My cock stirs instantly, hard and immediate, and I close my eyes to keep from groaning out loud.
Jesus.
She has no fucking idea what she looks like right now. She reaches for her drink and exposes the side of her right breast before her lips wrap around the straw. That tiny motion sends a hot spike straight into my gut.
My cock gets painfully hard. No slow build, no warning. Just—up.
Her ass shifts when she adjusts her legs. I should not be watching her like this through a window like a deranged creep. But my feet don’t move.
I feel the growl before I hear it. She tortures me without even knowing. Or maybe she does, and this is intentional. Maybe she’s trying to drive me insane.
Every cell in my body is laser-focused on every inch of her. A dangerous part of me wants to walk out there, drag my hands down the curve of her back, and flip her over to see the rest of what she’s hiding from the sun.
My breathing gets heavier. I tilt my head, eyes narrowed, devouring her with a hunger I can’t bury.
Something shifts to the right of the yard. Another movement. I blink and refocus.
The gardener. He comes every other week. Early twenties, quiet, does his job. But right now, he’s not doing his job. He’s standing beside the hedge, pruning shears slack in his hand, pretending to clip a branch while his eyes keep flicking sideways at Jessica. He’s waiting. Watching. Hovering and hoping she’ll turn over.
A mix of fury and something territorial spikes in my chest.
The bastard isn’t even subtle. He’s massacring the hedge, new growth scattered at his feet, completely unfocused. His gaze keeps dragging back to the sunbed.
I get it. If you’re a man standing in a backyard with that view, you look, and you imagine.
So yeah, I get him. And I want to kill him for it.
A muscle jumps in my cheek. My heartbeat is a sharp, punching rhythm in my throat.
She did this. She took her top off in my backyard where a man with eyes has every opportunity to stareat what’s mine—or what should be mine. What I’m trying like hell to pretend I don’t want to be mine.
Jessica shifts on the towel again, arching her back, adjusting the strap of her bikini bottom. Her ass lifts just slightly and I see the outline of her pussy through the fabric.
My cock throbs hard against my zipper with anger, desire, jealousy, all twisting together into something dangerously sharp.
My fingers release the couch just long enough to flex. Then I stalk toward the backyard with heavy steps and a cock hard enough to break through the glass doors. The hired help is about to learn that there are lines in this house, and he just stepped over the wrong fucking one.
I shove the sliding door open, already yanking my T-shirt over my head as I step outside.
The gardener snaps his head up and goes pale when he sees me coming. I tilt my head at him, letting him know he’s fucked.
His eyes go wide. He turns so fast he nearly trips over the hose before speed-walking toward the other side of my property.
I let him leave with all his limbs because my focus is laser-set on the woman stretched out on the sunbed.
By the time I reach her, my shirt is hanging from my hand, my pulse a heavy, slow hammer in my ears. My thoughts aren’t thoughts anymore; they’re filthy impulses.
I toss my shirt over her bare back and ass, covering every inch she clearly forgot doesn’t belong to strangers’ eyes.
“What the?” She jerks, startled, lifting her head.
She looks at my T-shirt first, then down my chest. She drags her eyes slowly along my torso before she snaps her attention up to my face.
There’s hunger in her eyes, a need I deeply relate to.
“What’s that for?” She lifts a hand and starts tugging my shirt off her body.
“Don’t.” I step forward, my shadow swallowing her sunbed.
