The Voyeur Next Door

by Airicka Phoenix

  “I see,” he said at last with a slow contemplation. “Tell me about it.”

  I hadn’t been expecting that response and was thus unprepared. It took me a few moments to slip out of my surprise and pull up memories of my dream.

  “I was in bed,” I began. “It was night. The lamp was on.” My cheeks warmed, as did the junction of my thighs as every moment of that dream came into focus. I willed my voice to remain steady even while my insides shivered. “It spilled over the sheets, a soft, pale gold and shone over…”

  “Yes?” he prompted gently when I faltered.

  I swallowed and darted a nervous tongue over my lips. “I was on my back and he was leaning over me. His weight pushed me into the mattress and I could feel his naked skin pressed into the length of me. Everything about him was hot and I could feel myself burning up just from him being so close. His mouth…” I drew in a sharp breath as my nipples tightened in recollection and twanged in a sweet sort of pinch. “His teeth … his tongue … they were on my breasts,” I gasped, more than a little breathless. “Nipping, sucking … biting.”

  “Do you like your nipples bit?”

  Tony had never paid very much attention to my breasts. He was an in and out sort of guy. Foreplay and working for his meal never crossed his mind.

  “I don’t know,” I whispered honestly. “I did in my dream. I loved it.”

  “You’ve never had your nipples sucked on?”

  Aside from groping, squeezing and the occasional fondle, Tony seemed not to have gotten the memo where men were supposed to love and worship boobs.

  “No,” I said.

  “Have you ever been with a man?” Q asked.

  “I had a boyfriend,” I told him. “Years ago, but he wasn’t a breast guy, or a clit guy, or a fingering guy.”

  “God,” he whispered with a sharp hiss. “What did he do?”

  I chuckled. “A lot of missionary that involved him grunting and pumping.”

  I immediately felt bad about throwing Tony under the bus like that. It hadn’t been entirely his fault. He’d been raised in a strict, religious household where sex was seen as a sin that should only take place between a husband and wife. He wouldn’t even let me give him head, because that would be considered sacrilegious. Apparently, my mouth should only be used to speak the lord’s name, which I would have done so happily if Tony was a more thoughtful lover.

  “And there has been no one since?”

  I considered telling him about Mr. Happy, my dildo, but I wasn’t sure that counted.

  “Not a person, no,” I said.

  “That’s intriguing.”

  My cheeks warmed and I bit my lip. “I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

  And there was the sex goddess. I wanted to applaud her impeccable timing.

  He groaned, low and husky and I tingled all over. “That’s fine,” he purred in that deep rumble that made my pussy want to hump his voice like a dog in heat. “I’d rather see them.”

  Oh god.

  “When?” Because I was hot, horny, and ready.

  “Whenever you’re ready to decide,” he answered smoothly.

  I’d nearly forgotten I was the reason we were waiting. I kind of hated myself in that moment. I also wanted to say screw it and grab my laptop. But what did that say about me? I didn’t want him to think I was a flaky, indecisive nymphomaniac that couldn’t control herself.

  I growled in my throat.

  Stupid pride.

  He chuckled. “At least you came.”

  “It doesn’t count.”

  “Tell that to my cock. It’s feeling very lonely and left out right now.”

  I had a vision of him on the bed, cock in hand, stroking lazily, kind of the way he had the first night. I shivered.

  “What are you wearing?” I whispered, fingers moving to the sash keeping my robe in place.

  I heard him give an almost ironic chuckle. “A towel,” he said. “I was just getting out of the shower when you called.”

  That image cinched around my lungs, cutting off my air and making my libido go ape-shit. My over excited sex pulsed in greedy excitement.

  “Are you still wearing it?”

  Silence strained for two full heartbeats.

  “Not anymore.”

  I shed my robe and kicked my panties off after it. Despite the humidity, the air was deliciously cool stroking the wet pool between my legs. I widened my knees, kneeling in the middle of my bed, naked and flushed. My clit, pink and slick with arousal jutted proudly from between bare lips.

  “What are you wearing?”

  My pulse quickened. “Nothing.”

  He made a quiet growl and I nearly had a micro orgasm. A tremor rocked down the length of my spine.

  “God, you don’t play fair.”

  “I didn’t realize I had to,” I teased, feeling unusually bold.

  “You do,” he said. “It’s how this is going to work, by both of us playing by the rules.”

  “And what are the rules?” I wondered.

  “That we both agree that this is what we want. I won’t play with you if you don’t give me the green light.”

  Fuck. Did he have to be so noble about it? I felt almost like some sick pervert trying to seduce someone against his will. Damn if it didn’t make me respect him, though.

  “You’re right,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  I heard him draw in a deep breath.

  “I’m not,” he said. “But I made you a promise and I won’t go back on my word. You will call me Monday with your answer and we will go from there.”

  We both agreed and hung up. I stayed in my kneeling position on the mattress. My desire hadn’t weaned, but his semi reject had slapped most of the heat down to a mild simmer.

  The headache from the day before followed me into morning. I woke up feeling it pulsing behind my eyes. I would have happily stayed wrapped in my blankets and gone back to sleep, but I had promised Gabriel I would help his sister at her school and I still had to hunt down aspirin.

  I found them in the junk drawer in the kitchen. I took three with water and then zombie shuffled my way into the shower. The hot water felt incredible drowning my sorrows. I shut my eyes and leaned into the spray. I stayed there for twenty minutes before scrubbing myself dry and pulling on jeans and a loose t-shirt. I bundled my hair up into a knot and grabbed my purse before leaving the apartment.

  Saint George’s school for the young and gifted was a cathedral style structure almost an hour away. I had never been there before, but my GPS was kind enough to point out no less than sixteen donut shops along the way. At one point, I actually had to wonder if it was mocking me. But I got there without incident, or relapses, and parked a block away. My keys jingled in my grasp as I made my way down the sidewalk, admiring the looming oak trees shading me along the way.

  There was a surprising amount of activity for a school on a Saturday. The wide, arched doors were left open to the hot summer breeze and people kept coming in and out in a flurry of movement. I jogged up the steps and stopped at the top, trying to locate the person in charge.

  “Ali!” Gabriel, in all his lumberjack glory, stormed over to me with wide, angry strides. “You’re late!” he snapped in the way of a greeting.

  I glanced at my watch. “You said eight. It’s a minute after.”

  “Don’t mind him,” came a voice from behind him. “He’s had a pickle up his ass since he arrived.”

  Gabriel shifted aside so I could get my first glance of Tamara.

  Intense, was the first thought that came to mind. Everything about the girl was sharp and bold. But not with bright colors. Her hair was pale purple that hung in a sleek, shiny sheet around her thin shoulders. Her eyes were an enormous silver that looked even larger with the dark eyeshadow and eyeliner. She wore fishnet stockings under a short, plaited black skirt and a black t-shirt that read: people like you are the reason why I have a middle finger. I momentarily wondered what type of school allowed a student
to wear something like that, but who was I to judge?

  On her feet were thick, clunky boots in shiny leather that went all the way to her knees. Black nail polish adorned each sharp nail, contrasting with her milky-white complexion. She grinned at me and it was all mischief.

  “You’re Ali.”

  I nodded. “I am. You’re Tamara.”

  Her grin broadened and she did a little curtsy. “That’s me.” She swayed from side to side, looking from me to Gabriel. “So, Gabe says you’re going to make my costume.”

  I grimaced. “I’m going to attempt to make your costume,” I corrected.

  “Awesome!” The girl beamed. “I was thinking of making her into like a Goth swan.”

  I blinked. “A … Goth swan?”

  “Odette,” she said. “Didn’t Gabe tell you which play we’re doing?”

  I tried to remember and came up with nothing. “Uh, no, no he seemed to have forgotten that part.”

  “Well, I got the lead,” Tamara stated, dramatically puffing up her chest and spearing her hands on her hips. “I’m Odette, you know? The white swan?”

  I nodded. “I have a vague recollection of the story.”

  “Right. So, I was thinking, we can make her costume black.”

  I frowned. “Wasn’t Odile the black swan?”

  Tamara stilled. She stared at me with those eyes, filled with disapproval and suspicion.

  “So?”

  I dared a peek at Gabriel. The man hadn’t said anything since my initial arrival. He stood next to his sister, towering drastically over her by a good three feet. His attire made me question if the guy owned anything other than jeans, white t-shirts and flannel. Also, I kind of wanted to set his boots on fire. A bit drastic, but someone needed to put them out of their misery.

  “Well, if you’re Odette, you’re white,” I explained, turning my attention back to Tamara and not the man studiously glowering at his phone like it was personally responsible for the slaughter of his family.

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed and I immediately saw the family resemblance. “Are you being racist?”

  I could think of nothing to say to that. I wasn’t even sure I wanted to. Part of me actually wanted to start edging the hell out of there and pretending I had the wrong place.

  Tamara burst out laughing. “Chill. I’m screwing with you. Seriously though, I want like black wing tips, or something.”

  Wing tips?

  “Just what kind of costume do you need?” I wondered, feeling genuine panic starting to swell in my chest.

  “I need two, actually,” Tamara said breezily. “One as a swan and one as a girl. I want something awesome like The Black Swan with Natalie Portman. Can you do that?”

  No!

  “Isn’t there somewhere online—?”

  “It has to be handmade,” she interrupted. “It’s like fifty percent of our grade.”

  “No pressure.” I muttered. Then sighed. “Okay, well, we should measure you, or something. I guess.”

  Tamara nodded like that had been her idea the whole time. “Everyone’s downstairs.”

  With a wave of a slender hand that sent light sparking off the many silver rings adorning each finger, she guided us down a long hallway lined with lockers on one side and wide, bay windows overlooking a courtyard on the other. It ended at a set of metal doors that opened to a series of stairs winding downward. We trudged down three until we reached the end. Silence was thicker in the basement. Sharp strobes of light punctured the pool of shadows making residence in the stone corridor. Someone had thought to brighten the place up by painting a cheerful mural of rainbows and children frolicking playfully over a lush landscape of green grass and dandelions. I would have bought it, if the children hadn’t reminded me of hostage victims trying to put on a brave face.

  “Like it?” Tamara caught me staring.

  “It’s…” Spooky… “Really nice.”

  She stopped walking and turned to face the painting with her hands clasped loosely at her back.

  “I painted it,” she said proudly, but with a hint of dismay. “I call it Purgatory. See, all the children are told to believe they are in a beautiful, safe place, but in reality, they’re all stuck in an illusion.” She turned bland, gray eyes on me. “They’re waiting to be judged.”

  I liked her. Her morbid fascination really spoke to my soul. Even if I was slightly creeped out.

  “Stop messing with her,” Gabriel muttered, still fiddling with his phone.

  “I’m not messing with her,” Tamara defended hotly. “It’s my rendition of how I see school.”

  “I like it,” I said honestly.

  Tamara shot her brother a haughty smirk that he didn’t notice, before twirling on her clunky heel and flouncing onward.

  The flat, stone walls ended at a sharp turn that delved even deeper into the bottomless void that seemed to be the school’s basement. There was only one dingy bulb illuminating this section and it dangled midway between us and the metal doors at the far end. My survival instincts immediately sat up and took notice of what could potentially turn out to be where I was captured and used to perform a series of horrific acts in order to survive a macabre maze of death. I also knew that if it came to that, I would most likely sacrifice Gabriel in a heartbeat to get out.

  I glanced sideways at the man in question and found him peering down at me with an accusation that made me flush.

  Crap. Had I spoken out loud?

  “Is your phone working?”

  “My phone?” I muttered a bit stupidly.

  He held up his like I really was an idiot. “Yeah, you’re phone.”

  I had to dig it out of my bag, which was a task considering I couldn’t see inside. The whole process turned into a scavenger hunt that ended when I located my flashlight and clicked it on.

  “Why are you carrying around a flashlight?” Gabriel was nice enough to ask with a dryness I did not appreciate.

  “The question is, why aren’t you?” I shot back. I located my phone and glanced at the screen. “No signal.”

  Gabriel sighed, turned to his sister and gave her the glower usually reserved for me. “I can’t stay down here,” he told her. “I’m expecting a call.”

  “On a Saturday?” Tamara replied in a great exaggerated lift of her finely penciled eyebrow. “Seriously? Who works on a Saturday?”

  “Your dad,” Gabriel reminded her.

  “Yeah, but have you met him?”

  Gabriel ignored the question. “Look, this is important.”

  “So is my education, apparently,” Tamara stated loudly. “I’m all for flunking and living the rest of my life in your basement as a starving artist.”

  “I don’t have a basement,” Gabriel reminded her. “And you’re not flunking. Just hurry up.”

  He delved into the darkness without waiting for a response.

  I waited to make sure nothing jumped out of the shadows and ate him before following with Tamara taking the rear.

  The low hum of chatter greeted us at the threshold. I couldn’t see around the wall that was Gabriel’s enormous frame blocking the doorway, but either there were people inside, or it was haunted by the spirits of the other idiots that willingly ventured into the bowels of hell.

  “Will you move?” Tamara snapped, shoving at her brother’s back.

  Gabriel edged in deeper, but not very far. There was just enough room for Tamara to slink past, but I had more body than a gangly teenager and there was no graceful way to squeeze in without rubbing into him. My body liked the idea. The cheerleaders were in full horny hump mode. My brain was more reluctant.

  “I can’t walk through doors,” I mumbled loudly so he couldn’t miss the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

  He shot me a frustrated glare from the corner of his eye, but thankfully got the hint and moved further away.

  The room was one large, open space crowded by no less than forty people of varying ages broken into three groups. The men on the right. The women on the
left and the teenagers all clustered around the door. It was like a high school dance gone horribly wrong. Yet the peeper in me perked with greedy exhilaration at all the faces, all the stories that came with those faces and me, smack dab in the middle of it all. The sensation of being a kid at Disneyland wafted through me and I nearly squealed. The pervert in my head did a series of pelvic thrusts and parts of the Macarena before I quieted it down.

  “Come on!”

  Tamara motioned us to follow her through the throng of people. My gaze had become a game of ping pong, bouncing from person to person in heady delight. I was so busy watching others that I didn’t see Gabriel stop until I walked into his back. My hands instinctively shot out to steady what would have been a painful face-plant, except I never made it to the ground. I was gathered into a hot, solid chest by the strong arms that banded around me. I was suffocated in his masculine scent of motor oil, soup, and grilled cheese. His hands splayed over the span of my back, burning me through the thin material of my top. My skin rose with goosebumps and a shiver worked through me that he couldn’t possibly miss.

  “Careful.”

  The skin at my temple prickled, but I couldn’t be sure if that was just my imagination, or if his lips had really brushed the spot.

  I opted not to dwell on it. Instead, I carefully extracted myself from the emotionally wrecking embrace and straightened my glasses.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, struggling to keep my gaze on his chest.

  He didn’t respond, but I could feel his eyes drilling holes into my soul.

  “Okay.” Tamara stepped up, drawing our attentions back to her. “Gabe, you get to help the dads over there.” She gestured to a group of men standing over a small pile of wooden planks. “Ali, you get to sit with the moms over there.”

  The moms over there looked exactly like how one would picture moms to look like with their freshly pressed khakis and pretty little blouses. They had the whole Stepford Wives meets Weeds thing going on. They reminded me of cheerleaders at a football game, pretty to look at, but you know they’re several different shades of crazy should you venture too closely. Plus, I could smell the valium and desperation swirling around them. These women were two espresso shots away from snapping and they were armed with pointy needles. Someone clearly hadn’t thought this out properly.