When he does I gasp out loud, dropping the mail. Standing there as my shock shifts to a different part of my brain.
The man’s naked from the waist up and I become acutely aware of my jaw dropping as I do nothing but stare at his perfect abs. His V line and his massive chest and shoulders.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning down to scoop up the mail, giving me a perfect view of his chiseled back which flexes in time with another stupid sound I hear myself making.
He’s perfectly tanned too, by the way.
The type of body you wouldn’t see on someone half his age, let alone—
“Krystal? You okay?” he asks again. “You don’t have to ring the bell. Anytime, just come on in. I mean it,” he says, glancing at the mail and making a face.
I feel myself moving inside again and he closes the door with his foot, holding up the mail as he walks towards the stairs.
“I keep getting this guy’s mail. Really need to do something about that,” he sighs loudly.
“Back in a sec. I’m just trying to find a clean shirt. Feel free to put that coffee on,” he calls out over his shoulder.
I have to lean against the wall once he’s out of sight, straining to get enough air.
My chest feels like it’ll shatter if my nipples scratch the fabric of my shirt. My sex feels like it’s about to explode.
A heat I’ve never known is coursing through my whole body. My legs start to shake and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me on the one hand.
On the other hand…
On the other hand, is five fingers I feel like driving into myself. Right here in his entrance hall, on all fours, as I beg him to take me so I can scream his name.
I try to swallow but my mouth is so dry I can hardly get a crackle as my throat closes and opens.
I stagger to the kitchen, still reeling from the sight of Blake like that.
Jesus, I’ve got it bad.
I need to get out of here. I can’t take much more of this.
But at the same time, I don’t want to go anywhere. I’d be crazy to walk away from someone as amazing as Blake.
I just wish he’d notice me. Wish he knew the effect he’s having on me.
I hear a thud and a deep moan from upstairs, figuring he’s stubbed his toe but recognizing a familiar tone in the sound.
A sound to match the feeling I have boiling up inside me.
A feeling that makes me want to give myself to Blake, and not in a pink and fluffy romantic way.
In a rough, wild animalistic kind of way, on the kitchen counter. The furniture and the floor or all three.
Chapter Six
Blake
Once Krystal ducks next door to find us some coffee I’m left with a few minutes to have a quick look around. Make sure there’s no more evidence of whoever the fuck is really living here.
If he’s not home by now I assume I have at least a few more hours of his house and Krystal to myself before I have to come clean.
Tell her now. It’ll only be more awkward later on…
But we’re getting on so well, I’d hate to ruin it.
Jesus, he looks nothing like me. But then again, not many people do.
Stuffing some more of his happy snaps into drawers I find his keys on a rack in the kitchen, and through a side window, I can see his car.
A god damned wind-up toy fucking car.
No way I’d fit in that let alone drive it.
Okay, so my car’s in the shop. That’s my story and that’s the loaner parked beside the kitchen window.
I’m dying for a shower, but with Krystal so close I daren’t chance it.
My dick’s like a fucking stone in my pants, has hardly let up since I laid eyes on her. If I free him now I’ll only want to give myself a little handheld relief.
But I won’t. I can’t.
It’s for her, it’s all for her.
Must. Save it. For her.
Trying to stop the images of her in my mind is useless, and I only feel my cock stiffen and throb unbearably when I start to undress her in my mind.
Lifting her white sweater, freeing her thick chest, and devouring her pebbled, perfect sized nipples.
I growl out loud, telling myself to stop it.
Focus, Blake. This isn’t a fucking game.
My focus is here, it’s just in the wrong place as I catch myself unzipping my pants, gripping my thick hardness through my cotton briefs, and tugging at it like a desperate fool.
Freeing my cock from its fabric prison, right here in the kitchen, I moan loudly as I feel the warmth of my precome filling my palm, lubing me up in a second.
She’ll be back any minute.
I hope she is. She can give me a hand. Both her hands. See what she’s doing to me.
No. No! Not like this.
You need to fill her with it you moron, not the sink.
It takes all my will to unhand myself, and tucking myself back into my pants I can see the mess I’m already making all over my shirt and jacket.
Shit.
I strip off my shirt, and after running my hands under the faucet I make my way upstairs, hoping this guy has some clothes that will fit.
I find what must be the master bedroom, mirrored floor to ceiling doors and I slide them open.
Hope he kept something…
From some of his photos, I can tell the guy was much bigger before he looks like he lost some weight. I just hope he—
Bingo!
Or maybe crap.
Not exactly my taste in clothes, but I should find a shirt at least.
Not sure what kind of magazine this guy edits, but his taste in clothing is pretty out there.
Loud Hawaiian shirts, pink polos, and a—
Well. I guess that’s a wardrobe I won’t be opening again anytime soon.
Each to their own, but I just need some fucking clothes right now.
I uncover a stash of what looks like promo T-shirts. The kind of stuff someone like him must get a ton of every day.
Probably keeps them to give out as gifts, but for me, today it’ll have to do.
Nothing in the jeans department that would fit. I’m a very irregular size, and this baby’s arm upfront of my pants isn’t helping any right now.
Wishing I’d at least stopped for my luggage at the airport, I hear the doorbell chime.
A thousand things run through my mind in an instant, but I tell myself it has to be Krystal.
It better be.
I’m still hard as fuck and half-naked but I don’t care. The more she gets used to seeing me like this the better.
The more I hope she starts to see reason.
To realize that I’m what she needs, and she’s what I’ve been waiting for all these years.
I’ll have to tell her that before I tell her who I really am. Tell her I need to claim her as my own before I go out of my mind altogether.
Pulling the front door open, I’m glad it is her.
Gladder still when her eyes grow wide as she takes in what I have on show. Some of it I can control, like maybe putting on a shirt. But the rest of me?
I’m confident she gets an eyeful of my arousal too as I help myself to the are you kidding me amount of mail, seeing the owner of the house’s name for the first time too.
How anyone could confuse me for this guy…
Krystal seems to sway on the spot, her mouth dropping open, making me wonder if she’s okay until I see her eyes.
It’s the look I want to see in them.
An urgency in them, something to stem the flow of her own arousal, to set it right by releasing it properly.
To claim her as my own.
I can’t keep doubting it, this girl is ripe for the plucking and I’m wasting time by trying to convince myself otherwise.
It’s not just her eyes I notice. She’s changed her hair a little and she smells better than before.
Maybe I’m just seeing a different side of her for the first time.
Or maybe s
he’s gone home thinking about more than coffee and come back looking ready for what I know she needs.
Something to stir more than her coffee with.
I need to do two things, get this mail out of sight, telling Krystal it’s the owner’s mail, which isn’t a lie. And two… Get a shirt on or just grab her and do what I know we both need to.
But there’s something off with that idea.
Not here. Not in this place. It just seems so… not me.
Not us.
I make my way back upstairs, fumbling for one of those T-shirts, my hardness pressing into my stomach as I bend down, making me want her even more.
I thump to my knees, groaning, my hand hovering over my zipper again, my mouth forming her name.
Wanting to call her up here to help me with something.
You need to tell her something else first, Blake. One thing you aren’t or never want to be is a liar.
Dammit!
I slip on the T-shirt, which fits me a little too close for someone who’s trying to hide something but it’s enough for now.
I’ll go downstairs, we’ll have coffee and we can talk. I’ll explain it all. Tell her how I feel and ask if she wants to go to my house instead.
My real house, not her neighbor’s house. Mine.
Hers too if she wants it.
Making my way downstairs I find Krystal in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop looking like she’s just run laps.
I don’t ask if she’s okay now. I can see we both have a similar problem, although I can see that mine’s a little more pronounced than hers.
“I think coffee’s a great idea,” I hear myself tell her, moving closer to take the jar on the counter.
Ugh. Instant. We really gotta do something about this girl’s situation.
“Blake?” Krystal stammers, chewing her lip and breathing fast. Shifting on the spot like she can’t decide whether to keep her legs closed or apart.
Her bottom half looking like a pair of scissors opening and closing.
“I… I…” she whimpers, swooning again as I move closer, ready to take her into my arms.
Enough is enough. It’s time I took charge here once and for all.
I watch her get closer as I move towards her, reaching out for her, my hand taking hers and gently pulling her to me.
I lean down, feeling her hand tremble and the pulse in her neck pound like the vein between my own legs.
I guess there’s nothing else for it. I’ll kiss her, then tell her.
Then I’ll stake my claim good and—
We both stop.
Frozen.
There’s the sound of bells. Chimes, whatever.
Her cell’s ringing and the other one?
It’s that doorbell again. Fuck.
Who could it be now? I know who it isn’t.
“I gotta take this. It’s my dad,” Krystal gasps. Almost looking relieved like she’s been saved from her own animal instincts.
Me? I’m none too happy about it, but I’d rather deal with whoever it is at the door now than when I’m balls deep in my Krystal.
I leave Krystal to her phone call, figuring this must be the part where it all comes undone.
Her dad will talk to her and it’ll be clear she’s picked up the wrong guy at the airport.
And who’s at the door? Probably the fucking man himself or someone who knows him at least. It is his house after all.
I feel my shoulders sag for a moment before I straighten myself.
If I have to go down, I’ll go down with my chin up and chest out. And not without a fight for what I really came here for.
Swinging the heavy front door wide, I see a guy about the same height as me, maybe even the same weight. But a different shape altogether.
He looks startled for a moment, then he looks past me.
“Uh. Mr. Macy in?” he asks politely, holding a clipboard and a small package.
I turn to look around too, making sure I hear Krystal’s voice on the phone to her dad.
“Uh, no he’s not in right now,” I almost whisper and the delivery guy leans in, returning my hoarse dialog.
“Okay,” he rasps. “When he gets in could you have him give this to his neighbor, Krystal Carter? She’s not home but we often leave deliveries here for Jack and Krystal Carter. And vice-versa,” he adds with a knowing look.
“Just sign here, Mr...” he asks, handing me the clipboard.
“Mason,” I tell him, so quietly he looks at me like I have a screw loose.
It all makes sense once I return his clipboard clutching at my throat mouthing the word Laryngitis, then take the parcel and move to close the door.
“Oh, I see. Thanks a ton, Mr. Mason, hope you feel better soon,” he practically shouts and I close the door in his face, hoping Krystal caught none of it, but knowing the next time she sees the delivery guy he’s sure to talk to her about it.
I gotta tell her.
Leaving it so late will only making it worse.
Hearing Krystal’s voice getting closer, I tuck her parcel behind a pillow on the couch, just for now.
“Sure thing, dad. He’s right here. I’ll put him on.” She hands me the phone with a little shy smile and a shrug before moving into the kitchen.
Something in me shifts into gear. My survival, or most likely my dominant Alpha instincts.
I take charge of much more on any given day.
A phone call is nothing to me.
“Jack,” I greet him in the same hoarse whisper I used for the delivery guy. “How’re things? Say, thanks for sending Krystal to collect me. I really don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Jeez, Nate. You sound awful. You okay?” Krystal’s dad asks, full of concern.
“Oh, I’ll be much better soon. Just lost my voice a little is all.”
And moving so I can see Krystal in the kitchen. I get a full view of her perfect behind. “Just about to get something soothing down this throat of mine. Krystal’s gonna help me with that,” I tell her dad.
“Well, you couldn’t be in better hands,” he replies. “Look, I gotta run, just making sure you got in okay. Got everything you need,” he says.
“Oh, I’ve got all I need right here. Thanks again Jack,” I rasp, hanging up, feeling my lip curl into the smile of a man who not only knows what he wants but is staring right at it.
All for me.
Mine.
Chapter Seven
Krystal
“What were you two whispering about?” I ask Blake as he hands me back my phone, clearing his throat a little.
“Oh, you know. Guy stuff,” he says with a smug look on his face.
I feel my heart in my throat, suddenly wondering if Blake’s said anything to dad.
I mean, I practically, almost just about nearly made a pass at him before the phone rang.
Didn’t I?
Blake doesn’t seem fazed and only smiles wider when he senses my internal dilemma. Like he has a big secret that only he knows about.
I don’t like secrets, but that’s something else that Blake proves me wrong with.
Looking into his shining dark eyes and then feeling my own widen again as I take in his body stretching out the black T-shirt he’s put on.
I forgive myself for almost forgetting about what just nearly happened between us.
I wasn’t imagining it and I still feel that deep need inside me, so I do something I’ve never done.
I just come straight out and ask him about it.
Sort of.
Kind of.
I strongly hint at what almost just happened.
“How’s dad?” I ask trying to sound innocent. “Worried about leaving his only daughter alone with an older man?”
I’m trying to sound sexy, like Blake does naturally but when I try it comes out sounding sarcastic.
“He’s fine. Busy though by the sounds of it,” Blake answers coolly.
He seems to overlook my attempts at flirting if tha
t’s what you’d call it and I’m loath to make another attempt just now.
“I’m thinking,” he announces after he finishes making the coffee I started, and slides a mug across the counter towards me.
I pick it up and take a gulp, eager to have something wet in my mouth but regretting it instantly, scalding my lips and tongue instead.
“Yeah?” I squeak, trying to cover my pain but dying to know exactly what Blake’s got on his mind.
“That I need a new wardrobe. Clothes, I mean,” he says with finality.
I feel my shoulders drop, sucking some air in to try and cool my mouth.
“Oh,” I murmur. “I thought you were having your luggage sent on?” I ask, trying to sound interested but thinking maybe he really is just overtired or whatever it could be that would make an older guy inches away from kissing a younger girl suddenly lose interest and suggest buying clothes instead.
I don’t think a phone call from dad would’ve helped.
True.
“Who was at the door?” I ask, changing the subject. Hoping if I just leave it a while we can pick up right where we left off before being interrupted.
“Oh, uh. Just a delivery,” he says, moving into the living room and returning with a small parcel.
“For you,” he says and I think maybe it’s a gift for some reason.
Something from Blake just for me.
I flush with emotion, debating whether to hug him or not. To say thank you at least, when I see my name and address on the box.
“The courier dropped it off,” Blake says, studying my reaction with interest, seeming to hang on my every expression as it registers that it’s just something I bought online.
“Aren’t you gonna open it?” he asks, frowning in reply to my pout.
Something I wasn’t aware I still did until just now.
I used to do it a lot when I was younger.
When I didn’t get my own way or just felt like I do now.
Hopeless and missing out on something I’m sure was coming my way.
Something in the shape of Blake Mason, kissing me.
On the lips.
“It’s just some stupid online thing,” I mumble, wanting to toss it somewhere like the trash.
I suddenly feel like going home, like all this is too hard and maybe, just maybe this really is me reading a little too much into the situation after all.
Not My Neighbor: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 4
