She laughed softly.He liked her laugh—sexy, seductive.“They’d need to have binoculars.”
“Do you like the idea that someone might spy on you with binoculars?”
“Only if he’s not a crazy stalker,” she quipped.
Peeping at a woman who didn’t know he was there had never been his thing.But he liked the idea of watching her through binoculars while they talked.He’d tell her the things he wanted to see, wanted her to do.A special performance just for him.“Would you like it if I was watching you now?”
He thought he heard the sheets rustle, as if she were stretching, her libido rising.“That might be fun.”
“I could tell you to push the covers all the way past your hips.And put your hand between your legs.”
“And you’d be able to see me?”
“Yes.I’d be the proverbial dirty old man beating off while I watch you through binoculars.”
“You don’t look like a dirty old man.”
“Oh, but I am.And I’d be compelled to watch you every night while you touch yourself for me.”There was a beat of silence, and he asked into it, “Are you touching yourself now?”
“I’ve been touching myself all along.”
His blood pumped faster.“Are you wet?”
“God, yes.”She moaned softly.
“I’d be watching you from afar and wanting to touch you.Taste you.”Then he added, because his need was so great, “Lick your finger.Tell me how you taste.”
Her breath came faster.Then she wasn’t breathing at all.And finally, she said, “I’m tart, with a little sweetness.”
He closed his eyes, groaned, because he couldn’t help it.The rhythm of his hand on his cock was slow, mesmerizing.He wanted it that way, wanted to build, not rush.But his voice was almost a croak as he said, “Tell me about your nipples, what they look like.”
Oh yeah, she was breathing fast.She sighed, gasped, and he imagined her fingers tweaking her nipple into hardness.“My nipples are tight beads, hard and pink.They always stand out, ever since I nursed the girls.”
He imagined taking one in his mouth, pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger until she moaned.“Do you ever go braless?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you like the feel of silk against your skin, the touch of it against your nipples when they stand out against the material?”
“Yes.I like the feel of silk caressing me as I walk.”
He realized he was creating the fantasy instead of letting her do the talking, but he didn’t care.“Do you go out in public like that?”
Her answer took longer.“Sometimes.On a Saturday afternoon, I like to walk in the park.”
“Do you like the way men look at you with your nipples on parade?”
“I enjoy being a sex object,” she admitted in a breathless voice.“Because men are sex objects too.I like to see what it does to them.”
And she was doing things to him.His skin flushed hot.His blood rushed through his veins, humming across his eardrums.“I’d like to see that.You walking in a park.I’d wear some skin-tight bike shorts so you could see exactly what you do to me.”
Her breath hitched, her moan soft.It could almost have been his imagination.
“How long were you married?”he asked.
She answered as if his question hadn’t come out of left field.“Nineteen years.”
“How long have you been divorced?”
