The hot little piece from across the street could sell tickets and make a fortune—which, living in the Bradford, I doubt she even needs.
Jesus, if wasn’t for the fact that no one in Hollywood would hire me ever again…I’d fucking go for it. I’d jack off for them with a smile and wink.
A non-verbal message: Enjoy the fucking view.
But since that’s off the table… I toss the script I’m supposed to be studying onto my desk. I might not have the audience that my dick deserves…but I have her.
And I know that whatever I do at this point, she’ll be enjoying more than just the view.
It’s not the first time I’ve stroked my cock for her. I’ve taken it into my fist before, just to see if I might be able to tease her into doing something she might regret…or something she might enjoy even more.
It worked, too.
Almost.
Christ, the way I fucking held my breath as I watched her in the hallway through my peephole, praying that she’d get the fucking courage to knock on my door…
It’s not that I don’t get plenty of pussy outside of this little experiment in exhibitionism. With the way the magazines keep voting me as the Sexiest Man of the Year, I have so many offers to fuck, that frankly, it feels a little unfair to the other actors out there.
But the babe in the Bradford…
She’s something else.
Something special.
Because as much as she watches me…
I get to watch her right back.
Poor thing probably doesn’t even know it, either.
I stroke my big, thick cock for her there in the window, clenching my shaft tight in my fist. I’m telling myself that it’s fine, the way I look at her through my blinds.
She’s watching me. I’m watching her.
Two way transaction. Mutual benefits.
And if she didn’t want to be watched, I figure she’d probably either close her curtains or put on more clothes, for fuck’s sake. But it’s the darkest part of me—the part that thinks she might not realize at all—that takes over as I stroke my cock for her.
That’s the thought that makes me come.
I blow my load all over my fucking window. It’s a lot—creamy and thick and enough to fill three shot glasses, if anyone was so inclined. Shit, I bet the babe at the Bradford is inclined.
Especially with the way she presses her palm against her own window when I jizz for her. She fucking wants me. And I fucking want her.
But for that to happen…I need her to come to me.
To me, and then for me.
Over and over and over again.
Quinn
I need to get out of my fucking apartment—and fast.
The biggest problem I’ve found with my post-CEO life is time. Too much of it and not enough to do with it all. If I had a husband or a family, it wouldn’t be an issue.
But I don’t. I just have The Dick across the street at the Birmingham and way too much time to obsess over it.