Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 111(@200wpm)___ 89(@250wpm)___ 74(@300wpm)
4
Kara
The pool did absolutely nothing to cool down my hormones after engaging with the hot guy next door. If anything, it only ramped it up, and I mean that in every way possible. All week, I looked forward to our small interactions. The light flirting, sensual looks, and his rugged good looks had me using my vibrator a few times at night. Now, seeing him mostly naked and wet, yeah, my toy is definitely in for a workout today.
I’m also absolutely feeling the strain in each muscle as I take the stairs to my apartment, and I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t look for a certain neighbor along the way. I took a quick detour to walk by the parking lot, but when his truck was nowhere in sight, I felt a moment of defeat.
I make it up the landing. The ache is still persisting, but it’s part of my life, and while swimming helped stretch it, I more than likely overdid it a wee bit too much. Blame it on the hot guy next door. He had me so keyed up and burning hot, my breasts still ache, my core is still pulsing with desire, and it’s been an hour since I last laid eyes on him.
My eyes sweep the area, hopeful yet again, and I chastise myself for even looking at his door. “You’re getting way ahead of yourself, Kara Barlow,” I mumble beneath my breath. That’s when I see it. Taped on my door is a note, in a thick manly scrawl. I move faster than I probably should. Great, now I’m thinking about the cameras a lot of us have as doorbells, or maybe he has one pointing from the window near his door. It’d be just my luck that he’d capture this moment on a recording.
Dear Pretty Girl Next Door,
I’m glad to hear you slept last night. I’ll work on making sure he doesn’t keep you up.
Looking forward to seeing you next time around,
Hot Guy Next Door
I can’t help but laugh. I mean, this man is something else, and he knows what he’s got going on. He’s melt-your-panties hot, can hold a conversation, and while he may know he’s hot, he doesn’t make it his whole personality. I snatch the note from my door and fold over the tape, pressing it to what I can see is a discarded piece of junk mail. Whatever works, right?
And while I have the urge to waltz into my apartment and write a note of my own, I refrain, mainly due to the fact that I’m in a wet bathing suit and staying in the tight fabric any longer than necessary is asking for an immediate doctor’s visit. Plus, I don’t want to come off too desperate, though this isn’t high school anymore, and we aren’t teenagers. Mind games shouldn’t apply when we’re adults, except this is a whole new ball game where I’m concerned. I’ve been out of the dating scene for too many years while focusing on my health and family.
Now, I’m feeling better than I have in years, and with the sensations rolling through my body since this morning, well, things are certainly looking up.
I unlock the door, step inside, kick off my shoes, drop my bag on a barstool, and place the sarong that’s wrapped around my waist on the counter. What I don’t do is drop the note. I take it with me and put it in my bedroom for safekeeping.
I’d very well keep it with me in the bathroom if it weren’t for the moisture and humidity, which will permeate the air and bleed the ink. Believe me, I thought it through already, and I’m more than aware I’m losing the freaking plot.
I make it to my bedroom, drop the letter on the nightstand next to my bed, pull the tie out of my hair, and the long, wet locks kiss my back with a cool-to-the-touch feeling. A shiver cascades down my spine, ending between my thighs.
I pull at the strings around my neck, and the top falls down, baring my breasts. My hand braces on the wall, the one we share, as I tug at my bottoms, desperate to get naked and ease the ache that’s been building inside me all morning. I yank and jerk, shimmy and shake until they’re off, using my foot to push them away so it won’t become tangled around my ankles. I’d for sure fall, re-injure myself, and that’s a situation I really don’t want to explain to anyone, especially while naked.
“Fuck,” I groan low and slow. My hand cups my breast, the thumb sliding across the pebbled tip. The slight rasp causes my flesh to rise. My eyes close, and I think about seeing my next-door neighbor in nothing but a towel. I remember all too well how his thick cock flexed beneath the fabric. There’s no way I imagined it, not when my very own eyes would never deceive me. My thighs press together, and while I’d love nothing more than to abandon the top half of my body for the lower half, it’d only make me annoyed with myself.