I’m standing by the window. Alone. Watching the house across the street.
He comes up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and whispers:
— What are you doing, baby?
I yank the curtain closed, turning quickly.
— Nothing.
— Be more specific.
He narrows his eyes. He knows. And I give in.
— I was watching. Our neighbor. He’s often out on the balcony… shirtless.
I can feel how hard that gets him.
— How often do you watch him?
— Sometimes. But I’ve caught him watching me too. Maybe it’s our little tradition.
That’s all he needs.
He leans in and murmurs:
— Then keep watching him... while I fuck you like I’m him.
He spins me around, bends me over the table, flips my skirt up, and rips my tights like a savage.
No asking. No warning. Just raw hunger.
His mouth finds me between my legs — his tongue greedy, messy, demanding.
I grip the table, moaning loud as he eats me like he’s starved.
