Page 7 of Man Cuffed
Then I hear the deck boards creak as heavier footsteps emerge, too. “Move over, sugar,” says a gruff voice.
Ooh! I sit up a little straighter. Now things are getting interesting. He doesn’t have a Scottish accent, sadly. But now I can hear him properly. His voice is still glorious—deep and raspy. This will be fun. Also, eavesdropping is a professional necessity. The more voices I can absorb into my soul, the better my repertoire will be.
“You like white wine?” the woman asks.
Whoa! A clue! They don’t know each other well, then! It’s not something a wife asks a husband.
“It’s okay.”
Riiiight. He’s just being nice. “It’s okay” probably means “white wine is vile, but I still want to get under your skirt.” But, God, that voice. There’s something about the timbre that gives me a tingling sensation in my chest.
“Let me guess, you’re a beer man.”
“Sure. Usually.”
Usually. I never knew that word was sexy until right this moment. But he draws it out nice and slow.
“What else—” the woman makes her voice sound impossibly breathless—“do youusuallylike?”
He chuckles, and that sound turns me inside out, too. “You want a demonstration? I thought we went over this. Last night.”
“You’d better show me again,” she breathes.
Whoa! I lean forward in my chair. But all is quiet, until I hear a little gasp and then a whimper. And then the snick of a kiss. Times four or five.
Then that voice, pitched so low that I feel it in my breastbone. “Is this what you were looking for when you asked to come to my place today?”
“Y-yes,” she sighs.
“Better hand me that glass.” He chuckles. “I don’t think you can hold it upright while I—”
She whimpers.
“That’s right, sugar. You don’t need these.”
When I hear the quick but telling sound of panties being ripped, I nearly whimper, too. This man works fast! I eye my apartment door, knowing that I should go back inside. On the other hand, they’ll hear my door open and shut.
And I was here first!
“Oooh!” she cries. “Oooh!”
He growls. A true growl. And I feel it in my nipples.
But then she starts up again, with more “oohs” and “aahs” than a doo-wop group on tour. “Yes! Yes!”
He growls again, and I feel it in my toes.
Okay, maybe it is hot out here.Whew.
“Need you,” he grunts.
I sigh inwardly. When is the last time anyone needed me like that? Never, basically. Not with that hungry rasp, anyway. The last man who said he needed me was a podiatrist and a philanderer. He didn’t need me specifically. He just needed a distraction from his life.
It was a low point, I’m telling you.
But the guy next door...he doesn’t sound distracted at all. He sounds very focused. Very.
She lets out a little shriek, and then they’re on the move. His screen door opens and shuts with a bang.
