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“… Save your tears for another day…”
She’s onto another song now. The echo amplifies the glassy, crystalline quality of her voice. All thoughts of scaring her go out the window as I come to the bathroom door and linger in the hall. It’s slightly ajar. Steam filters out through the opening. I feel like one of those old-school sailors stumbling on a mermaid as the storm finally fades away.
I lean against the doorframe, just out of sight. The mirror is fogged, but not so much that I can’t see the silhouette of her body through the shower glass. She sways and wiggles her hips to the tune in a way that has my dick springing to life.
I’m tempted to go in there and join her. Even though I keep myself rooted to the spot, all I want is to step into the bathroom. I’d strip down before I slipped in behind her. Tease her and see if she can keep singing with my body pressed to her back. Would she get distracted, feeling my cock press along her spine? Would her voice crumble into a moan if I touched between her thighs?
I shudder. Just the thought is enough to make my cock twitch.
Behave, Reese.
That’s easier said than done when the water squeaks off. She hasn’t noticed that I’m just outside of the bathroom, so she makes no attempt to cover up when she gets out.
And fuck me, it’s everything.
That full figure of hers, sopping wet. Hair down in wet waves, sculpted to her breasts. Skin like sweet cream against the cherries of her pink nipples. I can’t help but follow the trail of water droplets all the way down to her navel and the start of soft, thick curls between her thighs.
It occurs to me that this must be what it’s like to sneak around corners and watch people from the bushes. Maybe that’s part of the reason that paparazzi do it. You see people the way only they ever see themselves. Vulnerable.
She’s still humming as she reaches for a towel. The curve of her ass, so fucking perfect…
“You know,” I blurt, “you go around leaving doors to private places open, someone’s bound to peek in. What if I was some perv with a camera? Click, click, click, and I got a full-page spread that’d make me millions.”
Her yelp is impressive. Like a deer spooked in the woods at the cracking of a twig, she jumps, eyes wide, seeking the intruder to her space.
When her eyes fall on me, they narrow. “What the hell do you think you’re?—”
Before she even finishes, she seems to realize that she’s still buck naked in front of me. She scrambles for her towel, drops it, lunges down to grab it, drops it again, then finally manages to twist it haphazardly around her body.
Shame. There goes the view.
“I was just showing you how easy it was to be caught unaware. Imagine if I was the paparazzi. Your cute little cheeks would be plastered all over the internet right now.”
“There is a huge difference between some weirdo paparazzi ambushing someone on the way to their car, and a fucking creep spying on someone in the shower!”
“Was I spying? Or just passing by and doing you a favor by telling you that you left the bathroom door open?”
I can’t help the shit-eating grin on my face. Being the little firecracker that she is, Olivia doesn’t seem to like it so much. She promptly hisses in anger and lobs a slipper at my head. By the grace of my good reflexes, I dodge it, laughing all the while.
She’s so annoyed—and yet she doesn’t actually seem angry. Maybe because she doesn’t mind… I shake the thought out of my head. This was just a happy little accident. No harm, no foul. I shouldn’t read into it.
“I’m helping you out,” I say.
“You’re helping yourself to an eyeful, is what you’re doing!”
“Is it really such a problem?”
Her face screws up. She’s so close to saying yes, but something’s holding her back. What is it?
I know that if I stick around to find out, I’m going to get myself into some real trouble. So I turn on my heel, waving back at her over my shoulder.
“Just figured you’d wanna know so you can close the door next time,” I say. “And by the way… you have a beautiful body.”
Her curses follow me as I jog back down the stairs. My heart’s pumping—excited, amused, and above all, aroused. It’s not until I get back to my bedroom that I realize just how much.
I take in a breath.
The proof of “just how much” is pressing hard against the zipper of my pants. Aching. Begging to be let out and stroked, sunk into something nice and soft and warm. Olivia’s something nice and soft and warm, specifically.
