Late Night

As resident fix-it girl for an apartment complex in a tiny Texas town, Bonnie James makes enough money to pay the bills and have a little fun on the side. She likes checking out the other tenants and sometimes indulges in her own sexual fantasies by watching them late at night. It’s exciting, it’s erotic, and it always leaves her ready and willing for more…

Turn On

When you’re a bounty hunter, late night stake-outs are part of the job. So Wynn Collier should be concentrating on his own business, not watching a Peeping Tom with the sweetest body west of the Mississippi. But he’s a hot-blooded male on a hot Texas night and he can’t resist the chance to investigate every one of her delectable curves…

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EXCERPT

The sun had finally set when I stepped outside dressed in battered Sketchers, cut off sweats and a tank top with no bra.  The barest hint of a breeze lifted damp pieces of my freshly washed hair, and struggled to blow away the day’s heat.  A near impossible battle.

From the open window Clyde meowed his protest of my desertion.  You’d think he’d have gotten used to it after a year.  Every night after dark I walked the complex, greeting the occasional swimmers, the few people who sat outside, drinking beer, and I listened...and watched.  My guilty secret.  I refused to name it, to call it what it was. 

I’m sure people who smoked crack said the same thing, but the first time had been an accident.  Eight months ago, I’d been walking the back of the complex, working off nervous energy, the edge that had ridden my back ever since I first ran.  The fear, the paranoia it had taken me nearly two years to shake and even now, another year after, I still couldn’t completely let my guard down.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah...walking.  I’d rounded the corner and spotted a couple in a parked car.  It had been fall, still warm in the evenings, but they’d had the windows up, and a hint of fog obstructed my view.  The movement of the car had said it all. 

Inside a topless woman had been riding Dinky Smith like she was going for the Triple Crown, her ginoromous breasts bouncing happily. 

I’d been helpless to move, a prisoner of my body, of my need, of my own frustrations and loneliness.  There I stood after two years of celibacy watching Dinky Smith have something I couldn’t have...sex...intimacy...affection.

Call it whatever you’d like, the weight and depth of it all had almost killed me that night. 

That had been a Wednesday.  I’d gone out on Friday, to Busters and picked up a tourist, thinking if I fucked him, I’d never spy on Dinky again. 

I was wrong.

I found myself laying in wait for him (he apparently liked having sex in cars).  Then I found myself following him, watching him.  He’d never caught on...I’d been real careful.  And, you know, he wasn’t the brightest light bulb in the package.  The legality or illegality of what I was doing was irrelevant when held up next to The Big Picture. 

Trust me on this.

After a while the weather turned colder, and I’d gotten bored with Dinky.  I found myself drawn to casually peeking in kitchen windows.  They were huge, forty-eight inches wide and sixty inches off the ground.  I’m 5’5 and that made us a perfect match. 

Then came the bedroom windows, listening, straining my ears in the dark to hear couples fucking and fighting. 

Anyway, tonight was Thursday, and Darcy McKnight’s boyfriend was coming over.  Normally boyfriends were no big deal, but Darcy was cheating on her husband, Chris, and for the record, she wasn’t the only cheater at Marquez Terrace. 

Chris was a long-haul trucker who came in on Sunday and left first thing Wednesday morning.  Darcy wasn’t dumb enough to have him come on Wednesday; she waited a day.  No one ever told on her, no one dared.  Guess you could say we had our own don’t ask/don’t tell policy. 

And besides, Chris was a giant who’d probably kill the bearer of bad news, and Darcy’s peccadilloes weren’t worth dying for, but her boyfriend Brad was. 

He came by around 9:00 every night, slipped in her front door when most people were ending their day and, well, Darcy had a bad habit of leaving the kitchen curtains open, and the window too.

My stomach was a tangle of excited nerves as I spotted Brad slipping into Darcy’s apartment, the open door briefly spilling lamplight on the sidewalk.  I walked the upper floors so as not to raise suspicion. Then I took the stairs, greeting Old Homer, who sat in a lawn chair he kept just outside his front door. 

“Gonna be a hot one tonight.” 

“And sticky too,” I said, pulling my t-shirt away from my body and fanning myself for effect.

I walked the front of the U-shaped complex, then circled around the back, taking my time.  I knew already that Brad’s truck was parked at the convenience store half a block down and the owner was a friend of his.  He wasn’t telling and neither was I. 

The front of the complex faced the street with the complex’s sign and the pool blocking the view of just about anyone from the road.  An old SUV sat on the gravel shoulder across the street.  Probably overheated, which was a common occurrence around here in the summer. 

Down the side of the building I went, rubber soles silent on the hard-packed earth.  I stopped at the back corner of the building to catch my breath and listen.  All I could hear was the sound of the occasional cricket, the buzz of a mosquito that I swatted away and someone’s radio playing a Mexican radio station…all of that over the excited beating of my heart.  God help me, I hoped Darcy never got caught.

One last glance over my shoulder, and I turned the corner, keeping a casual, steady pace.  Three windows down I stopped, my back pressed to the brick wall, and listened. 

An immediate, “Oh Brad!” prevented me from peeking in the kitchen window.  It sounded like they were standing at the kitchen sink right under the window, though I knew they weren’t.  It sounded like he was spanking her with the spatula again. 

For sure.

And trust me, Darcy didn’t mind.  I sent up a little prayer of thanks.  Curiosity got the better of me.  I turned my head, raising up on my toes to find her bent over the little wooden kitchen table she’d refinished last summer, her bare-naked ass in the air, shining a sassy red. 

Brad wore a faded black t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and nothing else.  I could see straight through to the living room where his jeans, and boots and Darcy’s clothes lay scattered about.  His muscular legs weren’t very tanned, Brad wasn’t the kind of man to lay around in the sun.  His forearms were tanned though, and his hands were huge and probably callused.  His ass was lily white, two perfect, muscular half-moons, and his dick was beautiful.  Hard and thick and strong, jutting out at an angle from a dark nest of pubic hair. 

Beautiful enough to make me take my truck in to his garage every three thousand miles for an oil change just so I could watch him work and fantasize about his cock. 

I’d tested the waters, flirting a bit to see what he’d do, and he’d responded but I always seemed to chicken out when it came to asking him to dinner.  Call it self-preservation, but I’d reluctantly decided that fucking tourists was a safer bet for the time being.

Once Darcy’s ass was nice and red, he fucked her from behind.  I stood there growing hotter by the minute, my pussy throbbing as I watched his cock disappear between the cheeks of her ass.  She squealed and chattered like a fucking angry squirrel.

“Brad, Fuck!  You’re so big!”

“You like that?” he asked, mashing his hand into her hair and holding her head against the table.  “Huh?  You little slut?”

“Oh yes!” 

“Better than your fucking husband?” he panted.

“God yes!  I love your cock.  Fuck me...fuck me more!”

“Little dirty girl.”

He’d call her a whore, and tell her what a bad girl she was every single damn time, but I never got tired of hearing it.  My hand slid up my thigh, into the leg of my shorts to massage my pussy lips, but that wasn’t enough.  I slid my middle finger deeper, circling my clit faster and faster, my lower lip caught between my teeth, my shoulder pressed into the brick wall.  My toes curled, I closed my eyes and stroked myself, listening, imagining it was me. 

Until a non-sexual sound penetrated my lust-filled brain.  I squeezed my eyes tightly shut a moment in frustration before opening them again and licking my lips and slipping my hand out of my shorts.

I knew better than to act suspicious.  Instead I moved slowly, turning toward the parking lot and scanning for movement.  I didn’t see anyone but I’ll be damned if it hadn’t sounded like a cough.  Maybe it had been someone from upstairs, but I wasn’t about to risk it.  My happy interlude was over. 

I backtracked to the corner of the building, detoured out into the middle of the parking lot and continued my walk, slowly scanning the gloomy perimeter for signs of life.  Nothing, no one, nowhere. 

That feeling of unease that had bothered me the last couple of weeks, that same one that had subsided over the last couple of years, had grown worse lately, leading me to believe it was almost time for Bonnie James to disappear and someone else to take her place.