I roam in front of her, keeping my distance. For now. “I wouldn’t think you had much concern for privacy. Especially since I’ve caught you sitting in your car outside of my house late at night. What were you doing there?”

When her mouth falls open, I almost throw myself on her. That mouth. It will be my undoing, especially if she keeps opening it like that, parting it, gasping. Soon I’ll be drawing moans and screams from it, my obsession with it only growing.

“Were you watching me undress and climb into the shower? Touching yourself as you watched? Is that why you did it? To get yourself off since I wasn’t doing it for you?”

She pushes off the wall a little. “You knew?”

I circle closer. From this distance, I can smell her. From the scent of her shampoo to the scent that resides between her legs, the waiting is killing me. I need her. I have to have her. “Of course I knew. Why do you think I kept the blinds open and jacked off in full view?”

When my hand lowers to my crotch, stroking myself a few times through my slacks, she watches. She likes to watch. That’s why I gave her such a good show the last time.

“It wasn’t for the neighbors’ benefit, poppet.”

Her chest is moving fast, her breathing rushed. Horny little girl. “That was for me?”

I nod. “All of it. All of this has been for you.” Waving around the room, I end with pointing my finger between her and me. “Now it’s time to reward me for my patience and efforts.”

She steps closer and the sound her heel makes stabs the silence. “You’ve been planning this.”

If only she knew . . . she’d run. My obsession for her runs deep. It’s all-consuming. All-encompassing. All-powerful. All . . . everything.

“Ever since the day you walked through that door.” I point at the one she first came in through, the last one I’d locked, sealing her fate. “Now, don’t make me ask again—take off your shirt and let me see those perfect tits I’ve spent months jacking off to.”

Her breathing heavy, she stares at me like she’s trying to figure out an equation. Her eyes skim my body, making multiple visits to what resides below my belt. When they end on my eyes, her fingers move to her shirt.

She slips the next button free, then the next, until there’re no more left to undo. She never breaks eye contact. I don’t think she even blinks. God knows I don’t. I don’t want to miss a thing.

“Off,” I order when the shirt stays draped over her shoulders, hiding those glorious peaks.

Slowly, she pulls one arm free from her shirt. Then the other, until at last, the blouse spills down her back and floats to the floor. Her arms cover herself at first, but all she needs to see is my jaw going rigid before her arms fall back to her sides. She’s learning. Listen . . . or else.