dancing in her living room, loose t-shirt unable to cover her thick curves. She moves to the sound of something I can’t hear, raising her arms above her head and swaying her hips. The hem of her shirt climbs her hips, giving me a glimpse of plain white panties.
My pants grow tight, tighter. All the blood in my body rushes south. I curl my fingers around the bulge, grinding my teeth together not to emit a sound.
This is so fucking wrong. So wrong, so wrong...
Aileen turns around, swaying that amazing ass of hers. Holy fuck, what wouldn’t I give to have my hands on that piece of flesh? She’s perfection. She’s lust incarnate, dancing across her apartment with the purest of innocence. I know what she’s doing. She’s seeing all the closed blinds, and she thinks she’s safe. What she doesn’t know is that I’m here, watching, peering into her curves, daydreaming about having her.
Her dark hair is a cloud around her face, the tips brushing her jaw every time she moves. I curl my fingers, wanting to bury them into her strands and pull her head back until she winces. I can almost imagine those green eyes fastened on me, burning with lust, plump lips parted with a plead.
She could ask me to take her, to claim her, to make her come so hard she couldn’t walk properly for a week.
I grip the bulge in my pants harder. Squeeze it tight until my knuckles bleach. This lust for her is poison. It’s addictive, but soul-ending. I let the blinds close once more.
Aileen is pure. She’s much, much younger, and though I can’t stop thinking of those lush curves, she’s out of my reach. She’s twenty-one to my forty-five, her soft body opposite to my big, hard one. Fuck, I’m a damned mechanic. My hands are too rough to be allowed anywhere near her perfect skin.
Sweat drips down my forehead. I wipe a hand across it, taking deep breaths to center myself. This is so ridiculous. Pathetic, even. To stand near one’s window and watch the much younger neighbor in her underwear. I’m perverted. Wicked.
I open the blinds again. I’m fucking addicted.
Aileen dances then grabs a mug, blows at it, and sits down in front of a canvas. She’s artistic, beautiful, and bright. She’s a flower in a field, blossoming amid the unexpected. This woman has taken every space in my brain, making it hard to do anything but think of her. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
Everything I can’t ever have.
I can hold the elevator for her, and offer her help, but I can never touch her. Never come close enough to smell her. I can never do what I imagine doing to her in my head.
She crosses her legs, shirt riding up her thighs, then starts to paint. And fuck, if the sight of her legs doesn’t do it for me... It drives me fucking mad.
I hold the blinds an inch open with a hand, then shove my pants down with the other. As pathetic as I feel for doing this, I have no option. I’m a fiend for her. Curling my fingers around my girth, I pump at it, eyes glued to her. To her soft smile, her hair, her delicious thighs. I need nothing else to go over the edge. The mere sight of her is everything I need.
A couple of heartbeats later and I’m flying over the edge. That’s the effect she has on me. One glimpse at her, and I’m hard as a rock, blood boiling. Unable to live without fucking my fist. She’s ruined everything else, and everyone else, for me. Aileen is the only one my body wants.
Breathless, I gape at the proof of my crime on my floor. A wave of shame rocks over me, but it’s old news. I’ve been through this before, several times, and I never learn. It won’t stop me from watching her through the blinds, from wanting her more than I should.
With clenched teeth, I go after toilet paper to clean the mess. Once that’s done, I sit close to the windows and do what I do every weekend for the past weeks—I watch her. An hour, then two, and three. Whenever I’m not working, I’m watching her. She’s the one thing I delight in, the one thing I enjoy.
Aileen has become such an obsession nothing else makes sense. And I know that makes me a sick man, but I can’t help it. I can’t help it, and I won’t.
Even when I know very well this is all I’ll ever have.
3
