Thirst (The Calvettis of New York 1)

“Look at the time. I have to run.” Mabel gives me a brief hug before she sets off toward the lobby doors.

I glance down at my phone. I have a marketing meeting I need to get to in fifteen minutes. It leaves no time for lunch, but I’d trade food for a future any day of the week.

Chapter 8

Rocco

As soon as I close my apartment door behind me, I toss my phone and keys on a leather chair in the corner.

I head straight for the window that overlooks my neighbor’s apartment. It’s early evening and she’s home.

I

spot her immediately. She’s standing next to her bed.

Tonight she’s dressed in a white tank top and faded cut-off denim shorts. Her hair is piled high on her head. Several blonde and pink strands have fallen loose and are playing against the side of her face.

She’s lost in thought. Her gaze is trained on an array of handbags on display on her bed.

I take a seat next to the window. It affords me a clear view of every one of her movements, including the intermittent shaking of her head whenever she picks up a bag before placing it down again.

Maybe she’s choosing one as an accessory for an outfit she’s planning on wearing tonight.

The thought makes my stomach roll.

I don’t know the woman’s name, or her relationship status but the thought of her giving her attention to another man sparks a shot of envy within me.

She tosses a pink bag onto the bed before she turns her back to me.

I get a perfect view of her gorgeous ass.

It’s round and plump. The shorts she’s wearing strain to contain her generous curves.

I move to accommodate my growing erection.

My jeans feel too tight. I want to palm my cock. The idea of stroking it while watching her is tempting.

She spins on her heel and faces the window.

Her ample tits lift under her tank top as she takes in a quick breath.

I’ve thought about her nipples, wondered what color they are, how hard they get when sucked and what sounds she’ll make when my teeth close around them.

When.

It’s not a question of if I’ll fuck her, but when.

I saw the way she was staring at me the other night. The woman wants me as desperately as I want her.

I rise to my feet and lean my hands against the window, willing the beauty to look up at me.

My breath rushes over the glass with each of my labored exhales. Every beat of my heart is a beacon she can’t hear.

I want her to feel my presence.

Her chin lifts and that’s when it happens. Her dark eyes latch onto mine and a sweet, slow smile spreads over her full lips.

***