Chapter One
With the evening sun all but gone, Avenmore Gardens slinked down under the shadows for the night, the colours draining by the second, and the traffic reduced to the odd taxi that whirred off elsewhere.
Neil Barton sat in the warmth of his living room, sipping from a hot mug of herbal tea. It smelled a lot better than it tasted. But he drank it anyway, as it helped him to wind down from a busy day.
The rest of the house lay in darkness, and even the living room flickered between darkness and little flashes of light that came from the TV as Neil raced through the channels, with a sigh borne of boredom. He gave up, and settled for Sky News, part of him hoping for an exciting disaster, or at least a big, interesting story.
Instead, the presenter bleated on about some local political issue in England and conducted an interview over the phone with a bloated man in his fifties, with purple cheeks and a wisp of white hair swept over his cranium. The photo remained in the corner of the screen as he grumbled from one excuse to the other.
"Jesus." Neil sat back on the sofa, and twisted his neck from side to side. Something caught his eye. Without taking time to think about it, he peered out through the blinds over the window, and saw someone moving back and forth in the living room of the house opposite.
She held what looked to be a phone to her cheek, her other arm waving about in front of her face. Maybe gesticulating. She paced from one wall to the other, and back again, with long, definite strides.
Neil moved to the side of the window and, with two fingers, he pressed down the blinds enough for a better look.
The main light of the woman's living room glared bright, leaving everything vulnerable to prying eyes. Neil's prying eyes.
He twisted himself onto his knees, and continued to watch. As she strode across the room once more, the bottom of her white dressing gown flapped around her bare legs, revealing the flesh just above her kneecaps. Neil found himself licking his lips, and a familiar sensitivity stirred in his groin.
He jerked back. His breath caught in his throat, and he held it there.
Did she see me? Shit.
She switched the phone from one hand to the other, and clamped it to the opposite side of her face.
Neil exhaled hard as she started moving again.
He smiled to himself, and shifted across the sofa, for a better view. His erection prodded at the front of his jogging pants, and he reached down to squeeze at it.
The girl across the street continued to pace back and forth, ignorant of his attentions. Neil hoped.
He pinched the head of his cock between his thumb and forefinger, watching the top of her dressing gown slip a little around her neckline. It revealed the merest hint of cleavage, but it served as enough to make his balls twitch. He stroked down the shaft, and pressed the full length against his thigh.
She stopped.
Neil sat back, ducked his head.
She peered right out through the window, the phone still held to her ear.
Neil sucked short, tight breaths. His eyes narrowed, and his jaws twisted with apprehension.
She moved away from the window. As she reached the wall at one side of the living room, the light died.
"Shit," Neil muttered. He kept a tight grip on the base of his cock, unwilling to give up so easy.
The illumination of the TV flickered behind her, a softer, gentler glow. She walked slower, covering less ground. The paleness of her cleavage remained visible. Tempting.
Neil lurched forward, peering through the blinds. He felt like a naughty child. But he didn't stop. His cock throbbed with excitement, and he let go of it, to push his hips against the back of the sofa. He parted his lips and moaned as his groin pressed hard into the cushions.
She raised one finger to her mouth. It paused. She scratched at her chin, and dropped the limb again.
Neil watched her every movement, no matter how small. He tried to picture her breasts. He knew from past sightings in the street, that they hung heavy, round, and full. In normal clothing. The idea of them bobbing about behind her robe, without a bra to restrain them, almost took him over the edge. He eased the grinding of his pelvis, to prolong the enjoyment.
She reached up again. This time her fingertips hovered just under her throat. She rubbed at the bare flesh, and swept the digits across her shoulder.
"Jesus," Neil said through a groan. More cleavage. He glanced around his own living room, but knew deep down he didn't possess anything to enhance the view. Instead, he locked his eyes back onto her chest. His tongue poked between his lips, just the tip cooled by the evening air that breezed through the window's imperfect fixtures.
She looked straight over.
Neil didn't have time to move. He froze. His cock twitched. Solid. It pulsed and throbbed against the sofa.
Did she smile? Holy shit.
Neil went through a million thoughts in the space of half a second. He couldn't move. His lips twisted on his face, awkward and uncomfortable. He tried to smile back, stopped in the middle, and managed to pull away.
She can't have. Maybe she was smiling at whatever the person on the phone said. She didn't see me.
He pushed and pulled his hips from the back of the sofa, almost fucking it.
It's impossible. She'd have freaked out. No way.
The light turned on again.
Neil halted his internal arguments, and watched her stroll back from the edge of the room. A smile still planted between her puffy cheeks. For a split second her breasts jostled, almost promising to show themselves, but her robe kept them inside. Just.
Neil slowed the grinding of his hips. His cock pushed tight against the sofa, rock-hard, and throbbing throughout the whole length. He licked the dryness from his lips, and tried to swallow, but his throat resembled a sandpit.
She turned her back to the window. With one hand on her hip, she used the other to keep the phone against her face. Her fingers moved.
