The Dom Next Door by Ariel Storm Page A

Riley and I’d heard him on his cell phone a time or two introducing himself to the caller as Jack. I knew from the various items lined up on his bedroom dresser that he was into a very specific type of relationship. Maybe relationship was too strong a word for what the sexy and magnetic Jack Riley engaged in.
    Mr. Riley was a sexual dominate—and a good one—judging by the frequent moaning sounds that came from his apartment.
    I’d witnessed him tie women up to various pieces of furniture, everything from his wrought-iron headboard to the knob on his front door. The truth was, I wouldn’t mind being taken to his den and being treated to his erotic propensities for a couple hours.
    Standing near the window only reminded me that my leg muscles still trembled from their earlier overuse. I decided I’d had enough of the squats for the day and plopped down on my favorite overstuffed chair, which also faced the window instead of my television. While I realized it was slightly pathetic, I couldn’t help but feel like the happenings of my neighbors made for greater entertainment than anything prime time cable had to offer.
    The early evening sky was painted with dusky hues of pink, blue and purple. After sunset was my favorite time to look out the window, I could keep the lights inside my apartment low and no one knew I was spying on them. During the day I sat in my chair or outside on my deck and feigned reading a magazine or a novel to conceal my nosy behavior. Although no one had yet to call me out on watching them, I wondered how many people actually believed that I was reading when I spent time on my deck with a stack of nearly untouched magazines.
    Movement caught my peripheral vision and I shifted my attention from Jack’s apartment to someone walking across the courtyard. The light outside was fading fast, but I made out the slim figure of a woman’s silhouette against the tiki torches surrounding the pool deck. She twirled something in her hand and I could see it was a tennis racket.
    A nice dip or better yet—soak—might be just what I needed. My thighs would probably be sore from the squats and lounging in the hot tub sounded heavenly. Thinking of the high-powered jets on my tender muscles was enough to propel me from my perch. Besides, I could still watch from the pool area.
    Since it was dark and no one would see me, I changed into my old comfortable one-piece. The navy blue swimsuit was completely frumpy and not very flattering, but I didn’t have to worry about the vibrations from the whirlpool jets causing any of my private business to make an unwanted appearance. Even in the semi-darkness, there was nothing more embarrassing than a boob popping out of a bikini top. I grabbed a towel and shoved my feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed down to the pool.
    “Ahh.”
    I sunk down into the warmth and settled on the bench seat inside the tub. The hot water combined with the bubbly jets melted the soreness in my flesh like butter. Just as I was beginning to relax, a light went on in Jack’s apartment. I sat up a little straighter and lifted my neck from the headrest.
    He walked to the French doors that led to his patio and stood there, simply gazing out into the darkness. The light from the streetlamps illuminated his face and torso and I could tell he was looking toward the pool. He was staring at me.
    But he couldn’t be, could he?
    The width of his shoulders nearly filled the doorframe, damn, but the man was well-built. He had on clothes that I knew he’d worn to work. A pair of khaki pants, with a white oxford shirt tucked in. He didn’t wear a tie and the first button of the shirt was undone, exposing his smooth throat. The sleeves of his shirt had been rolled up showcasing forearms that I knew from months of watching were thick with muscle and lightly covered in dark, coarse hair.
    As I scanned his body and style of dress, his head was still turned in my direction. His attention hadn’t wavered in