Page 13 of Body Check

I want to be the one tearing her apart. I want to be the one putting her back together.

Lightning travels down my spine, and my balls draw up high and tight. That’s all the warning I have before my orgasm barrels through me. I come into my fist, my moans stifled by the windows separating us.

Amelia holds up her hand to me, fingers wet with her juices.

Huffing out a laugh, I hold up my hand too, showing her the cum streaking my palm.

She grins, making a motion as if to high-five me. I shake my head, a smile crossing my face. This woman. What am I going to do with her?

She opens a nearby door—an en suite, maybe?—and disappears, returning a few minutes later, still naked as the day she was born. She pulls out her hair tie, shaking the strands loose, before tying it up again in a more secure knot. She turns off the main ceiling light, and the only glow in the room is a soft lamp on the nightstand.

I can’t look away as she picks up a tablet or e-reader, and then climbs into bed. She glances back at me—still with my pants down, cum drying on my hand—and gives me a smile and a wave.

Dismissing me.

Kicking off my sweats, I trudge to the bathroom and clean myself up, too. I take a hot shower, throw on a new pair of sweats, and then collapse onto my bed to watch ESPN. Every few moments, I glance over at her window, at the soft glow of her bedside lamp, and the blue light from her e-reader.

Eventually, I look over and the lights are out. She’s fast asleep, the covers pulled up over her shoulders. I have the inexplicable urge to kiss her forehead. I don’t know this woman, not really, not outside of our two incredibly intimate encounters. Watching her sleep is like an invitation to intimacy I haven’t earned.

But I don’t close my blinds.