My Prerogative Read online

  Dave didn’t last long at that pace, and soon he was grunting. “Come on, sweetness. Come on.”

  I knew what he wanted, but I wasn’t even close to coming. I was just enjoying the feel of his body above mine and his cock inside me. I tilted my hips to change the angle and gasped. That was it, right there. Dave started to adjust to my change and I grabbed his hips. “No, right there, baby. Don’t stop.”

  Another grunt and he dug in. I moaned and grabbed my breasts, tugging on my nipples, pinching them until the pain shot through my body and made my pussy clench. Yes, there it was. “Yes, harder. Harder!”

  He slammed into me and the pressure inside exploded. I caught my breath and absorbed the sensations that washed over me.

  “Yes!” Dave cried out, his back arching as his cock hit home one last time before he collapsed on top of me.

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and stroked his hair for a few minutes while he caught his breath. When he rolled off me I got up and went into my bedroom for my robe. I slipped the silk kimono on and went back to the living room, flicking the lights on as I went.

  Dave was stretched out on the floor, naked and looking way too sleepy. I walked past him to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

  “I have tequila. Would you like a drink?” I called out as I poured some over ice for myself. Please say no.

  “No thanks, sweetness. I’m ready to crash now.”

  Crash? No that wouldn’t do. I picked up the phone and walked back to the living room and flopped onto the sofa so he could hear me. “Yes, I’d like a cab please.”

  Dave’s sleepy gaze snapped open at my words. His face went blank and he stood, heading for the bathroom as I gave my address to the dispatcher.

  A minute later he walked back to the living room naked. “Thanks for that. I really should get going. My flight leaves early tomorrow.”

  “You mean today,” I said.

  “Yeah, today.” He glanced at his watch and grinned before pulling on his clothes. “No rest for the wicked, right?”

  I shook my head and chuckled. I remembered when it was a point of pride to stay up all night. My skin began to tingle and that being watched sensation rippled over me again.

  Turning my head I walked slowly to the balcony and focused on the building across the street that housed some pretty fancy lofts. And I spotted him.

  A guy alone, in the window directly across from me. Light spilled out from the room behind him, delineating his silhouette and leaving his face in the shadows. I didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were on me, I could feel them. My nipples snapped to attention and my insides clenched in acknowledgment.

  10

  Just how much had the guy across the street been able to see with the lights out? Had he seen me fucking Dave?

  Did I care?

  Dave was behind me, his arms circling my waist and his lips nuzzling my ear. “Are you okay?” He kissed me softly, gently, as if to make up for his earlier roughness.

  I turned away from the watcher and placed my hands on Dave’s chest. “I’m fine. Thank you,” I replied before taking his hand and leading him to the door.

  He’d been just a fuck, barely even scratching my itch. But it would have to do for now.

  When he was gone I turned out all my lights and sat down at the little table on my balcony. I finished my drink while I watched the silhouette across the street, hoping he would turn his light on and show himself. Adrenaline mixed with curiosity and arousal as I waited for what would happen next. Would he turn on his light and let me see him? Was it even a him? It had to be a him, the broad shoulders and straight torso were clear. I’d just convinced myself the watcher was a mannequin and my imagination was running away with me when it shifted, blending back into the loft.

  Something that wasn’t disappointment fluttered in my chest and I downed the last of my drink. The sun was starting to rise and I was ready for sleep.

  I rolled out of bed around noon on Sunday and didn’t bother to shower. The sun was bright and the air was already hot and humid. Not the best day to do yard work, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to do it.

  Pulling on shorts and a tank top that had one of those flimsy built-in bras, I tied my running shoes up and went out to the yard, such as it was. Without one of my padded bras on, my nipple piercings were easily visible, but I didn’t care. Some days a girl just had to go braless.

  The place I lived in was an old apartment building that went condo five years ago. Only three stories high, there were four units on each floor occupied by a combination of newcomers and the same people who’d been there for the last twelve years. People like Manny and his wife who were settled and happy with their rent control, the occasional artist or student, and a few like me who wanted to help clean up the building. I considered my unit a worthwhile investment.

  Which is why I’d stepped up when the last building manager was fired, and why I was willing to spend a Sunday afternoon mowing the lawn. I walked around to the side of the building and went through my key ring until I found the one that unlocked the little metal shed there. Inside I found a mower, rake, and all sorts of tools I had no need to ever use.

  I wheeled the mower out and hoped it had gas in it already. Then again, if it didn’t, I wouldn’t have to cut the grass. I looked at the overgrown mess and sighed. It had been unattended so long I felt guilty. I’d promised Paul and the management company I’d do it, and I would. Besides, I wanted the place to look good when the new building manager showed up, so he’d keep it that way.

  A couple of pulls on the starter, and the engine caught. I put my earbuds in, turned my iPod on, and started pushing. Sweat dripped down my forehead as I bopped along behind the mower, up the small yard, then down, then up, and on it went. The bag filled and I turned the machine off, dumped the bag in the Dumpster in back and strolled back to the front. The yard was over halfway done and I was feeling pretty good.

  After wrestling to get the bag back onto the machine I stood up and spotted a guy walking up the other side of the street carrying a paper bag in one arm. There were lots of people walking around, but this one stood out. Over six feet tall with broad shoulders and slim hips, he moved with a grace and ease not often seen in big men. Sunlight glinted off his short dark hair, making it shiny and rich with highlights. He wore dark wrap-around sunglasses but I knew he was looking right at me.

  He was my watcher.

  My nipples hardened and my sex clenched. It had to be him.

  Frozen in place, I watched as he came closer, but he didn’t cross the street. His head did turn, and his lips tilted up in a small smile before he turned right and entered the building across from mine.

  It had to be him. But why hadn’t he come and said hi? He had to know I’d seen him the night before. I’d looked right at him, or at his silhouette anyway.

  Confused, I did what I did best. I pushed my emotions and mental musings aside and started the mower again.

  Must keep busy.

  The yard work was done, the hallways were cleaned, the garbage all taken out and a deep restlessness still filled me. Unable to sit still or concentrate on the novel I was working my way through, I jumped from the sofa and headed for Manny’s apartment.

  “I thought I’d take a look at your tap,” I said when he opened the door.

  He looked at the tool kit in my hand. “You going to fix it?”

  “Maybe. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  He opened the door wide and ushered me in. I hadn’t lied earlier. I wasn’t a handyman, but I did have a father who believed women should know the basics in home and car repair. Not only could I change a fuse and wire up a sound system, I could change the oil in my car, and flat tires were nothing to me. It wasn’t my job to fix Manny’s sink, but I was going stir-crazy in my apartment so I figured why not take a crack at it.

  Manny chattered on in the background as I examined his tap. I installed new washers, and put some silicone around the joint where the pipes met
beneath the sink. The whole thing lasted thirty minutes and I was back in my apartment, pacing, and thinking about my watcher.

  How weird was it that he didn’t freak me out? The urge to deliberately put on a show for him was strong, making my pulse pound and my pussy throb. I’d never really thought of myself as an exhibitionist before. Many other things, but never an exhibitionist. I wasn’t really fond of opening up and feeling exposed.

  But giving him a show would be all about the visual. It would be skin and movement, heat and desire, teasing and taunting. It wouldn’t be emotional.

  It was something to think about, and think about it I did when I stretched out in bed that night. Images of myself dancing naked with a stranger’s hot eyes following my every move helped me find pleasure as my fingers danced between the slick folds of my sex.

  11

  Risqué was closed on Sunday nights, and opened at eight the other six nights a week. Four of those nights a week I was the first person in—aside from Val, that is. But that Wednesday I worked the short shift, from ten ’til close.

  I walked in just after nine and the place was still quiet, so instead of jumping behind the bar I headed to the corner booth where staff always lingered until things picked up.

  “No fucking way!” Savannah Morris, one of the club’s go-go dancers, shouted just as I got there.

  At Savannah’s outcry Callie held her right hand up, palm open. “I swear it.”

  “Swear what?” I asked, propping a hip against the side of the booth.

  Savannah gaped at me. “She’s never had a male-induced orgasm.”

  Ohhh, sex. My favorite topic of conversation. But first . . . I turned to the third person in the booth. “Good to see you, Joey. Show going good?”

  Joey Kent was one of the best dancers at Risqué. So good that she only worked on a very casual basis for us now because she was part of a local dance troupe that put on seasonal shows. I’d only seen her two or three times all summer, and I’d missed her. She wasn’t a close friend, but she was one of those people with a true-blue good heart, and it showed. Just being around her brought out the happy in a person.

  “Summer run is over, and we start rehearsals for the winter show in a month, so I’ll be around a lot more for a while.”

  “Nice,” I said. Then turning to Callie I continued the previous conversation. “Never?”

  “Never,” Callie said.

  Perplexed, I gazed at her. “How can that be when you’re in love and all?”

  Color flooded her pale cheeks. “I don’t know. It’s just never happened.”

  Savannah leaned forward. “Does your boyfriend suck in bed?”

  “No!” Callie looked away from us and fiddled with the straw in her drink. “He’s good.”

  “Good?” I asked

  Joey shook her head. “Good isn’t a great recommendation, sweetie.”

  Callie sniffed. “Good is good enough for me.”

  I was shocked. “How can you say that? Sex isn’t supposed to be good. It’s supposed to be great, fantastic, and out of this world. It’s one of life’s basic pleasures. How can you settle for good?”

  Joey and Savannah were nodding and Callie was chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t think he sucks. I think he’s good, but how would I know? We’ve been together for three years and he’s the only guy I’ve ever had sex with.”

  Joey and Savannah started babbling at Callie, throwing out all kinds of questions and advice and I sat back to take it all in.

  “If he’s not getting the job done, then you need to find a new man.”

  “But I love him.”

  Joey twirled the straw in her drink. “She doesn’t need to get rid of him. Just take charge, Callie. Nothing makes a guy strut more than getting his woman off. Tell him what will do it for you and he’ll be more than happy to oblige.”

  “I can’t tell him what to do!”

  “Why not? You don’t need to give him step-by-step instructions. At least I hope to God you don’t have to, or maybe you really should get a new man.”

  They all laughed.

  “Just do the female thing,” Joey said. Then she softened her voice and started sighing. “Oh, there, baby. Yeah, just like that. No, deeper. Harder, faster . . . Y’know, like that. Coach him.”

  I was laughing so hard tears were forming. To make matters worse, Callie’s fair skin was flushed bright red and her eyes were about to jump from her skull. “I can’t do that!”

  “Sure you can,” I said. “It’s easy.”

  “No,” she said. “I mean I can’t. I don’t know what I really like. I mean I like everything he does, it’s just . . . not enough.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know what you really like? How are you supposed to tell him how to please you if you don’t know what pleases you? What gets you off when you play with yourself? Do you like to play with your nipples or do you need clitoral stimulation?”

  “Ohhh, there’s nothing better than one of those little silver bullets.” Savannah jumped in. “I’ll always remember the guy who introduced those to me. His cock wasn’t very big, but he made up for it in other ways.”

  “What’s a silver bullet?”

  Callie leaned closer to Savannah and the two proceeded to talk about toys. I turned away from them and focused on Joey. “So how are things with Mike?”

  She grinned. “Great. Now that he doesn’t work nights here anymore we have a lot more time together.”

  “And you’re happy about that?”

  Joey and I were a lot alike. As a dancer she always had men asking her to go home with her at the end of the night, but never out for dinner or a real date. We used to talk about how after being single for so long, we might get so set in our ways that a steady man would be more hassle than he was worth.

  “Yeah, I am happy with that.” She smiled and I saw the contentment in her eyes. “Getting used to having him around all the time was a lot easier than I expected. Great sex on a regular basis really helped.”

  I nodded. “It would, wouldn’t it?”

  “And you? How are things going? I heard you went on another beach trip?”

  “Jamaica was good, and now life’s back to normal.”

  She eyed me. “Nothing new and exciting?”

  Well, some stranger has been watching me in my apartment, and I think I like it. “My little sister’s getting married and I’m trying to help her find a dress. It’s freakin’ nuts.”

  The club had slowly been filling up while we talked and I could see a line starting to form at the front bar. Just then John, the bartender, looked up and our eyes met. It was time for me to get back there.

  “Why don’t you talk to Samair about one?” Joey said as I straightened away from the booth.

  “About a wedding dress?” That got my attention. “You think she’d be interested?”

  “Shit, yeah,” Joey said as she stood up and removed her warm-up jacket. “Why wouldn’t she? Especially if your sister has some unmarried friends who might need a dress in the future.”

  Beneath her light jacket Joey had on a strapless corset and miniskirt that I knew were custom-made by Val’s girlfriend. They looked really good. Asking her about a wedding dress was definitely something to think about.

  Saturday was my normal errand day, and I spent it getting groceries, hitting the bookstore, and stopping by Samair’s new storefront to drop off some pictures of Ariel to see if she’d take a crack at making a wedding dress in less than a month’s time. By the time I got home late Saturday afternoon, I was feeling frisky and ready to shake things up.

  I’m used to people watching me while I work, a bartender is just as much entertainer as drink master, and I had plenty of flair experience to keep people watching. But in the past week I’d started looking at any guys in the club that were six feet or taller, and wondering if they might be my watcher from across the street.

  It was time to introduce myself.

  As soon as the sun set that night I flipped
all the lights in my apartment on, and began to dance, alone in my living room. Wearing a black button-up blouse and a flowing black summer skirt that swayed with my movements, I closed my eyes, let myself feel the music, and imagined him sitting right in front of me.

  Raising my arms above my head, I started out like a belly dancer. I swayed, I twisted, I swiveled my hips and let my hands run down over my breasts and up my thighs, lifting my skirt and then letting it drop. The music filled my head and flowed through my veins as, with slow deliberate movements, I undid each button, one by one. The blouse hung open as I moved, my fingertips trailing over my bare skin, teasing me, teasing him. I’d enjoy giving my watcher a lap dance. Oh yes, I’d make him sit and watch while I moved above him and he couldn’t touch. It would be delicious.

  Sweat rose on my skin in the heat and I let the blouse fall from my shoulders to the floor. Still dancing, I let my hands play upon my thighs, lifting and dropping my skirt as I moved—flashing more skin. No, a lap dance would be too crude. I’d want to dress up in some fine lingerie and do the burlesque routine. The art of the tease is so much sexier than the crude bumping and grinding of modern strippers.

  Although crude and raw certainly did have their place.

  I dropped my skirt so I wore only my electric pink bra and thong set. Reacting to the change of music, I gave up the sensual tease and did some bumping and grinding against an imaginary lover until the urge to strip completely and dig out my toys was throbbing through my system. Then I opened my eyes and looked beyond my balcony and directly across the street.

  He was there.

  Without hesitation, I spun on my heel and picked up the piece of cardboard I’d written on earlier . . . and held it up for him to read.

  12

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