Dominic wanted me to spend the night at his place, but I decided to head home after the party. My ears still ring with laughter, chatter, and music. My cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Everyone was so warm and welcoming. Not only was it nice to reconnect with Chloe, but with others who’d also known my family before we moved to Seattle.
At one point, after many glasses of alcohol had been consumed, someone cranked up the sound system, and everyone started dancing.
To music from the eighties.
It’s never good when people of a certain age start busting a move.
What am I saying? It was hilarious.
Even Dominic was out there shaking his moneymaker. Unable to resist, Chloe had dragged me out onto the makeshift dance floor as well. Chloe has never been able to resist the lure of dance music.
Everyone seemed to have a fantastic time.
Me, included.
Feeling tired, I stare out the window of the Range Rover as it moves through the city. I can’t help but be enthralled by the lit-up buildings as we travel south. It’s a captivating sight.
Listening to so many stories about my parents makes me feel nostalgic. I can’t deny that my feelings are tinged at the edges with sadness. It’s difficult to think about them without feeling sorrow. I enjoyed hearing every single memory their old friends and colleagues shared with me, but it’s difficult because I know I won’t ever see them again.
I’m finally ready to embark on a new phase of my life. One without them. They were there when I started college, but they didn’t get to see me walk across the stage and graduate. Nor will they be there to celebrate any other milestone life has in store for me.
For that reason, there will always be something missing.
Before I realize it, we’re pulling up to the front of Lexington Place. My new home. It doesn’t feel like home yet, but it will with enough time. I scoot out of the SUV as Henry opens the door and head toward the building. George works the day shift. Someone else mans the door during the evenings. He’s tall and gaunt-looking. With a smile in place, he tips his hat before allowing me inside. I call for the elevator, thinking about how good it will feel to take off all this finery and slide beneath the comfy cotton sheets I just purchased.
As I unlock the door to my condo, silence greets me. It’s both a relief after the party, as well as a reminder that I’m on my own. No longer do I live with my parents. Nor do I share a dorm with a roommate. After two years of slogging uphill, trying to move past what happened, I’m finally moving forward again.
Slipping off the gorgeous silver heels, I hold them in my hand as I pad into the immense, open space of the living room. My sleek gray couch and two tufted chairs, along with a stylish glass coffee table, rest on a plush area rug. The long expanse of floor to ceiling windows remain unadorned. The glass is tinted. I’m able to see out, but no one can see in. It seems like a crime to cover such a gorgeous sight.
People pay millions for this kind of view.
The condo is over three thousand square feet, with three generously-sized bedrooms, a large, mahogany-paneled study, a huge gourmet kitchen with white cabinets and gray marble, a formal dining room with pillars and a coffered ceiling, and a living room with a tall, soaring ceiling. An ocean of dark, glossy hardwoods flow throughout the entire place and the ornate crown molding matches it.
I love it.
I can imagine myself being happy here someday.
As much as Dominic tried to cajole me into staying with him, he didn’t have anything negative to say after touring this building. I think the heated swimming pool on the rooftop and gym on one of the lower floors impressed him. I feel incredibly lucky to have snagged this place.
I don’t bother flicking on the lights. The illumination from the city shines through the windows. The view, even at night, is completely breathtaking. Every evening, around seven o’clock or so, I find myself gravitating to the terrace with a glass of wine.
It may be almost two in the morning, but I find myself drawn to the private patio. There’s just something about the bustle of the city below. It never seems to sleep, no matter what time it is. I may be alone, but when I’m out there, watching the world unfold, I don’t feel quite so lonely. I feel like I’m part of the irrepressible energy that is Chicago.
Even though I should be exhausted, I’m oddly restless.
Perhaps sipping a glass of wine on the terrace while enjoying the city is exactly what I need. I don’t bother changing out of my gown. My hair is still piled on my head. The sapphire and diamond necklace shimmers against the paleness of my collarbone. Going to the butler’s pantry, I pour myself a small glass of white. The need to feel the wind brushing over my cheeks pounds through me like a steady drumbeat.
Tonight feels like a turning point of sorts.
I moved in over a week ago and have done little things to make this place homier, but the party makes me feel like I really am moving on with my life. I think my parents would be proud of me. For graduating college, getting accepted at Northwestern, and pursuing my dreams of working for a museum.
Settling onto one of two chaise loungers I’ve recently acquired, I gaze out into the vast darkness. Although I’m right across from the lake, a long stretch of greenery separates me from Lakeshore Drive. Closing my eyes, I hear the churning of water over the sounds of traffic that never seem to stop.
There’s something soothing about it.
Taking a sip of wine, I can’t help but dwell on how far I’ve come in the past two years. There were times, especially during the first six months, when I didn’t think I would make it. Times when I had wished I were dead and not struggling just to make it through another day.
Being on the other side, on the cusp of starting a brand-new life in a city that I’ve always considered to be my home and reconnecting with my best friend feels like a victory.
Life, I muse silently, goes on. No matter what happens, no matter how horrific the aftermath, it continues to unfold. That, I suppose, is the only thing that can be counted on.
As I sit, contemplating what the future holds and all of the infinite opportunities that suddenly feel exciting and possible, I hear the French door from the condo next to me open before closing with a resounding thud.
For just a heartbeat or so, my ears are met with silence.
I suspect that my neighbor, the attractive man I couldn’t stop staring at in the elevator, has come out to enjoy the balmy evening as well. Summer will soon be over. Within a matter of weeks, the weather will begin to turn cooler. The cold crispness of autumn will be ushered in.
I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to down jackets, Ugg boots, cashmere gloves, and colorful scarfs. Believe it or not, I’ve missed Midwestern winters. Seattle is more temperate. It has rain and gray skies rather than brilliant sunshine and glittering snow on bare tree branches.
I haven’t seen Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ridiculously Handsome since making a fool out of myself by ogling him like a lovesick teenager. Trust me, I’ve been on the lookout. I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’ve loitered in the lobby. Naturally I couldn’t just come out and ask George about my sexy new neighbor. Privacy is of utmost importance here at Lexington Place. But that doesn’t mean my eyes didn’t dart to the thick glass door every time George opened it.
Nevertheless, it was a fruitless endeavor.
There were no sightings of my neighbor.
Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep, calming breath. As the sound of the lake and the traffic continue washing over me, I hear the long, keening moan of a woman.
My eyes widen as my mouth opens to form a small, round O. Every muscle in my body tenses. I sit completely still, wondering if I really heard what I think I just heard. But now, as I listen harder, all that meets my pricked ears are the sounds of the city beneath me. Just as I begin to relax on the thickly padded teak lounger I’m sprawled out on, I hear it again.
Only louder. Deeper. Throatier.
Feeling slightly amused, I press my lips tightly together to stifle my laughter.
Yep.
That is most definitely the sound of a woman being pleasured. I bite my lower lip, wondering if I should sneak back inside to give them a bit of privacy. Although, if they had wanted privacy, they wouldn’t be out here where their closest neighbors could overhear them.
Her moans, soft and breathy at first, grow increasingly more guttural. More vocal. More frenzied. As if she’s deeply aroused by whatever is going on over there. I hate to admit it, because it makes me feel like a huge perv, but I’d be lying through my teeth if I didn’t confess that I was getting turned on just listening to her. I can’t imagine what the attractive man next door is doing to elicit such a response.
Well, that’s not altogether true.
It’s not like I haven’t had sex before. I have. The caveat is that I don’t remember ever sounding like that. Which, if I’m being perfectly honest with myself, seems like a real shame.
Somehow, I just knew that the man in the elevator would be an amazing lover. I don’t know what made me think that. Maybe it’s his dark, swarthy good looks. Or the width of his palms. Or the full sexiness of his mouth. Perhaps it has more to do with his commanding presence. There was just this undeniable… vibe emanating from him. The simple act of staring at him had my belly prickling with wave after wave of sexual tension.
Then I hear him.
The slightest hint of an accent in his deep, gravelly voice arrows straight through me, hitting my clit. I shiver with need, which is a reaction I’ve never experienced before.
You like that, baby?
Oh God…
I stifle the whimper of desire that tries to fall from my lips before shifting my body ever so slightly on the lounger. I clench my thighs, but it does little to alleviate the ache. My entire body feels strung tight with thick, sexual tension as desire blooms within me like a flower. Closing my eyes, I lift my arms high above my head, stretching as her breathy moans continue washing over me.
The slap of a palm against delicate, bare flesh rings out.
A loud wail pierces the night air.
A low, insistent pulse thumps to life in my core.
I can’t believe how turned on I am. There’s no ignoring it anymore- I really am a pervert. Or perhaps it’s been too long since I’ve been with a man.
Sex with Eric, my college boyfriend, was… pleasant. It’s not like I didn’t orgasm. Half the time. But they were all low on the Richter Scale. Nothing explosive. Or cataclysmic. I certainly didn’t scream my head off like I was auditioning for the starring role in a porno. I just assumed stuff like that only happened in romance novels.
And, more obviously, pornos.
How many times have I rolled my eyes when I get to the part where the woman climaxes, sees stars, and nearly passes out?
Too many times to count.
Can’t say I’ve ever come within striking distance of that happening to me.
Biting my lower lip again to stifle a low moan of my own, I can’t deny that whatever is going on next door sounds exactly like something out of a book or porno.
Then again, am I surprised?
The man in the elevator looked like sex personified. He reeked of it. Hot, dangerous, and sexy. With him, there wouldn’t be any slow love-making where you stared into each other’s eyes while whispering I love you before finally orgasming together.
Nope.
The man next door fucked.
Hard, dirty, and with a vengeance.
You only need to be trapped in the stifling confines of an elevator with him once to sense the sexually charged energy he exudes like pheromones.
I chastise myself again for not giving the amorous couple on the patio next to me the privacy they obviously think they have. Yet- I still don’t move a muscle. I’m much too turned on to leave now.
I want to hear how this ends.
Actually, I need to hear how this ends.
Which is exactly why I decide to wiggle out of the silky panties I have on before dropping them to the floor. I’m surprised by how drenched they are. Maybe I shouldn’t be, though. I can’t remember the last time I was this amped up.
Reclining on the chaise, I hike up my gown so I can spread my thighs. A thrill zips through me as the breeze hits my naked flesh. Closing my eyes again, I listen as the man next door fucks the woman he’s brought out to the patio. Her moans swirl around me, escalating in both pitch and intensity.
Breathy words full of need punctuate the thick night air.
Yes!
Oh God!
Please!
Mmmm, right there!
Once in a while, I hear the sharp, stinging slap of flesh hitting flesh as if he’s using his hand in a lightning quick stroke. Not to hurt. She certainly doesn’t sound pained. It sounds like she’s enjoying every delicious moment of contact. I can’t help but wonder what it feels like to have a man spank you in the most intimate spot imaginable.
Another thick sliver of need slides through me like warmed honey.
I’m astonished to realize that I just might enjoy a few smacks.
My mind conjures up an image of my neighbor. Dark, muscular gorgeousness poured into a frame that easily tops six foot three. In my head, he isn’t screwing a beautiful, faceless woman. He’s fucking me. He’s whispering those oh-so-dirty words to me. Laying those wide hands on me. Relentlessly driving me toward orgasm.
My core pulses and throbs as I continue listening. My fingers stroke over my own hot flesh.
How much do you want to be fucked?
God, so much…
Yes, I feel exactly the same way.
I want to be fucked by him. He clearly knows how to push a woman toward untold pinnacles of pleasure. I want him to awaken everything that has lain dormant within me for the last two years. Maybe my entire life.
Hearing the woman next door forced closer and closer to the edge makes everything within my body tighten up like a taut bowstring. I couldn’t hold in the soft moans that are falling from my lips even if I wanted to.
Which I don’t.
At this point, I’m mindless of everything except my own pleasure. My throaty desire mingles with the cries from the woman being fucked not more than forty feet from me. An orgasm hovers as my fingers continue stroking away. Arching my back, I circle my clit with a little more pressure.
Yes!
Oh God, I’m going to come!
Those words could be my own.
I’m right there.
Hovering on the precipice.
I want to hold on to this feeling for as long as I can. I want to dangle here, enjoying all this delicious pleasure as it continues to wash over me. Just when I can’t hold on a moment longer, I hear her scream.
Past the point of caring, I let go as well.
My moans mingle with hers.
He grunts.
I imagine his firm, muscular body hovering over hers as he thrusts into her with hard, demanding strokes.
I can’t help but wish she were me. Wish that he was filling me with all that thickness. Little spasms of pleasure rack my body as I continue stroking my pussy with gentle fingers.
I haven’t felt this blissful in years.
Finally opening my eyes, I stare into the velvety darkness as the breeze hits my now feverish cheeks. Like a contented cat, I stretch lazily before straightening my dress. Scooping up my panties, I tiptoe inside to find my bed.