She texted back: Let’s try to be civil. I would appreciate it if you keep the noise down.
She would also appreciate it if he wore some clothes. If he kept his penis under wraps so she didn’t salivate like some horny stranded-on-island woman.
To be fair, it’s not me doing all the shouting.
She snorted. The ego on this man. Sadly, from what she’d seen of him, she knew it wasn’t undeserved though. Really?? I am sure you can control yourself.
The giving of orgasms? I’m sure I can’t.
Oh. My God. Just the mention of orgasm made her stomach muscles flutter. She rolled onto her back on the couch, the TV long forgotten. She splayed her hand over her abdomen to try to quell the flutters there.
Dancing dots appeared again. Her pulse hummed faster in her veins as she waited for his reply.
Not every woman is open to wearing a ball gag. I can try . . .
Oh. My. God. He was the devil.
She slammed the phone down on the couch beside her and stared up at the ceiling. Why was she even trying to talk to him? She swung a glance at her nearly empty wine glass. Drinking and texting. Definitely bad idea.
She snatched up her phone and went to his name in her contacts, changing it from Cock of Wonder to Orgasm Giver. Then, shaking her head, she dropped her phone back down on the couch and released a forlorn sigh.
Deliberately not looking at her phone again, she headed upstairs to take a shower. Turning it on, she tested the water until it was the desired warmth. Stripping off her clothes, she stepped under the spray. Her body throbbed in places that had felt numb for the last few years, as stunted and forgotten as shriveled-up weeds alongside the highway. Now those places stirred with life.
She flattened her palms against the shower wall and let the water beat down on her. She blew out a breath against the downpour.
Her head still felt delightfully woozy. That sensation combined with the tingle at her core had her lifting a hand from the wall. She slid her fingers down her stomach and between her legs to one of those places that suddenly shouted with life and need. At the first brush of her fingers, she shuddered.
She parted her slick folds, unerringly making her way to that little nub of pleasure. Her breathing hitched and she swallowed water. She was merely wet from her shower. That’s what she told herself as she stroked and rubbed her clit until her legs felt like rubber, ready to give out under her. It wasn’t as though texting the hot felon who lived next door had anything to do with that. He wasn’t why she was suddenly masturbating in the shower. Her orgasm, usually so elusive even when self-delivered (not that she had them any other way), swelled up on her. Her fingers worked faster and she bowed her head under the spray of water until she was gasping. So close. Almost . . . there . . .
She latched onto the memory of North Callaghan with his ridiculous body standing in front of her.
BAM! She was there, crying out and shuddering, her thighs clamping together on her hand.
Several moments passed before she lifted her head. Water sluiced over her face, trailing down her overheated cheeks. That was incredible. And awful. She’d gotten off to the thought of her next-door neighbor . . . the very guy she had just learned was an ex-con. He was not fantasy material! Her date with Brendan couldn’t come soon enough. He was the stuff of fantasy. A man worth dreaming about because he could become her reality. Maybe. That’s what dating would find out anyway.
She turned off the shower, then grabbed a towel hanging off the rack and pulled it around herself tightly. She stopped in front of the sink and stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman gazing back at her. She was bright-eyed and flushed. Like a woman well pleasured. God. What might it be like to actually have a real man between her legs? A man like the one next door? The man next door?
Shaking her head, she turned away from her reflection. Clearly she needed to get that thought out of her mind.
TEN
He was texting her.
And rather shockingly, she was texting him back.
Maybe texting her wasn’t the smartest move after giving her a peep show, but she had left him her number. Two times. And he had memorized it. Numbers stuck in his head that way. Math had always been his subject. In college, he probably would have chosen a major with a strong math emphasis. He’d just been starting to think about that, about his future in college, when everything came to a grinding halt.
She was feisty. He’d give her that. Instead of calling the cops on him for indecent exposure or whatever appropriate charge, she was talking to him. Because she wasn’t as indifferent to him as she would like to think.