on my forehead and desire tugs low in my belly. I feel the ache spread through my lower body, begging to be touched. My core clenches and throbs, as I watch Roman’s lips part, as he pumps into the woman. Her head is tossed back in ecstasy, her face morphed in pleasure.
With a mind of its own, my hand slips beneath the band of my underwear, and I start stroking my clit, rubbing it in soft circles, in time to the rhythm of his thrusts. I close my eyes for just a second, and I imagine I’m in her place, and Roman’s fucking me. It’s him with his hand fisted in my hair, riding me like he’s some angry bull.
Moisture builds, the scent of my arousal floods the room, and when I open my eyes, I have to bite my bottom lip to keep the moan from slipping out. Instead of staring down at his date, Roman is staring at my window. I tense on the bed, looking past my reading nook seated just below the window, wondering if he can see me, but even if he can or can’t, I don’t stop touching myself. His thrusts quicken, and he doesn’t look away. Not once.
I don’t know if he can tell my window is open, and I hope to God he can’t see in here, but as he stares this way, I fall apart all over my fingers. I dip them inside, groaning, as the muscles pulse and clench around me.
When I come back down to Earth, I’m dripping with sweat, and my heart is pounding so violently, I’m afraid both of them will hear it. Realization settles in. Dread and shame take root in my belly. I worry my moan of release might’ve been too loud.
What if they heard it? Would he pass it off as her moan?
I’m mortified.
The magnitude of what I’ve done suddenly slams into me.
I quickly rip my hand out of my panties and lie there, staring up blankly at the ceiling, searching for answers, for a viable excuse.
What the fuck have I just done?
Feeling utterly disgusted and in need of a long shower, I hop off the bed, run to the window, and slam it closed, along with my curtains. I probably could’ve tried to be a bit quieter, but I’m not thinking straight right now. That much is obvious.
Rushing into the shower, I let the ice-cold water sluice over and down my body. I yelp at the temperature, but, otherwise, it does the intended job. It helps me get my hormones in check and pull my mind out of the gutter. I thank my lucky stars that, by the time I get out, I don’t notice any strange activity next door. Fighting the urge to peek, I leave my curtains closed and force myself back in bed, so I won’t be tired for work in the morning.
That doesn’t work at all. I spend the rest of the early dawn wide-awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of my neighbor and the mystery girl.
Is that his girlfriend? Or is she just a random chick he brought home?
Did he notice me?
The biggest one of all is: Why do I care?
It’s not that I’m jealous of someone I can’t have or someone I hate, but a part of me is jealous of her, because as much as I hate to admit it, I wanted to be in her position tonight. And that’s a dangerous thing to wish for. Especially where Roman is concerned.
I’ve been dutiful from then on about making sure the windows are shut before I fall asleep. The last thing I need is a repeat of what happened.
The other night, when Roman had company, was the lowest I have ever stooped. It is obvious that, even though I am living my life freer than I ever have, enjoying being independent and on my own, I am still feeling lonely. I need a male companion, and I need one stat.
I wish I could say I’m the kind of woman who doesn’t need a man to be happy. And for the most part, I am. While single, I’ve felt more empowered and happier than I ever did, during my relationship with Reid. Despite that, a part of me still craves the intimacy and the affection. Sometimes, the deep-seated loneliness I feel bothers me, and I feel like there will never be a place in the world where I truly belong. I think a part of that stems from