By Jeanne St. James
This is not just a love story, it’s an obsession…
Never in my life did I think my high school obsession would move right next door. I’ve never wanted anyone but him. Reid Turner is my ultimate fantasy. And I still want him. Badly. When he watches me through my bedroom window taking matters into my own hands, things suddenly take a turn…
And now that I have him, I’m not letting him go.
I never knew she existed and now I can’t get enough of her. She consumes me. When this night ends, there may not be anything left of me, she may own me completely. She my master and I her slave. In one way or another I will atone for never noticing her all throughout high school. I will gladly grovel at her feet to make up for what a fool I was.
Besides, who can turn down that luscious body of hers? Curves in all the right places, a mouth that could make a grown man cry, super responsive during sex, and none of my twisted desires so far have made her bat an eye. And did I mention? She lives right next door. She may be the perfect woman for me.
Note: All books in the Obsessed series are standalone novellas. It is intended for audiences over 18 years of age since it includes explicit sexual situations, including BDSM.
Available on Amazon!
Do I find it a little weird that the woman stalked me throughout high school? Yes. Do I find it strange that she thinks I’m the only man for her? Absolutely. Although, I’m flattered. Besides the so-called “high school crush,” she seems perfectly sane.
Besides, who can turn down that luscious body of hers. Curves in all the right places, a mouth that could make a grown man cry. Super responsive during sex, and none of my kinky desires so far have made her bat an eye. And did I mention? She lives right next door.
Right. Fucking. Next. Door.
She may be the perfect woman for me.
I’m making a lot of assumptions, though. Like she doesn’t have kids, she has gainful employment, she’s not on any psychotropic medication, and she won’t stab me in my sleep. Simple things like that.
Maybe the next time she hits the head, I’ll check her nightstand drawers for weapons.
I snort and she looks at me with curiosity.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just thinking about that karma thing. It’s laughable.”
“Coincidence, karma, whatever. I’ll take it.”
Me, too. This has been a helluva night so far, and it isn’t over yet. I glance over at her clock. I haven’t stayed up this late since I was out partying in my early 20s. I can’t believe I haven’t passed out yet, but the woman lying next to me is keeping me energized it seems.
I peer around the curtain at the man carrying boxes from a rented box truck into the house next door.
My jaw shuts like a trap. What kind of fucking karma is this?
My fingers tremble as they grip the curtain. I must be dreaming. Never in my life did I think my high school crush would move… Right. Next. Door.
Right fucking next door!
My stomach churns and my pussy clenches.
I want to call someone. I want to run through the house screaming.
Reid Fucking Turner is moving next door!
Fucking pinch me.
I haven’t seen him in eons. Hell, not since graduation. And that was so, so long ago.
But I know it’s him. There's no doubt about it.
Every fiber of my being knows because I spent too many of my teenage years stalking—err, watching—him. I would recognize him anywhere.
His gait. His hair (though, it’s cut much shorter now). His shoulders (much broader than high school—the boy has matured into a man). Those thick thighs (they’ve always been muscular, due to him being a jock).
It has to be him.
My heart stops as he glances toward my window. I drop the curtain like it’s on fire and pin my back against the wall. My heartbeat goes from zero to sixty in one second flat.
Holy crap, did he see me peeking?
I don’t even bother to turn on the light when I enter the master bedroom. I’m content to be in the dark. And without curtains yet, the moon reflects brightly into the room. It’s peaceful, I try to convince myself. Yeah, sure.
I swallow another swig of beer, thinking I should be exhausted, but I’m not. Maybe the beer will help me sleep tonight—the first night in a new house. And if not, I can always rub one out.
Hell, I’m good at it now since my fist has been more loyal than my former wife. Fuck. Move on, Reid. Don’t let it eat at you.
I sigh and move to the window, glancing up at the night sky and the almost full moon. I was lucky to find this house at such a great price. And with a fenced backyard I can finally get a dog. One of many things Pam would never let me have…
My bedroom window faces the side yard and my eyes rake over the neighboring house. I wish the houses weren’t so close in this neighborhood. I like my privacy. But, once again, I bought it at a good price and it's in a nice community. So, I can’t bitch too much.
A light turns on in the house next door. Which reminds me I should introduce myself to the neighbors this weekend. But for now…
Holy, holy fucking shit.
I put my bottle down on the window sill and brace my hands on the frame, leaning in until my forehead almost touches the glass.
I love this house. It’s the best house ever. The greatest house in the whole wide world.
Oh, please. Do not close your curtains. Do. Not.
Jeez, I could probably get fired for this. But at the moment, my cock and I don’t care.
Cuff me, stuff me, take me away. But please wait until she’s done. Do a man a solid.
I adjust myself in my jeans and focus my attention on the open window not twenty feet from mine.
Unlike my bedroom, hers is lit up. Her eyes look closed as she lies naked on her back, her legs wide, her knees bent. And, even better, her bed directly faces the window.
My luck is changing. Yes, indeed.
The woman’s breasts are luscious, full but beautiful, the dusky nipples a perfect size. The perfect size for my mouth.
As she cups one breast, her other hand goes rogue. I have to swallow, which for some reason, isn’t an easy task. I also must remind myself to breathe as her wandering fingers slide along her beautiful belly to dive between her legs.
Holy shit. I’m imagining this. Right? I dig the heels of my palms into both eyes and look again.
No, it’s definitely real. This scenario reminds me of the porn we secretly watched as teenagers. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life. When do you look out your freaking window and see a hot woman playing with herself? You don’t.
JEANNE ST. JAMES is an erotic romance author who loves an Alpha male (or two). She was only thirteen when she started writing since it gave her an escape from teenage angst! Her first paid published piece was an erotic story in Playgirl magazine. Her first erotic romance novel, Banged Up, was published in 2009. She is happily owned by farting French bulldogs. She writes M/F, M/M, and M/M/F ménages.
Amazon Author Page: http://tinyurl.com/JeanneStJames
Review & Book Crew: https://www.facebook.com/groups/JeannesReviewCrew/