I don’t doubt for a second that a vibrator is nothing compared to what this man could do to me if only I were brave enough to make a move. His voice, his presence, the way his eyes linger just a moment too long—it all tells me there’s something there, something simmering just beneath the surface. And yet, I’ve long since come to the conclusion that for some reason, he’ll never make a move.
I’ve been living next door to him for over a year now. A year of stolen glances in the driveway, of casual conversations that leave my body buzzing long after he’s gone. I’m not sure what’s holding him back.
I thought that maybe he had a woman, though I’ve never seen one come or go.
All I know is that every night after I see him, I ache. Not just deep in my core, but in my heart. I think I’d fallen for my quiet stalker a long time ago. Before I’d known him, when I was still living in hell but knowing he was out there and keeping me safe.
Now my fantasies of what could be kept me company on nights when I missed the feeling of his eyes on me. On those nights I touch myself, imagining his hands, his mouth, his breath against my skin. All while wishing, aching, and craving that someday it might finally be him.
Our stare is broken when he reaches up and touches my face. It’s just a skim of his fingers over my cheek, but it’s enough to pull me from my fantasies to meet his concerned gaze.
“Are you okay Moira?” He asks as he places his hand over my forehead as if to check for a temperature.
“I’m okay,” I reassure him. “I was doing the dishes, and the water was hot.”
He frowns as he takes hold of my hands and lifts them to the light, taking in their redness from the warm water, not looking happy. “Is the dishwasher broken?”
“No,” I shake my head and gently extract my hands from his grasp. “It’s only Mikayla and me. It seems wasteful to run the washer just for the few dishes I’ve got.”
He continues to frown unhappily at me, but he doesn’t push. He’s learned over the last year that I can be stubborn when I want to be.
“Did you need something?” I ask. It’s not like him to drop in for no reason.
“Aye,” he nods. “Would you be able to take Wolfie for a few days? I’ll be going away on business for a bit, and I’d forgotten that Aunt Jess and Uncle Sean were away this week.”
“Of course,” I quickly reply. I love his dog, and he’s so good with Mikayla. “I’m always happy to have him whenever you need me to.”
His gaze softens, and a slight smile tugs at his lips. I love those smiles. They seemed to be reserved for Mikayla and me, and that made them all the more special.
“Thank you milseán. I’ll bring him and all his stuff over.”
“You’re leaving tonight? It’s late.”
“Unfortunately,” he sighs, and I don’t like the weary sound. He sounds exhausted. I try not to think about what his business is but what I do know is that if it’s O’Shea business, then it’s best I keep my nose out of it.
“A client is in transit, and he needs to meet before he leaves, and then I’m on a plane tomorrow morning. I figured I may as well stay at the hotel tonight to save some time.”
“Makes sense,” I agree. “Go on then, bring Wolfie over. I’ll wait here in the doorway.”
The words are no sooner out of my mouth that he’s shaking his head, “It’s cold, milseán; close the door.”
“Fine,” I agree as he leaves.
I close the door but don’t leave, knowing that he wouldn’t be long.
I hear them before I see them. Wolfie is bouncing around Butcher, and Butcher is grinning at his dog. Grabbing the heavy rope we throw from his mouth, he lobs it and Wolfie lopesoff into the darkness. Opening the door, I smile when I hear him scrabbling around and then he’s running back towards us, looking pleased as anything with his find in his mouth.
Ignoring Butcher, he comes straight to me. Bending, I run my hands over him, laughing when he snuffles his head into me. Butcher inches past us into my lounge, carrying Wolfie’s bed and a bag of food. I already know that he won’t be sleeping in the lounge. When he’s been over with Jess, he always finds his way to Mikayla.
Leaving Butcher to it, I go to the kitchen and the treat jar I keep for Wolfie. Snagging one from the container, I turn to the huge hound to find him already sitting with a paw up. “Good boy,” I croon, giving him his treat and rubbing his head.
“I see he’s been visiting,” Butcher says with a raised brow.
“Maybe,” I grin. “He’s always welcome in my house.”
“You spoil him.”
“Maybe,” I agree again. “But only a little bit,” I smile, holding my fingers less than an inch apart. “Besides, he keeps Mikayla out of trouble.”
