Megan Hart - Switch

stairs.

stairs.

I came out onto a nearly empty level. At this time of night

the spots taken up by daytime commuters would be

vacant. But from this level I had a clear view across the

street and into Eric's first-floor apartment.

The concrete wal hit me chest high, but I could lean on it

to look across the street. At 9:00 p.m., night had already

falen. The orange lights of the parking garage lit the door

to the stairs and hit every other pilar, but none was above

my head and so I had no glare to distract me. The

streetlights, too, were placed far enough apart they didn't

interfere with my voyeurism.

I hadn't brought a pair of binoculars, but realy didn't need

them. The street between the buildings was one-way and

narrow. I could have spit and hit his window. Inside his

apartment, the lights went on.

My ears rang, and I let out the breath I'd been keeping

prisoner in my lungs. He was there. This was realy going

to happen.

Everyone peeks. We do it al the time when we drive past

houses at night with the lights on, in hotel rooms we can

see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-

see into from across a courtyard, when we pass a half-

closed office door. I'd never set out to spy in hopes of

catching someone doing something naughty. I couldn't

decide if the tension in my gut and tingling in my fingertips

were from ilicit arousal or self-loathing.

The former, I thought as the curtains in Eric's bedroom

twitched and the light came on in there, too. I was more of

a pervert than I'd ever imagined. Voyeurism had never

melted my butter before, but knowing this would get him

off, that this was a trigger for him, got my nipples hard and

built an ache between my thighs I knew I'd have to

aleviate with my own hand before the night was through.

He stood at the window for a minute or two, looking out

for so long I wondered if he could see me. With the light

inside his room and the dark out here, I didn't think so. I

didn't dare move. Shielded by shadows, I drew in slow,

even breaths and watched him stare out into the night. He

didn't look as if he saw me, or anyone, though his eyes

moved side to side, searching.

Finaly, he turned and took a few steps toward the bed.

He wore only a towel, his hair wet and slicked back.

Water gleamed in silver droplets on the tanned skin of his

back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see

back and shoulders. I wasn't quite close enough to see

them run in rivulets down his spine and into the crack of his

ass below the towel's edge, but I could imagine it. And

did.

He hesitated, looking over his shoulder with a hand at his

waist. I wondered if he'd ever thought so hard before

about who might see him from outside. Though I kept my

sheers drawn al the time, they wouldn't entirely block a

peeper from getting an eyeful, but I'd never realy believed

anyone was trying to. I was sure I'd think of it every time,

now, and wonder who might be spying on me when I

thought I was alone.

The difference was, Eric knew he wasn't alone. I thought it

would make it more difficult to get naked, knowing, even

though he had said he liked it. That he wanted it. His

shoulders hunched for a moment and then the towel was

gone. Disappeared.

God, from the back he was magnificent. Broad shoulders,

lean waist, smooth skin. His ass was tight and looked firm.

A patch of dark hair furred the smal of his back and

drifted over his buttocks to get thicker at his thighs and

legs. His arms, too, were covered in thick, dark hair. He

half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.

half turned so I could see his chest and I grinned in delight.

Hair there, too, dark and curling around his nipples, but

not overpowering him. A woman could stil find bare skin

to kiss al over him, center her tongue on those nipples and

flick them with her tongue until he cried out for mercy.

I had to grip the concrete wal to steady myself at my

unwinding thoughts. Austin, blond-haired and fair skinned,

had little hair on his chest and had taken to trimming his

pubic hair. I didn't mind grooming, but I'd gotten used to

seen a man without so much hair. Looking at Eric opened

up something half-embarrassing I could only think of as…

primal.

Eric lay on the bed, his cock in his hand. He stared at the

ceiling as he stroked, already half-hard. In the porn I'd

seen the men had always yanked so hard on their pricks it

looked painful. Eric didn't start off with a two-fisted yank.

He ran a slow hand over his bely and thighs before

gripping his cock, which he stroked just as slowly from

base to crown and down again before repeating the

journey.

I was mesmerized.

The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his

The head of Eric's bed was against the wal opposite his

bedroom door, which placed the bed paralel to the

window. Like the rest of his apartment, his bedding was

simple, even stark. He'd already puled down the black

quilted comforter and blankets and now lay on the plain

white sheet. He hitched himself a little higher to put his

head on the pilow.

Did it make a difference, knowing he was being watched?

I thought it had to. Why else would he take such time to

show off? The bulge and flex of his biceps had me biting

my lower lip. So did the flex of his calves when he bent his

legs to push his hips upward.

I leaned forward too far, risking being seen, when his leg

blocked the view of his gorgeous cock being stroked so

slowly in that big fist, but as if he knew exactly what he

was doing, Eric pushed that leg straight and bent the other,

instead, keeping my view clear. His back arched as his

head tipped back into the pilow. I wanted to see his face,

but though I could make out the dark shadow of eyes and

the slope of his nose, distance blurred his features a bit.

With a hand stil on his erection, Eric reached with the

other beneath his pilow to pul out a bottle. My lube came

with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he

with a flip-top cap, but his had a squirt top, and he

sprayed his hands and cock liberaly before tucking it back

under his pilow.

I didn't laugh because this was funny, but because this

secret glimpse into his private sex life was so adorable,

and told me a lot. He jerked off a lot and didn't bring

women home to sleep over very often—people who

shared their beds frequently didn't keep their sex supplies

under the pilow. My earlier assessment had been right.

People and cars passed on the street below, but I didn't let

that distract me from the show across the way. I heard the

squeal of tires and rumble of an occasional engine as wel

as the hum of the parking-garage elevator, but nobody

arrived or left on this level. Tucked against the concrete

pilar with the wal in front of me and the night wind

occasionaly blowing the scent of the river over me, I

immersed myself in what he was doing and wished I were

with him.

I pressed my thighs together against the ache of arousal as

I watched Eric stroking himself. Slow, then faster. I

watched his prick disappear inside his curled fingers,

watched how he added an extra stroke around the head

and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give

and how he dipped lower every couple of strokes to give