nodded, nodded, nodded to him with the pleasure of her release. She was done for. He’d done her in again.
He waited for her to glance up and then, with a toss of his head, gave in to his own orgasm, again splashing the window with his come, looking gorgeous and primitive in his abandon.
‘Wow,’ she whispered.
Her body let off small ticks and pops of pleasure as her body came down off the orgasm high. He smiled at her and waved and then turned from the window.
* * *
Summer was dying, she could see it. She turned over the browned plants that couldn’t be saved and buried them in the earth to help fertilise it. Her legs ached from squatting but she felt good. Stuart had been like a new suitor and they were going out to dinner to celebrate their dirty-dirty sex as he called it.
She hummed to herself and nearly sat down on her ass in the mud with surprise when he said, ‘Afternoon, missus,’ over the fence.
‘Rick,’ she said with a secret smile. She felt calm around him now. Not bored, just calm. He still made her pulse thump erratically and her body respond in very sensual ways. ‘How are you?’
‘Pulling out today,’ he said. ‘School awaits. Just wanted to say bye to my favourite neighbour.’
Her stomach tingled and she fought to ignore it.
‘Bye, Rick.’ OK, so she felt a bit of sadness in her belly, but she knew it wouldn’t last. The fuel for her sexual fire. ‘Be safe and have fun.’
‘Oh, I will. I’m looking forward to this year.’
‘Make the most of it.’
‘I always try to make the most of every opportunity.’ The secret meaning in his words was clear to her.
When she looked up at him, those grey-green eyes were amused. ‘That’s a good character trait.’
Somewhere a car horn beeped and he turned and waved. ‘My friend’s getting antsy. Have a good rest of your summer, missus.’
He winked at her and she blushed. She blushed!
‘And maybe I’ll see you at winter break, you know, around.’
Like in the window …
She almost laughed. Well, hell, she’d forgotten about breaks. And visits. And all that. Her fire wasn’t gone after all.
‘Maybe you will,’ she said and waved as he turned away from the fence.
Winter wasn’t really so far off.
Thief
Charlotte Stein
The first time I watch, I don’t mean to. It’s an accident, like reading a letter that’s not intended for you or going down a road you weren’t supposed to. I’m going down this road, and, though it’s clearly marked watching your flatmate masturbate, I don’t turn around and walk the other way.
I stay like this instead. Poised in his closet, the laundry mistake still in my hand. Everything in me saying leave leave leave, despite one very real and very unavoidable problem.
It’s too late, now.
It was too late thirty seconds ago. Too late after ten. The moment I stepped into his closet and searched for a place to put his T-shirt, my time was up. Because, apparently, Drew isn’t the sort to wait around for a while before taking all of his clothes off.
He takes them off the minute his bedroom door is shut. And, when I turn around, that’s the first thing I see through the slats in the closet door: my cool, collected, unfathomable flatmate Drew, without anything on.
Though, really, I know that’s not the right way to put it. Without anything on is the manner in which people describe their elderly relatives, just before they help them into the bathtub. It’s almost a joke punchline; it’s without a hint of anything sexual.
Whereas this thing in front of me – this thing I can see so clearly in spite of the stripes of wood over this bit or that – it’s so … fleshy. It’s so real somehow, as though all the other naked bodies I’ve seen in my short life were fakes.
This is what a naked body should be like. This thing, with its broad back and its curving thighs. Even the tiniest detail calls to me, on a man like him – the way his collarbone stands out so heavily against the honey-coloured skin, like dinosaur bones beneath the earth. The way his biceps curve outwards almost delicately, when he reaches up to rub some spot on the nape of his neck.
Though maybe delicate is the wrong word. There’s nothing delicate about him. It’s just the way his skin looks there, drawn taut over the thick muscle beneath. And he’s so pale in places like those, too – on the insides of his arms and below the line where his jeans once rode.
Then down, down, to the thing I absolutely should not be looking at. The one that didn’t really exist for me until right now, as though prior to this I thought of him like a Ken doll. Smooth, and completely featureless between his legs.
Instead of how he actually is.
There’s nothing about him that I’d call featureless. I’m not even sure I’d call it smooth either, because I can see the thick ridge around the head of his cock, beneath the skin. I can see the veins that rope his shaft, so obviously more pronounced than they were a second ago.
He’s getting hard, I realise, though God knows why. He’s just sat there, on the edge of his neat bed, hands sort of loose on his bollard-like knees. He isn’t touching himself or flicking through a skin mag or any of the things I seem to associate with male arousal, so it’s understandable when fear suddenly grips me.
He knows you’re there, this fear whispers. He knows you’re watching, and he likes it
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
