AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My fingers tighten around the glass I’m drinking water from, and I have to force them to loosen. But I don’t look away. Even when she looks in this direction.
The kitchen is dark, and I have a film over this window that blurs the view of anyone trying to look in, so I know she can’t see me. Which is why I continue to stand here staring while she turns her back to me and starts to struggle with something in the mailbox.
The wiggling. And shaking. And bouncing… It’s too much.
This woman is too fucking much.
And when she finally yanks the item free and mail falls to the ground around her, she finally does it.
She bends over.
The tiny shorts are no longer shorts; they’re barely underwear as Cassandra flashes me with an unrestricted view of the bottom half of her ass cheeks. The material pulled tight across her pussy. The bunching fabric right where I want to put my face.
I’m across the kitchen, across the living room, and have my hand on the handle of my front door before I realize what I’m doing.
I close my eyes.
I just got home. Walked in my door five minutes before she walked out hers. I just needed some water and a slice of bread before I crawled into bed.
I don’t need to accost my neighbor in the street.
Releasing the doorknob, I move back into the kitchen and watch her sexy ass walk back up her driveway and into her house.
After I sleep, I’ll replay her walk on my security feed.
For research purposes.
To make sure she locked her front door.
And the next time she leaves the house, I’ll go back over and relock her bedroom window.
I don’t need the temptation of knowing it’s open.
CHAPTER10
Hans
Leavingmy truck in the driveway, I grab my groceries and take the dozen strides to my mailbox.
It’s been twenty-four hours since I watched Cassandra get her mail, and I’m still on edge.
Mostly because I can’t get the sight of her bent over in those fucking shorts out of my mind. Probably doesn’t help that I’ve watched the video of her doing just that two dozen times. And it definitely doesn’t help that I’m severely lacking in sleep after the last couple days.
I keep my eyes firmly on my own mailbox, not sparing a glance at the box across the street.
There’s more mail in mine than I expected, but half is probably garbage.
With the pile tucked under one arm, I walk through my garage and into the kitchen.
The cans in the bottom of my grocery bag clunk against the counter when I set it down, but there’s nothing cold in the bag, so I ignore it and turn my attention to the mail.
I sort out the typical junk mail and find one flyer for new shingles that came from my man with connections to Italy, so I set that to the side. He’s old school and doesn’t like to use phones, but his information is usually good, so I don’t mind the Cold War approach. It’ll give me something to do tonight as I sort out the coded message.
The last item is a plain brown envelope with something thick inside.
I lift it, ready to take it to my safe room to check it for explosives, when I see it’s addressed to Resident of 1304.
This is Cassandra’s mail.
