Page 22 of For Cowgirls and Kings

If he thinks this is bad, it has to be really bad.

But as I look around me, the eerie silence of the night filling Dale’s deadened neighborhood, I can’t muster enough care to take them down.

I know it’s horrible that I’m watching her. I know it’s an invasion of privacy, an evil, stalkerish thing to do.

And yet, all I really want is to keep her safe.

Right?

Before I can talk myself off the ledge, I move forward to her little black door, the curtains drawn. It’s almost nine, but I don’t picture Dale as the kind of person who goes to bed early. I just need to see her, remind myself what’s at stake if I don’t protect her.

Looming in the entryway of her house, I raise my hand to knock only to halt as sounds drift toward me, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Moaning.

Is there someone else here? I peer over my shoulder, left and right for any out of place vehicles. Finding none, I lean forward, pressing my ear to the door. As I do, I’m able to catch a sliver of a glimpse between her drawn curtains.

Fuck me.My knees quiver beneath me, and I have to reach out, steading myself against the door to keep from falling. All while my eyes remain glued to the glimpse of a scene I watch unfolding behind the glass.

Dale’s on the floor of her living room, the lights off, save for the soft glow of a lamp in the corner, casting golden ribbons to dance with the shadows falling across her skin. She’s wearing an old T-shirt, the neck lopsided and falling off one shoulder, while her hair shimmers in a dark pool around her. Perfectly sculpted legs lay spread open, her knees angled, as her hand pumps some object in and out.

My eyes flutter as I suck in a ragged breath, the zipper of my jeans groaning against the strain of my already hard cock.

She’s fucking masterbating.

Moaning drifts out, a muffled sound, and I look up once more, realizing her head’s tipped back, eyes pinched shut as her arm works harder, faster, pushing said toy inside of her at a punishing pace.

She’s devastating like this—completely unbound and desperate. What I wouldn’t do to make her look like this. To have her trust enough, her desire, that she completely let's go with me.

Not me, the boss, but me, the man.

“Fuuucckkk,” she groans, the sound almost guttural, and my hand drifts down to press against my aching dick. I will not rub myself out watching her, that’s too fucking creepy even for me. But a bomb would have to go off to stop me from watching her finish at this point.

I want to know what shape her mouth makes. Do her eyes roll back or pinch shut? Do her legs quiver? Does she blush?

Her head tips back up, focusing once more as she continues to fuck the toy, her pace damn near impossible. I strain for any other sounds—how wet is she?

Everything’s muffled, and the drum of my heart makes it hard for me to even hear the wind rustling through the trees around me. I bite my lip, focusing even as my vision goes slightly cross eyed as I continue to stare through the smallest gap into her private moment.

“Damn it,” she hisses, abruptly sitting up, pulling the toy out from inside of her, and tossing it aside. I watch the crimson dildo roll across her floor, stopping only when it hits the leg of her couch.

Dale draws her knees to her chest, hanging her head in away that looks anything but satisfied. If anything, she looks sad, hurt, and broken, and I can’t fathom why.

Out of the corner, a bolt of orange races across the floor toward the dildo, and I watch Queen Tut hover over it, sniffing the silicone.

“Get away from that, Tut. Don’t be gross.” She stands, walking toward the cat and the dildo, bending down to pick both up. The T-shirt’s long enough that it covers her waist, fitting over her skin like water around a rock, and my fingers twitch to rip the thin fabric to see what’s beneath it.

“Besides,” she hoists Tut onto her hip, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “It didn’t work anyways.”

Her words are muffled through the door, but her meaning is loud and clear. She couldn’t get off. I’m not familiar with the feeling, but seeing her like this and not being able to touch her, has to be a similar sensation.

Devastatingly unfulfilling.

“Let’s go to bed,” she says, turning off the lamp as she passes by, heading down the hall toward her room. Tut mewls, his eyes finding mine through the curtain. His tail swishes, and he meows again, this time farther away, as if saying he saw me. I stand back to my full height, pressing my clammy forehead to the door, searching for some semblance of strength.

What started out as a bad idea has evolved into a nightmare.

A nightmare where I just saw my best friend masterbating, and wishing against all hope, that it had been my cock instead.