The Dom Next Door (2 page)

Tension bunched his shoulders and his brows were knitted together. I watched as his jaw ticked and his mouth formed a tight line. He looked supremely pissed off and I wondered who was on the receiving end of his anger. Unbelievably, seeing his tightly controlled facial expressions and body language only added to my arousal.

My nipples formed stiff peaks and rubbed against my robe. The tight centers of my breasts were so sensitive that the plush terrycloth material seemed rough against the tender tips. I didn’t care how idiotic my actions at the hot tub had seemed, now that I was alone in the privacy of my darkened apartment, my favorite fantasy was at the forefront of my mind once again.

What would’ve happened if Jack hadn’t gotten that phone call? Would I have eased the straps of my bathing suit down and flashed my bare breasts. In the glow of the tiki torches and the moon, would he have been able to make out my smooth flesh? Would that faint light pick up the droplets of water glistening on my hardened nipples?

A moan escaped my lips as I pictured myself, as an alluring siren, beckoning Jack with the curves of my body. I opened the front of the robe and my nipples tingled from the cool air and the erotic imagery playing in my mind. My fingers found the beaded points and plucked the sensitive area.

I shifted my gaze back to the subject of my fantasy. Jack was still on the phone, but his back was to me. His taut ass was defined in the khaki pants, his shoulders still appeared tense, but it didn’t diminish their width or the power that I believed lurked beneath his physique. What if he’d seen me in the hot tub and had came down there to take me back to his apartment? I’d love to be one of his submissives. I’d joyfully drop to his feet and submit, let him call all the shots.

A Dom like Master Jay would be authoritative and thorough. I could imagine Jack pulling me up from my kneeling position and hauling me over his knees. He’d peel away any clothing, revealing my bare backside. His hand would connect with my ass. The sound of the coarse skin of his palm connecting with the tender flesh of my cheek would be like the crack of a bullwhip in the quiet room.

He’d continue to pummel my buttocks until the flesh was pink and stinging. The pain would only serve to heighten my arousal and my awareness. When he’d almost blistered my skin from the wallops, he’d bring lay me out on my back and climb on top of me. I’d be so wet after his spanking, I could picture him sliding his cock right in and fucking me vigorously.

I was so turned on I couldn’t take it any longer. The fantasy combined with watching Jack had made me desperate for release. I had to touch myself. The sash of my robe dissolved under my hands and I eased my fingers down the soft curve of my abdomen to find my clit. Beneath my fingers I was wet and engorged. Spreading the slick folds, I circled and explored. I knew how to get myself off, but I also knew the extreme pleasure that is a result of delayed satisfaction.

Desire built and I rubbed the tight bud with the pad of my thumb. My fingers slid down and the soaking entry was traced before I inserted two fingers inside. The inner muscles of my pussy clenched around my fingers. I relinquished the stimulation of my clit from my thumb to the heel of my palm. The pressure of my palm moving against the slippery pearl in a slow circular motion combined with my plunging fingers brought me to release.

My head lolled to the side and I bit my lower lip to keep from crying out too loudly. Or worse, screaming Jack’s name when I came. I stilled, splayed out in my chair enveloped in a post-orgasmic stupor.

The handsome Dom had ended his call and was headed toward his bedroom. I watched him a bit longer before taking a shower and going to bed for the evening. What would sexy Jack think if he found out I’d masturbated to him? Part of me hoped he’d be flattered and another part of me was determined to find out.

Chapter Two

The winking cursor on the blank white screen of my word processing program seemed to mock me. The vertical black line flashed in a rhythm that I’d put words to. I couldn’t write anymore in the story I was past deadline on, but somehow my crazy, twisted brain had come up with a song to go with the bleeping cursor.

Write, write, write, try as you might, you’ll never write.

I just loved how my muse had abandoned me in every way possible except to come up with a sarcastic, taunting tune. The papers littered across my desk contained notes as well as a detailed outline. I knew exactly what was supposed to happen in my story, so how could the writing just elude me?

As I pondered the inequalities of creativity, I realized I’d been sitting in front of my computer for nearly two hours. My fruitless efforts pissed me off and made me feel as if my career as a writer was behind me. Maybe the time on my computer would’ve been better spent retooling my resume and shopping it around. I’d been living off royalties from my previously published books and the advance from my publisher for the book I was late getting to them.

If I couldn’t deliver on the manuscript, I feared they’d request the advance back or at the very least, they’d probably never publish my work again. As desperate as a wino taking a swig from a bottle, my eyes scanned the courtyard in hopes of people-watching. Something had to change and soon.

Maybe I needed to attempt to introduce a new routine. Maybe I could jump-start my muse again if I did something I hadn’t tried before. Remembering my grandmother’s favorite saying about idle hands, I jumped up and looked for something—anything—to do. In my bedroom I found that I had a couple of loads worth of dirty laundry that could be sorted, washed and folded.

*****

I unloaded the last of my laundry from the dryer and dumped the warm clothing on the old plastic table. I started the mundane task of folding in the community laundry room art my apartment complex and tried like hell to keep my mind on my non-existent manuscript. Just as I held one of my t-shirts in my hand Jack walked in and pulled his clothes out of one of the dryers. My body froze, I tried to remember how to fold a shirt, but my brain refused to send the signal to my limbs.

“Do you mind if I share?”

Jack pointed to the half of the table I wasn’t using. A shiver of awareness traveled down my spine at his nearness. He hefted his basketful of clean, dry laundry next to me and started folding. Even though it was a simple, mindless task I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than trying to remember the basics of folding. I needed to say something. I’d waited months for an opportunity like this. I had him alone I should at least introduce myself to him.

“Don’t you live in building two-twenty? Right across from me? I’m Violet Hendrix.”

I extended my hand and contracted every muscle I possessed in order to keep it steady. Inside I was shaking like leaf, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Violet, what a beautiful name.”

His hand clasped around mine and between the jolt of electricity in his grip and the seductive lilt when he’d said my name I didn’t know how I was still standing on solid ground.

“Jack Riley, by the way.”

We released our shake and went back to folding. Side by side. Outwardly somehow I was keeping it together, but I was squealing on the inside.

“How do you like the apartment complex so far?”

“All the tenants seem friendly and I like the community. I love my unit. It has a much better view than the last apartment I rented.”

I fumbled the pair of lace panties I’d been trying to conceal. Did his words carry a double meaning? Had he been watching me in the hot tub the other night?

“My old apartment overlooked the parking lot of a busy shopping plaza. I much prefer the view of the courtyard and pool that I have now.” He dropped the towel he was folding and looked at me. “Is everything okay? You look kind of pale.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s probably just the lighting in here. The fluorescents overhead don’t really flatter my skin tone.” I tried to give a self-effacing giggle.

“So, how long have you lived here, Violet?”

“Three years. Hey, I’ve been to New Orleans, too,” I pointed to his souvenir shirt from a popular restaurant in the Big Easy. “What did you think of the city?”

“Loved it. I went about six months ago for a work trip and didn’t get to stay nearly long enough. The food was amazing, especially the beignets at Café Du Monde. Plus, the city’s atmosphere was unlike anywhere else I’ve ever visited. Bourbon Street was like a non-stop party.”

“Oh, Nola is lots of fun. I had an aunt who used to live there, so I’ve been more times than I can count. The summers are hot, sticky and oppressive but I love Louisiana in the winter and spring. Mardi Gras is awesome.”

I was so glad I’d seen his t-shirt. My nerves were starting to wane and while I could think of about a billion other things I’d rather do with Jack than talk about New Orleans, at least I wasn’t a stammering, jittery mess anymore.

The fitted sheet I’d tucked under my chin while trying to fold it slid down my torso onto the floor. I went to grab it, but he was faster. With a few quick moves, he had the bedding formed into a neat square. It was both arousing and surreal to see this powerful Dom doing something as domestic and routine as helping fold sheets.

I looked up into his golden brown eyes and was mesmerized by the hue. I’d never met someone like him before, who could turn an ordinary task into an erotic situation. He handed me the sheet and our fingers brushed together, the air practically crackled with sexual electricity.

“Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”

We stared at each other for immeasurable moments. Finally I broke the trance and grabbed my laundry basket. I didn’t know what to say or do. I knew that the mood had shifted from friendly to something more. There was heat between us, I knew that and I think he did too. But I’d never been good at making the first move and with a man like Jack—a sexual Dominate—the last thing I wanted to do was try to take control, I didn’t think that would appeal to him.

Unsure of what to do next, I figured it was better to play it low-key. I casually smiled and tossed him a wave.

“I’ll see you around Jack. It was nice to meet you.”

“Violet.”

I spun around when he said my name.

“Yes?”

“It was nice to meet you, too. Thanks for the help with my laundry.”

“Anytime, Jack.”

*****

I was putting away my clean clothes when I found a pair of boxer shorts mixed in with the few pairs I wore as pajamas. I knew who they belonged to without even unfolding them. The blue and green plaid shorts must’ve somehow made it into my pile of clothes while Jack and I had been folding and talking.

This was good.

I rubbed the soft fabric between my fingers. My mouth watered as I pictured Jack wearing these and nothing else. As much as I wanted to keep them—
did that mean I was a sick individual or just really, really horny?
—the underwear gave me an excuse to go to Jack’s. And a part of me wondered if that was what he’d planned by dropping them into my things.

Wait, had he planted them?

Nah, a man as smooth and sexy as Jack wouldn’t need to go to such lengths to get a woman. They’d probably ended up in my basket by accident. Since fate had smiled on me, there was no reason for me to bungle this chance. I’d return them right away.

I knocked on his door and he answered quickly.

“Violet, hi. Good to see you again.”

“Hi, Jack. I found something in my laundry basket…I think they belong to you.” I’d left the hand holding the shorts behind my back. I thrust my hand forward. I showed him the plaid boxers I’d folded into a neat square.

“Oh, yeah. Those belong to me. Thanks. You know, usually I take a woman out on a date or two before she handles my underwear.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at his attempt to lighten the mood. Had I embarrassed the aggressive Dom next door?

He took the item from my hands and stepped aside, indicating he’d like me to enter.

“Would you like to come in?”

A chill traveled the length of my spine when I crossed the threshold into his living room. How could I turn down a chance to go into his apartment? Even though I’d seen a lot of what I referred to as his
sin den
through the windows, I had to pretend I was looking at his living room for the first time.

“Very nice. You have good taste. Your place is not the proverbial bachelor pad like my brother’s apartment. His living room furniture consists of a couple of zero gravity chairs and big flat screen TV.”

I stifled a moan when I was enveloped by the butter soft texture of his dark brown leather sofa.

“Would you like a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay, excuse me a moment. I’ll be right back.”

He walked toward his bedroom, I guess to put his boxers away. He came back empty handed.

“So, what do you do for a living, Violet?” He sat down on the other end of the couch.

“I’m a writer, but these days, just barely. Lately I haven’t been writing much of anything. I’ve kind of got the dreaded writer’s block.”

“What do you write?”

“Mysteries. I’m working on a new series, it’s still in the developmental stages, but I’m supposed to have already delivered the first book to my editor. I’ve kind of hit a wall. For whatever reason, my muse is no longer visiting me so I’m late getting the manuscript turned in to her.”