The Dom Next Door Read Free

fingers I was wet and engorged. Spreading the slick folds, I circled and explored. I knew how to get myself off, but I also knew the extreme pleasure that is a result of delayed satisfaction.
    Desire built and I rubbed the tight bud with the pad of my thumb. My fingers slid down and the soaking entry was traced before I inserted two fingers inside. The inner muscles of my pussy clenched around my fingers. I relinquished the stimulation of my clit from my thumb to the heel of my palm. The pressure of my palm moving against the slippery pearl in a slow circular motion combined with my plunging fingers brought me to release.
    My head lolled to the side and I bit my lower lip to keep from crying out too loudly. Or worse, screaming Jack’s name when I came. I stilled, splayed out in my chair enveloped in a post-orgasmic stupor.
    The handsome Dom had ended his call and was headed toward his bedroom. I watched him a bit longer before taking a shower and going to bed for the evening. What would sexy Jack think if he found out I’d masturbated to him? Part of me hoped he’d be flattered and another part of me was determined to find out.
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
     
    The winking cursor on the blank white screen of my word processing program seemed to mock me. The vertical black line flashed in a rhythm that I’d put words to. I couldn’t write anymore in the story I was past deadline on, but somehow my crazy, twisted brain had come up with a song to go with the bleeping cursor.
    Write, write, write, try as you might, you’ll never write.
    I just loved how my muse had abandoned me in every way possible except to come up with a sarcastic, taunting tune. The papers littered across my desk contained notes as well as a detailed outline. I knew exactly what was supposed to happen in my story, so how could the writing just elude me?
    As I pondered the inequalities of creativity, I realized I’d been sitting in front of my computer for nearly two hours. My fruitless efforts pissed me off and made me feel as if my career as a writer was behind me. Maybe the time on my computer would’ve been better spent retooling my resume and shopping it around. I’d been living off royalties from my previously published books and the advance from my publisher for the book I was late getting to them.
    If I couldn’t deliver on the manuscript, I feared they’d request the advance back or at the very least, they’d probably never publish my work again. As desperate as a wino taking a swig from a bottle, my eyes scanned the courtyard in hopes of people-watching. Something had to change and soon.
    Maybe I needed to attempt to introduce a new routine. Maybe I could jump-start my muse again if I did something I hadn’t tried before. Remembering my grandmother’s favorite saying about idle hands, I jumped up and looked for something—anything—to do. In my bedroom I found that I had a couple of loads worth of dirty laundry that could be sorted, washed and folded.
    *****
    I unloaded the last of my laundry from the dryer and dumped the warm clothing on the old plastic table. I started the mundane task of folding in the community laundry room art my apartment complex and tried like hell to keep my mind on my non-existent manuscript. Just as I held one of my t-shirts in my hand Jack walked in and pulled his clothes out of one of the dryers. My body froze, I tried to remember how to fold a shirt, but my brain refused to send the signal to my limbs.
    “Do you mind if I share?”
    Jack pointed to the half of the table I wasn’t using. A shiver of awareness traveled down my spine at his nearness. He hefted his basketful of clean, dry laundry next to me and started folding. Even though it was a simple, mindless task I couldn’t concentrate on anything other than trying to remember the basics of folding. I needed to say something. I’d waited months for an opportunity like this. I had him alone I should at least introduce myself to him.
    “Don’t you