even breaths and watched him stare out into the night. He

didn't look as if he saw me, or anyone, though his eyes

moved side to side, searching.

Finaly, he turned and took a few steps toward the bed.

He wore only a towel, his hair wet and slicked back.

Water gleamed in silver droplets on the tanned skin of his

back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see

back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see

them run in rivulets down his spine and into the crack of his

ass below the towel's edge, but I could imagine it. And

did.

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder with a hand at his

waist. I wondered if he'd ever thought so hard before

about who might see him from outside. Though I kept my

sheers drawn al the time, they wouldn't entirely block a

peeper from getting an eyeful, but I'd never realy believed

anyone was trying to. I was sure I'd think of it every time,

now, and wonder who might be spying on me when I

thought I was alone.

The difference was, Eric knew he wasn't alone. I thought it

would make it more difficult to get naked, knowing, even

though he had said he liked it. That he wanted it. His

shoulders hunched for a moment and then the towel was

gone. Disappeared.

God, from the back he was magnificent. Broad shoulders,

lean waist, smooth skin. His ass was tight and looked firm.

A patch of dark hair furred the smal of his back and

drifted over his buttocks to get thicker at his thighs and

legs. His arms, too, were covered in thick, dark hair. He

half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.

half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.

Hair there, too, dark and curling around his nipples, but

not overpowering him. A woman could stil find bare skin

to kiss al over him, center her tongue on those nipples and

flick them with her tongue until he cried out for mercy.

I had to grip the concrete wal to steady myself at my

unwinding thoughts. Austin, blond-haired and fair skinned,

had little hair on his chest and had taken to trimming his

pubic hair. I didn't mind grooming, but I'd gotten used to

seen a man without so much hair. Looking at Eric opened

up something half-embarrassing I could only think of as…

primal.

Eric lay on the bed, his cock in his hand. He stared at the

ceiling as he stroked, already half-hard. In the porn I'd

seen the men had always yanked so hard on their pricks it

looked painful. Eric didn't start off with a two-fisted yank.

He ran a slow hand over his bely and thighs before

gripping his cock, which he stroked just as slowly from

base to crown and down again before repeating the

journey.

I was mesmerized.

The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his

The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his

bedroom door, which placed the bed paralel to the

window. Like the rest of his apartment, his bedding was

simple, even stark. He'd already puled down the black

quilted comforter and blankets and now lay on the plain

white sheet. He hitched himself a little higher to put his

head on the pilow.

Did it make a difference, knowing he was being watched?

I thought it had to. Why else would he take such time to

show off? The bulge and flex of his biceps had me biting

my lower lip. So did the flex of his calves when he bent his

legs to push his hips upward.

I leaned forward too far, risking being seen, when his leg

blocked the view of his gorgeous cock being stroked so

slowly in that big fist, but as if he knew exactly what he

was doing, Eric pushed that leg straight and bent the other,

instead, keeping my view clear. His back arched as his

head tipped back into the pilow. I wanted to see his face,

but though I could make out the dark shadow of eyes and

the slope of his nose, distance blurred his features a bit.

With a hand stil on his erection, Eric reached with the

other beneath his pilow to pul out a bottle. My lube came

with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he

with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he

sprayed his hands and cock liberaly before tucking it back

under his pilow.

I didn't laugh because this was funny, but because this

secret glimpse into his private sex life was so adorable,

and told me a lot. He jerked off a lot and didn't bring

women home to sleep over very often—people who

shared their beds frequently didn't keep their sex supplies

under the pilow. My earlier assessment had been right.

People and cars passed on the street below, but I didn't let

that distract me from the show across the way. I heard the

squeal of tires and rumble of an occasional engine as wel

as the hum of the parking-garage elevator, but nobody

arrived or left on this level. Tucked against the concrete

pilar with the wal in front of me and the night wind

occasionaly blowing the scent of the river over me, I

immersed myself in what he was doing and wished I were

with him.

I pressed my thighs together against the ache of arousal as

I watched Eric stroking himself. Slow, then faster. I

watched his prick disappear inside his curled fingers,

watched how he added an extra stroke around the head

and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give

and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give

his bals some attention, too. I watched, and I thought of

how I could get the chance to show him what I'd learned.

I couldn't hear him, but I could see his mouth open and

watch his face contort with pleasure. His fist pumped

faster, slick with lube, and his hips rose and fel to meet

every stroke. If I were on top of him now, he'd be pushing

deep inside me and my clit would be hitting his bely with

every thrust. My cunt clenched as I watched, my clit hard

and begging for more than the press of my panties against

it. But I didn't touch myself. My fingers gripped the

concrete, the pebbly surface biting into my fingertips and

keeping me centered. Reminding me I was not in any place

where I could risk shoving a hand down my pants and

jiling off. I was risking enough standing here and watching.

My body might crave the same sort of release Eric was

giving himself, but my brain wouldn't alow me to act on it.

Later, I promised myself grimly as sweat lined my hairline

and trickled down my spine, tickling like a tongue. Just a

few more minutes and he'd be done, and I'd go home and

finish this.

I licked salt from my upper lip and imagined it as the taste

of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my

of him. My cunt clutched again empty, and I squeezed my

thigh muscles. God, it felt so good I did it again. And

again.

I watched him as he came, jetting his desire al over his

flat, taut bely, and I came, too, without ever having

touched myself. I coughed on the moist river breeze and

scent of exhaust as pleasure ripped through me. My pussy

spasmed, but I held stil and quiet as the door from the

stairs opened and a laughing couple came out and headed

for their car.

I couldn't duck and couldn't hide, so I pretended to be

talking on my cel phone, leaning casualy against the hood

of a car I didn't own. Orgasm stil rippled through me as I

lifted a hand to wave in response to their casual greeting,

and I thanked the gods of kink I hadn't given in to ful-out

wanking in public.

They didn't even look toward the Manor, but I did. Eric

had falen back into his pilows, his chest rising and faling

and a hand flung over his eyes. I'd already put his number

in my phone, and now I entered a rapid text message.

Very nice.

Half a minute later his head turned toward the nightstand,

and he roled to his side to flip open his phone. He read

the message and looked at the window. He got off the bed

and stood at the window for a few seconds, his hand on

the curtain.

I thought he mouthed "thank you," but then he puled the

curtain before I could be sure.

Chapter 22

It had begun.

I'd thought I'd known what it was to crave the discipline of

an anonymous master who understood just what I needed

and how to give it to me. With one short letter, one shorter

text message, I'd become Pink Floyd. Dark side of the

moon. I'd ventured into the unknown.

But was it, realy?

In al my life, what had I craved more than anything?

Control. Of my life, of my emotions. Of whatever situation

I'd found myself in. The need for it was a weight I'd known

a long time without acknowledging. It had been a huge

part of the reason my marriage had ended, and even

admitting it hadn't done much to change me.

Giving up some smal measure of that control had been a

relief. It had lifted the weight for a little while. Made it a

little easier to bear, anyway. Because in the end, what had

I learned but that I didn't want to give it up. I only wanted

to learn how to use it, that desire.