I Like Being Watched by Jessica Gadziala

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nine

Fitz

 

 

 

 

My fucking bed smelled like her for two days until the bed was stripped and washed.

It was fucking embarrassing how disappointed I'd been to come home after a long day and find my bedding smelled like laundry detergent instead of Wynn's vanilla and rose scent, instead of the faint trace of her pussy from finger-fucking herself in the place where I slept, leading me to fevered dreams and a straining cock that no amount of self-gratification could satiate.

After her scent was gone, though, I had nothing left.

Because I could never cross that line we'd already crossed again.

The reasons were endless.

But the top contenders were that it was an abuse of power on my part, one that could get me sued if I wasn't careful to put an end to it, but it was also a bad idea solely because she was damn good at her job, and I didn't want to have to replace her.

I had to stop it before things got carried away.

I never would have known how strongly the urge would be to sneak around and find her in a compromising situation again, or simply to turn on the camera feed and wait for her skirt to hike up or her shirt to open.

I wouldn't have ever said I was into voyeurism.

But there was no denying I'd been into watching Wynn.

I damn sure had never been into exhibitionism before.

But I had stroked my cock while she'd watched.

I didn't know what the fuck was going on with me, if it was the merger, or the lack of sex, or what, but I needed to get a fucking grip.

Which was why I was working late at the office. To avoid running into her at home.

It was also why I was just barely resisting the urge to check my camera feed.

The goddamn things were put up for reasons that had nothing to do with my never-ending string of house managers. And that reason meant I was supposed to be checking them. But I didn't want to risk catching sight of Wynn's bare ass as she bent over to fetch something off the floor, or her tits bursting out of her top, filling my mind with ideas of taking her from behind, of wrapping that long, silky blonde hair of hers around my fist as I did so, of her pert breasts bouncing around as I fucked her harder and harder as she cried out, begging for release.

"Fuck," I hissed, feeling myself harden even with the passing thought.

It had been weeks.

Weeks.

And I still couldn't get her out of my mind.

"What's with the mood?" my brother asked, running his fingers over the spines of the books in my study. Why, I had no idea, since Blake had never willingly picked up a book. Hell, I was pretty sure he never unwillingly did so either. It was a well-known fact that he'd out-sourced all of his assignments in high school and college. And when that wasn't enough, that our father had paid off the teachers and professors to just keep moving along.

It wasn't that Blake was dumb. He was just a different kind of smart. Cunning and clever were words that came to mind. He had a lot of potential if he only tried to apply himself.

Maybe someday.

I couldn't expect him to bust his ass to prove himself like I had done my whole life. He didn't need to like I had. He was never going to take over the company after our father passed. That was always going to come to me. Which was why I'd worked so hard to prove myself worthy of that responsibility.

A part of me was hard on Blake because there was a little bit of envy on both our sides. Him, my wealth. Me, how carefree his life had been, the ability he had to really wild out and enjoy his youth. It was time I'd never get back, time I spent in boardrooms and flying back and forth across the country, trying to schmooze new clients, time I'd spent read-read-reading endless books on business and leadership. Time well spent? Objectively, likely yes. But also time I didn't get to spend enjoying my life.

And there was no denying that Blake enjoyed the fuck out of his life. There was hardly a weekend that didn't involve some sort of over-the-top party in the guest house where he lived, one that inevitably ended up spilling into the main house, no matter how many times I told him it was off-limits.

"Work," I told him. "You know, where you put in labor of some form in exchange for money in your bank account," I said, watching him shoot me a smirk because we both knew he hadn't exactly earned his paycheck in a couple of weeks.

He should have been fired, nepotism be damned.

But I'd promised my father on his deathbed that I'd take care of Blake, even when he didn't deserve it.

"Ah, yes, labor. It seems I'm allergic to it," he declared, dropping down in the chair in front of my desk, kicking up his feet on the edge simply because he knew it pissed me off.

Brothers.

It didn't seem to matter how old they got, certain aspects of that relationship would never seem to mature. Pushing buttons was a seminal favorite activity.

"That's the story now," I mumbled, closing the top of my laptop. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? I paid your liquor delivery bill last night, by the way."

"Gee, he must have come to your door by mistake," Blake said, lips twitching.

"Yeah, that must be it," I agreed, snorting.

"I wanted to tell you that some of the furniture in the pool room needs to be replaced. Must have been cheap shit," he added.

More like he allowed guests to stand on it.

"I'll check it out," I said, exhaling hard.

"You need to relax," Blake declared. "Maybe have that pretty house manager of yours get you an at-home massage. Maybe she'd give you one herself."

"No."

"Maybe I can get one from—"

"No," I snapped. I hadn't meant for it to come out as ferocious as it had. Blake even looked a bit taken aback. "I've gone through, what, five, house managers this year. This one is sticking. Don't fuck her," I ordered.

"Sounds like I'm not the one who needs to get fucked," Blake said, pulling his legs off my desk, standing, shooting me a raised brow look, then walking out.

He wasn't wrong.

That was the most annoying thing about my brother. He had this irritating trait of being right a lot of the time when it came to me.

I did need to get laid.

And I would.

As soon as the merger was final.

I would walk out of that boardroom, right into the closest bar, find a woman who was interested, and get out all these months of frustration with her.

Not Wynn.

It could never be Wynn.

With a sigh, I stood up from my desk, rolling my neck, and making my way through the house, ready to check out the damage to the pool room, so I could get new furniture ordered.

The room was at the back of the house, a giant room of windows from the walls to the ceiling. It was dominated by a large indoor pool with a dark liner. The floors were a brown so deep it was almost black, and the furniture was a mix of wooden tables and chairs and wicker conversation sets with dark cushions.

I liked to start most of my workdays with some laps in the pool before I showered. I found that exercise in the morning chased away the sleep tugging at my ever-tired eyes and brain. It gave me the energy I needed to get through my long days.

It would piss me off to go there every morning and see broken furniture all around.

It wasn't as bad as Blake had made it sound. Someone had clearly tried to stand on one of the wicker chairs, and had promptly fallen through it. One of the tables had been knocked over, and a hunk of wood had been chipped off it. But that was the extent of it.

On a relieved sigh, I dropped down on one of the wicker chairs in the corner near some giant ass plant that I was pretty damn sure hadn't been there the last time I'd swam laps on Friday morning.

But who would bring plants into the house?

Even as I thought that, though, the person in question came walking in with another massive, but different, plant, half-dragging it over to the other corner of the pool room, setting it up near the windowed wall closest to the sprawling backyard.

The view was something I took a few precious moments to soak in every morning. Chest heaving from the laps, I would fully surface, and move to the side of the pool, resting my arms on the tile, and watching as the sun started to get brighter and brighter, giving me a view of the seemingly endless grounds, made a little stark by winter, sure, but beautiful when it snowed, and would soon be green and colorful again as spring rolled in to chase the cold away.

I let my mind wander then, as well, for a few moments.

I pictured one day watching kids running around that yard, squealing, happy, looking a little bit like me, and a little bit like whoever their mom would end up being.

Someday, I would assure myself.

Someday after the merger, after life got back to normal, after I had some time to find the right woman, spend some time getting to know her, then committing my future to her.

My father had done so with my mom, though she'd died tragically young, leaving him a bitter workaholic who screwed around without strings, which, eventually, resulted in Blake.

I didn't want that.

I wanted the real thing, like what he had with my mother.

Someday.

I watched as Wynn twisted and turned the oversized pot until she got the plant how she wanted it, then took a step back, hands going to her hips, surveying the scene, giving me one stolen moment of privacy to get to look at her.

I'd been starved for so long.

I feasted on her.

She had on what I'd come to call her "usual uniform." Meaning a skin-tight pencil skirt, this time in plain black. Her top was an almost see-through white with black trim. It tucked into the skirt, but the buttons had been mostly left open in the front, letting me see a sliver of skin from her neck, between her breasts, and part of her belly before it cut off.

Her long blonde hair was pulled up into a careless clip, and I had an almost overwhelming urge to get up, walk over, remove the clip, and run my fingers through the soft-looking strands.

I curled my hands into fists and kept them on the arms of my chair as I watched her turn toward the windows, looking out onto the grounds, taking a slow, deep breath.

And then, almost as if she heard the silent wish, her arms lifted, carefully removing the clip, then shaking out her hair before smoothing it with one hand.

I watched as she kicked out of her black flats, flexing her soles against the cold tile, and rolling her neck.

Her hands disappeared then, and I had no idea what they were occupied with until I saw her shirt slipping out of her skirt.

Shit.

No.

Goddamn it, I worked so hard to avoid seeing her as she put on one of her exhibitionist displays.

And there I was, trapped. There was no way to escape without her seeing me leaving.

Maybe she was just going to flash the yard, hoping someone might be around to see. Then, disappointed, pull herself together, and get back to work.

And I could go take an ice-cold shower.

But the longer I watched, the less likely that reality seemed to be.

Wynn spread her shirt, sure, but she pulled it off entirely, giving me a peek of her sloped back. I'd never thought of a back as sexy before, but hers sure as fuck was.

When her hands disappeared again, I knew it was to remove her skirt. Sure enough, they hooked into her waistband and started to pull down.

Slowly.

So fucking slowly.

A genuine striptease for her invisible audience.

My cock was rock-hard by the time her skirt slipped under her ass, showing off the plump cheeks and the barely-there strip of her black thong.

Bending forward slowly, she slipped the skirt all the way down before straightening, and stepping out of it.

She stood there for a long moment, staring off into the yard. Innocently, even, just enjoying the view.

Then, she was moving, her gaze lowered as she turned.

Fuck.

And there she was, almost entirely bare again.

It didn't matter that I'd seen her just like this before. It was a kick to the gut, to the balls.

That gentle curve to her hips, the slope of her stomach, the swells of her breasts that I'd spent far too much time imagining covering with my palms, feeling those dusky pink nipples hardening against my hands before rolling them with my fingers, twisting, pulling, and wrapping my lips around them, feeling her arch up into my mouth as my tongue circled her.

My breath felt caught in my chest as she made her way toward the pool, her gaze on the depths within. Her leg extended, allowing her toe to tease across the surface of the water. Her breath caught and held for a second before releasing.

I kept the pool just a shade cooler than complete comfort, liking the bracing sensation first thing in the morning.

Wynn's hand slid up the sides of her thighs, then hooked the strip of her thong with her fingers, slowly lowering them down.

Like she was doing it just for me.

No.

Not for me.

She didn't know I was there.

She was just taking her clothes off so she could have a quick dip, but then be able to slip back into all dry clothing.

It had nothing at all to do with me.

Carefully, she stepped out of her thong, leaving the black fabric on the tile.

I tried to keep my gaze there instead of the newly bared part of her body. It was a valiant effort, but I maybe lasted all of fifteen seconds before my eyes drifted up her thighs, then the space between.

As though she felt my gaze fixated there, Wynn extended one leg forward, testing the water again, giving me a slightly better view. Then she was lowering herself down to her knees, slipping onto her ass, then twisting her legs forward, slipping them into the water.

She sat there for a long moment, kicking her legs in the water as her hands grabbed the sides of the pool. But then she was raising one arm up over her head. Then the other, grabbing the wrist of the first, and pulling, arching herself to the side. She repeated the stretch on the other side before sliding her hands back on the tile behind her, then leaning backward, arching her chest, putting her perfect tits on display.

She stayed that way for what felt like an eternity, yet not nearly long enough, before slowly slipping forward, going down into the water, and completely hiding her body from my prying eyes.

It was a long moment of watching nothing but her profile before she raised her arms outward and leaned back. Floating. Fucking floating on the top of the water.

Which made her breasts press out to be devoured by my ravenous gaze.

One of her legs kicked gingerly as her hair spread out across the water, a golden halo that looked even softer in the water.

One of her arms moved inward, softly stroking over her breast.

And it was right then that her head tilted and her gaze landed on me, a soft smile teasing her lips.

She knew.

She'd known from the moment she'd started to strip out of her clothes that I was there, that I was watching.

Fuck.

Her legs rose up, then pulled in, meeting her chest for the barest of seconds before she was twisting them to right herself upward again.

She stayed there for a long, daring second, gaze fixed on mine, before that smirk stretched wider, and then disappeared as she dove under the water and started to swim a lap.

Almost as if she was saying Catch me if you can.If you dare.

I was on my feet and kicking out of my shoes before I could even think the better of it.

I had enough common sense to drop my phone on the chair before I made my way to the pool stairs as she started her lap in that direction.

I could.

I dared.

And I was done denying myself the one thing I wanted.

Her.