"Coming!" she called out, scrambling off the bed. She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror. The t-shirt hung to mid-thigh, preserving her modesty. Barely. But it would have to do.
She padded down the stairs, her bare feet silent against the hardwood. The porch light illuminated a broad silhouette through the frosted glass of their front door. She knew that build anywhere. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.
---
Bob Caldwell stood in his kitchen nursing a beer while he unpacked the delivery that had arrived that afternoon. The chrome faucets, one for the kitchen and one for the bathroom, represented more than just plumbing fixtures. They were his ticket upstairs. His means of access.
He set his beer down and ran his fingers over the smooth curves of the kitchen faucet. High end shit. Barely cost him anything thanks to his connections, but worth every fucking cent he would have paid retail. The manufacturer owed him a favor after Bob had smoothed over some issues with faulty installations a few years back. Now those favors were paying off in ways Bob could never have imagined.
As he admired the quality, his mind drifted back to Saturday night, to the shadowy figure he'd glimpsed outside his window while pleasuring himself to Jessica Marshall's photos. He'd taken a huge risk, stroking his cock right there in plain view of the window. The silhouette had been unmistakably masculine, too tall and broad shouldered to be Jess. It had to have been Tom.
The next day, Bob had braced for some kind of confrontation. A bang on the door, an awkward conversation, maybe even threats of eviction. But instead, both Tom and Jess acted as if nothing had happened. Not a word, not even a sideways glance. Just complicit, knowing silence. The pieces fit together like a twisted puzzle.
Tom, that spineless fuck, had seen everything and chosen to stay silent. Whether out of fear, shame, or some twisted desire, he'd decided to let it slide. And that silence spoke volumes.
"A fucking cuckold," Bob muttered, nearly laughing. It was the only explanation that made sense. Tom's silent witnessing was tantamount to permission, an acknowledgment of the power dynamic already forming between them.
This changed things. Bob's strategy had initially centered on stealth and manipulation, gradually worming his way into Jess' life through a combination of calculated kindness and strategic home improvements. He'd planned to become indispensable, the reliable handyman always ready with a solution, slowly building trust over time.
But now? He saw a more direct path, a shortcut to his ultimate goal. Tom's perverse desires could be weaponized, used to gain legitimate access to Jess with her husband's blessing. He could potentially engineer scenarios where Tom would willingly step aside, perhaps even encourage Jess toward Bob's waiting arms.
If he was right about Tom, this game would evolve to something far more interesting, something where Tom would eventually hand over the keys to his kingdom, believing it was his idea all along.
Bob's mind raced with the possibilities this revelation opened up. He'd always known that his most reliable weapon hung between his legs, that magnificent cock that rarely disappointed. It was the kind of equipment that made women's eyes widen in shock before they inevitably became addicted to the fullness. Now Tom Marshall had witnessed exactly what his wife would be up against.
And at this very moment, that wife was up there all alone. Tom's Lexus might be in the driveway, but Bob knew better. He'd seen the man leave with a suitcase before dawn, had watched from behind his blinds as Jess drove him somewhere. Airport, most likely.
Bob's cock stirred at the thought of Jess' gorgeous fucking body, a masterpiece of femininity that deserved to be worshipped. She was the kind of woman men would have started wars over in the old days. A modern-day Helen of Troy, with those endless legs and perky tits that made his mouth water.
Bob sneered, imagining Tom's pathetic attempts to satisfy a woman like Jess. That pretty boy probably fumbled around like a virgin, too afraid to really give it to her the way she needed. Jess deserved a man who could handle her, not some limp dicked corporate drone who probably came in his pants just looking at her. She was a Ferrari being driven by someone who couldn't handle more than a Prius.
Bob had caught Jess looking at him a few times. Nothing in those looks remotely suggested attraction. More like assessment. Wariness, maybe. The way you might look at a strange dog, wondering if it bites. She was polite but there was always that careful distance. The way she'd angle her body slightly away from him during conversations, the way she'd maintain that extra foot of space between them. It was clear she didn't trust him yet, didn't see him as anything more than the old man living downstairs.
This realization tempered Bob's excitement somewhat. As much as he wanted to charge full steam ahead with his new, more aggressive strategy, he knew he needed to tread carefully. The revelation about Tom's voyeuristic tendencies opened up new possibilities, but it didn't change the fundamental fact that Jess was still wary of him. Rushing things now could backfire spectacularly, potentially ruining everything.
No, Bob realized, he needed to stick to his original plan, at least for now. He needed to build trust first, to become a fixture in their lives, to make himself truly indispensable. The faucets were a good start, a way to show his value, to get his foot in the door. But it would take time and patience to fully ingratiate himself into their world.
This didn't mean he had to be entirely passive, though. While he worked on gaining Jess's trust, he could still find other ways to satisfy his needs. Hidden cameras, for instance. Small, wireless, easy to hide. One for the bedroom, one for the bathroom. Positioned just right, they'd give him everything he wanted. The possibilities were endless. Bob grinned, imagining the hours of footage he'd collect, a front-row seat to Jess's most private moments.
And sometimes, in his own darkest moments, he wondered what would happen if he just took what he wanted and forced himself inside her. She was strong for her size, probably. He'd seen her in those yoga pants, knew she worked out, but he had close to two hundred pounds on her. She wouldn't stand a chance.
But no. Too risky, too messy. He wasn't stupid and he didn't want to spend time inside a prison cell. He'd worked too hard, come too far to throw it all away on one moment of brutal satisfaction. Besides, he was playing a longer game here.
Bob looked at his watch. Just past seven-thirty. Not too late to knock on their door, especially if he had a legitimate reason. He picked up the faucets and their accompanying parts, arranging them carefully in his toolbox.
A minute later, he stood at their front door, knocking firmly.
When Jess opened the door, Bob had to force his expression to remain neutral. She stood there in an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid thigh, leaving those long, tanned legs exposed. Her blonde hair was slightly mussed, her face free of makeup. Even like this, especially like this, she was absolutely stunning.
"Bob," she said, surprise evident in her voice. Her hand moved instinctively to the hem of the shirt, tugging it down slightly. "Is everything okay?"
"Evening, Jess," he replied, keeping his eyes firmly on her face despite every instinct screaming at him to look lower. "Sorry to bother you so late. Those faucets we talked about finally arrived." He hefted his toolbox slightly. "Thought maybe I could get a head start on installing them. Shouldn't take more than an hour each."
Jess hesitated, one hand still gripping the doorframe. "Oh, I don't know if tonight is-"
"No pressure," Bob said quickly, adopting his most harmless expression. "Just figured since I had the time now... but if it's not convenient, I can come back another day."
He watched the conflict play out across her face. The polite hostess warring with the cautious woman home alone. In the end, politeness won out.
"I guess it would be good to get them installed. Tom's away on a business trip, so it's just me."
Just as he suspected.
"Oh?" Bob feigned surprise. "I saw his car in the driveway."
"He flew to San Diego this morning," Jess explained, stepping back to let him in. "I drove him to the airport. He won't be back until Saturday."
"Ah, that explains it." Bob stepped inside, careful to maintain a respectful distance as he followed her up the stairs. "Business trips can be a real pain. Sarah used to hate when I had to be away for work."
"It's not ideal," Jess agreed. "So, where do you want to start?" Jess asked when they reached the top of the stairs. "Kitchen or bathroom?"
"Might as well tackle the kitchen first. That way, if we run into any issues, you'll still have water for your morning shower."
Jess smiled, and Bob felt a surge of satisfaction. He was good at this, at putting people at ease. It was a skill he'd honed over decades of manipulating clients, ex-wives, and now, unsuspecting landlords.
"Let me just change quickly," Jess said, acutely aware of her state of undress. "Make yourself comfortable in the kitchen. I'll be right back."
Bob watched her move to the bedroom, his eyes fixed on the sway of her hips beneath the thin cotton. The t-shirt rode up slightly as she walked, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the curve where thigh met ass.
In the kitchen, Bob set down his toolbox and began arranging his tools.
When Jess returned a few minutes later, she'd put on yoga pants. Still hot as hell, but less immediately provocative than before.
"Can I get you something to drink before you start? Water? Beer?" she asked.
"Water's fine," Bob replied. "Don't want to be operating tools after a cold one, you know?"
Jess laughed, a light, musical sound that sent shivers down Bob's spine. His mind drifted to his past as he watched Jess bend over to grab a bottle from the bottom of the fridge. When he'd met Sarah all those years ago, he'd thought he'd hit the goddamn jackpot. She was blonde, pretty, with a decent body, the kind of girl who turned heads at the local bar. But Jess was on a whole other fucking level.
Where Sarah had been attractive, Jess was breathtaking. It was almost hard to believe a woman like her existed outside of runways and magazine covers, let alone lived a normal life with some pencil pushing husband. Bob had been around a few beautiful women in his day, but he'd never encountered anything close to Jess. She was a rare breed, checking every single box physically while radiating an aura of effortless sensuality. Just being in her presence felt intoxicating, like huffing pure pheromones. Bob knew with absolute certainty that he'd never get another chance at a woman like this. Jess was a once in a lifetime prize and he was determined to claim her by any means necessary.
