The Voyeur Next Door by Airicka Phoenix

apartment downstairs.
    It took the water about a minute to warm up. I stepped beneath the hard spray and let it rinse the crusted sugar from my hair and off my face.
    Damn woman, I kept thinking as I scrubbed. What was her problem anyway? And who said anything about a whore? I knew my grandfather better than anyone. I knew how he was with women and how—oddly enough—they were with him. Earl had a way with the female race that I couldn’t for the life of me fathom. They somehow saw right past the fact that he was nearly a hundred and he seemed to forget, too. The end result was always me driving him to the hospital because something either broke, sprained, or wouldn’t go down. The latter would forever haunt my nightmares. But the fact of the matter was that Earl got women, hot, young women. What the hell was I supposed to think?
    Shutting my eyes, I tipped my face beneath the spray. One fisted hand planted into the tiled wall and I leaned in close. Warm rivulets traced down my jaw and followed a path along the arch of my throat to cascade down the planes of my chest. I held my breath and counted the beats of my heart to fifteen before exhaling.
    Damn woman.
    My mind jumped right back to Ali as though it had never left. She filled the black place behind my closed eyelids with images of her soft, pink mouth. All the places she had melded into me burned in recollection. My cock thickened at the memory of her backside settling firmly over it. She had fit perfectly along the length of me. I almost hadn’t wanted to let go. Truthfully, had she not pulled away, I probably wouldn’t have.
    The reality of that fact jerked me back. My eyes snapped open and I stared at the white caps of my knuckles.
    I twisted the shower off and snatched a towel off the peg, attempting to ignore the raging hard on bobbing against my abdomen. The thing had been a constant companion the last day and a half, reminding me just how long it had been since I’d had a woman, not that I needed it. I knew exactly how long it had been. Six years, to be exact. While the date was hazy, I could vividly recall the events. But I had studiously bottled those needs. I had shoved them deep in the chasm of my mind and kept them trapped there for what I had hoped would be an eternity. Instead, two minutes in her presence and my cock was a starved dog confronted by the promise of a steak. I honestly wasn’t sure who to blame for my problems, me or her. I decided her. It was all her fault. She was the antichrist set out to destroy my life.
    Pitching aside my damp towel in true man form, I ambled over to the window across the room and yanked up the blinds. The cord caught about midway and refused to budge no matter how hard I yanked. Relenting, I reached through the twenty four inches of space and threw open the window. Muggy night air swirled in, mixing with the steamy air trapped in the bathroom. Both washed over my bare skin like a welcoming caress. I closed my eyes, hoping the change in temperature could somehow taper the fire crackling awake inside me.
    It didn’t. If anything, the desire was a white hot throb that refused to be quashed. It brewed, hotter than ever until I had no choice but to fist it tight and grit my jaw. My nostrils flared as I fought the urge to just spray all over the wall like a kid learning to masturbate for the first time. The hard thump of my heart pounding against my chest echoed through me. Behind my closed eyelids, all I could make out was pink lips tilted just a little too far on the right. It took no time at all for my imagination to build on that, to visualize them open and stretched around the fat head of my cock. I could see my hand fist in that wild mess of hair, ripping out the elastic and gripping her to me as she took me deep into the hot cave of her mouth.
    Drawing in a shaky breath, I opened my eyes and squinted at the window. The world outside was a smear of black broken only by the soft, golden glow from the apartment