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Authors: Miller,Cassie-Ann L.

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BOOK: Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs)
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Chapter 13



I glance down at the phone in my hand.


Keeland: I want to come over. To play…


I hope she knows that I’m not talking hopscotch.


My cock was already rock hard when I sent Sammie that text message, but when she told me to meet her at the window…
My poor dick is tenting the fabric of my sweatpants now.


I’m standing at the window and I have no idea what she has planned for me. For all I know, she could be scheming to pelt my window with eggs. But damn, it might be worth it, just to see that sexy pout on her lips.


The blinds rise slowly in the second floor window next door and Sammie comes into view. She’s wearing that same fluttery, white sundress with spaghetti-thin straps that reveals her graceful neck and pale arms. I imagine sliding my tongue down that neck and hearing her moan as I do it.


She gives me a wicked look that says it’s her turn to taunt me. She takes slow steps backwards, eyes fixed on mine and she sits in the large wicker chair directly across from the window.


The sensual way she’s moving causes a chill to run down my arms. I feel my heart pick up speed as she lifts one foot onto the seat of the chair and slowly trails her fingers from her ankle to her knee, her eyes on me the whole time.


Shit — this is her payback. She’s punishing me for the way I embarrassed her when I caught her peeking at me the other night. And she’s going to make me suffer.


Her fingers run from her knee to her pelvis before she slides her hand under the skirt of her flimsy dress. I swallow hard and move closer to the pane, hardly able to believe my eyes. Sammie’s tongue darts out and swipes her bottom lip, her eyes fluttering for a fraction of a second. I can barely see her hand moving under the fabric, but I can see her face quickly morphing from wicked and mean to soft and vulnerable. Her facade is melting away with each tiny stroke of her fingers.


The movement of her hand accelerates and her lips part. My breath fogs the window when I lean in, pressing my hands to the glass like an eager child. I can only imagine the sounds that she’s making. I wish I were right there to hear her, to smell her musk filling the room, to put my hand on hers and guide it in small, slow circles around her clit. Her head falls to the side and one strap slips off of her shoulder, revealing a small, perfectly round breast. She’s so lost in her movements now, it’s almost as if she’s forgotten that she has a spectator.


She fondles each breast in turn as she continues to stroke herself becoming looser and freer by the second. Her brown hair falls into her eyes as she bows her head. Her hand moves erratically now. Her legs spread wider and she groans so loud that the sound carries out the closed window. Then, her hand moves in fast deep pumps, in and out of her. Faster and faster and faster. I don’t think it’s physically possible for my dick to get any harder than it is right now.


She shudders all over, her whole body tightening visibly. I watch her ride ride ride the wave, clinging to it desperately, trying not to let go.


And then she slackens against the chair, a contented smile touching her lips. My cock is a sledgehammer in my pants. I desperately want to be inside of her, beating at her walls. I’m about ready to spontaneously combust.


I watch her recuperate. Slowly, she comes back to herself, sitting upright in the chair and brushing her damp hair away from her face. She looks at me and grins wide and sinister. Then, she slips her fingers into her mouth one by one, licking them clean.


This girl is trying to kill me.


She bends forward, reaching for her phone on the bed in front of her. She taps quickly at the screen and a second later, I hear my phone ding.


Sammie: I’m not so ‘proper’ now huh, Keeland?


When I glance back at the window, she smirks at me right before she yanks the blinds shut. The self-satisfied expression on her face is burned into my memory as I sink onto my mattress, still drowning in shock and lust. I shove my hand into the waistband of my pants to calm my raging boner.


Sammie Trotten looks like an angel in that girlish white dress, with her big doe eyes and full red lips, but only a minx would tease me the way she just did. And when I get my hands on her, I plan to sin all over that tight little body.


Chapter 14



I slept like a baby last night!


Seeing the hunger on Keeland’s face as I taunted him from the window felt even better than the orgasm itself.


Let me just say that what I did was completely out-of-character for me. I’m not very forward with my sexuality. I’m not overly flirtatious or provocative. I don’t flaunt my cleavage in guys’ faces. Hell — I never even initiated sex when I was with my ex-boyfriend of two years.


I’m not a ‘ho.


But Keeland Masters needed to be taught a lesson. He’s been mocking me since we were kids, dangling his body in front of me only to snatch back right as I’m getting close. Well, those days are over. I’m not a kid anymore and I won’t let him get under my skin.


Last night, I taught him not to mess with me…This morning, I feel great about it.


And it looks like today might turn out pretty awesome, too. I have a job interview!


I got the email late last night from a small auditing firm in the city. So, I’m up early and dressed in my best with a little hop in my step, ready to go impress their socks off.


I even put on the pearl earrings my aunt Shirley gave me for my 21
birthday and my thick-framed reading glasses. It makes me look like I’ve got my shit together. I feel confident and my mood is


…Until I notice the foot of snow sitting in my driveway.


Where did
come from?


It definitely wasn’t there when I went to bed last night. Shit, I should have checked the forecast.


So now, my zen, tranquil morning has just morphed into a mad dash to shove cold, leftover pizza into my mouth while shoveling the driveway with one eye on the clock.


But getting my little Prius to start? Not happening.


I smack my forehead into the steering wheel over and over again. Toyotas don’t break down. Isn’t that what they say? But it’s just my luck that my trusty little hybrid seems to have bitten the dust on the morning that I need her most. I turn the key again, but all I get is a spu-ta-ta-ta in reply.


“No, no, no,” I groan under my breath, unable to wrap my head around my bad fortune. I pop the driver’s side door open and just sit there, staring blankly at my dashboard with no idea what to do. Chilly air fills the cabin.


Keeland steps out onto the porch next door in a fluffy, black robe open wide over his black boxers. Barefoot. Bed head. He wipes sleep from his crystalline blue eyes as he approaches the driveway. He props an elbow on the roof of the car and leans into the open door. “I guess this morning’s your turn to wake up the whole neighborhood, huh?”


He gives me a one-sided smile, cool and collected, seemingly unfazed by what happened last night. Meanwhile, all I can think is,
he’s seen me have an orgasm…
he’s seen me have an orgasm


It seemed like a good idea last night. Now? Not so much.


“Stop. Please. I finally have a job interview and I’m late and I don’t need your snark right now.”


He backs away, lifting his hands in surrender. “Sorry to interrupt your joyless pursuit of entry level grunt work in corporate America. Won't bother you again." He walks back up the pathway and disappears into the house, slamming the door behind him.


After a few minutes of fruitless tinkering with the ignition, I’m frustrated enough to cry. I drag ass out of the car and circle to the front. I pull and pull, trying to pry the hood up. I can’t even figure out how to open the thing, so chances are good that I won’t have any idea what I’m doing once I finally get the hood to pop up.


I sigh, discouraged, weighing my options. I would order an Uber, but…Reyfield? Ha!


My chances of getting a taxi up here within the next twenty minutes are equally slim. Nancy’s car isn’t in her driveway, so begging her for a lift is out of the question. Daniel is probably already at work so I can’t call him, either.


I have only one option left. Walk — make that, run — all the way to Pomello Street in my heels, in the snow to catch an express bus to downtown Chicago.


I slog back to the driver’s side door to grab my purse out of the front seat. That’s when Keeland’s front door swings open again. He appears in the doorway wearing a thick, gray hoodie, dark jeans and black construction boots. “Come on. Let’s go,” he says to me as he clomps by me at high speed.


My eyes follow him down to the sidewalk. “Excuse me?”


“Come on, Sammie. Time is money.” He doesn’t bother to look at me. He just keeps walking.


“What are you doing?” I ask. I find myself following him gingerly in my too-high interview shoes.


“I’m taking you to your interview.” He keeps walking.


I scoff at him. “You must be crazy. Do I look like I’d just hop onto your motorcycle and zoom down to Chicago? That thing is a death-trap on two wheels, especially in weather like this.”


He doesn’t answer. Instead, he aims a remote starter at a shiny black pick-up truck parked across the street. I’ve never noticed the vehicle on Thornbush Lane before. “We’re taking my truck, Sammie.” He eyes me over his shoulder. “Is that good enough for you?”


Ugh – he’s such an asshole!


I weigh my options again.


Fuck it — these heels weren’t made for trudging in the snow.


I hang my head in shame and climb into the passenger’s seat of Keeland’s new truck.


Chapter 15



She steps off of the elevator, her burgundy tweed coat cinched tight at her waist and her slim-fitting gray skirt hugging her hips. Her hair is straight and shiny and neatly combed.


She looks so professional now. An auditor, for sure. But, I can’t help but think about the way she looked last night as the strap of her white dress had slowly slipped down her creamy skin and she’d pleasured herself till she exploded into bliss. Each time I close my eyes, I see the vulnerable look she’d worn on her face. I feel blood rushing to my cock as the image replays in my head.


She’s frowning now, disappointment tinting her eyes. Despite her facial expression, she’s still the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. When she spots me sitting on a squeaky, faux-leather couch in the lobby, her frown deepens, transforming quickly from disappointment to suspicion. "You waited?"


I smirk at her. "Of course I waited. How were you supposed to get home?"


She doesn't answer. She just sort of stands there, silently glowering at me. I don't let her get to me, though. I rise to my feet and walk ahead of her, holding the door open. "After you," I say gallantly. Instead of thanking me, she rolls her eyes as she moves past me, leaving a whiff of her sweet fragrance behind.


Damn - her walls are up so high when it comes to me and I can't even blame her. I'm the asshole who broke her tender teenaged heart. She doesn’t trust my intentions. She doesn’t want my friendship.


I pull my remote starter out of my pocket and allow the truck to start warming up as we make our way across the crowded parking lot. The snow is already melting, leaving a brown, slushy mess on the uneven pavement. She’s struggling in her heels and although I know that she’d probably try to bite my head off, I slide my hand across her lower back to help steady her steps. I feel her ribs expand under my fingers as her breath hitches. It may just be a fleeting moment, but to me, it’s a small victory. Like it or not, she reacts to my touch. I fight a smile away from my lips.


I move towards the passenger’s side and pull the door open for her. She gives me that same sharp, unflinching glare as she climbs into the seat. I close the door behind her and round the vehicle, jumping behind the wheel.


When I close my door, I turn in my seat to face her. “So, how’d the interview go?”


She appraises me with hesitant scrutiny. I think I’ve actually become accustomed to her stink eye by now. A small part of me probably even looks forward to it. But then something in her melts just a touch. She blows out a tense breath. “They wanted someone with more experience…I’m pretty much still fresh out of school, so…” She shrugs looking hopeless and defeated.


I pull out of the parking lot as she slumps back in her chair, staring off into the distance. She really doesn’t seem to be in the mood to talk, so I leave her be. We drive wordlessly until we’re halfway back home.


Then, she sighs into the silence. “I’m really fucked now. My car’s broken down, I’m blowing through my savings, I’m living in my parents’ house and I have no freakin’ job prospects.” She mutters a string of curse words under her breath. “I’m gonna have to ask Daniel for a loan…and he’ll hang that over my head till the day I die, broke and destitute in a cardboard box at Kennedy Square.”


I reach out and tug softly on the tips of her hair, the way I used to when we were younger and she was being uptight or worrying about something silly. “You’re not completely out of options, Sammie.”


She looks at me with a frown pleating her forehead. “Uh, yes I am. This is
. It’s not exactly the center of industry. There aren’t big auditing firms just lining up waiting to hire, especially someone with as little experience as I have.”


“I was serious when I offered you a job the other day. I may have used some poor delivery, but I really could use your help.”


She scoffs. “I don’t need your pity money, Keeland. I need a real job.”


“I’m offering you a real job.”


“What? You need someone to organize your hair gel receipts?” she quips. She smiles smugly to herself, clearly proud of her joke.


I shake my head, unable to resist a smile of my own. “My hair gel receipts are in order. Thank you very much.” I set my eyes back on the road as I switch lanes. “Look — when I was out in California, I opened a tattoo shop. Not just any tattoo shop.
tattoo shop in L.A. Celebrities, athletes, high rollers — they all came to me to get inked. But I’ve been…away from the business for a little while –” I deliberately omit the part about being locked up in jail for the past three years. “– and I’m trying to figure out whether I should put it up for sale. The accounting is all messed up. The books aren’t up to date —”


She cuts me off. “I’m not a bookkeeper.” She looks seriously offended.


We’re stopped at a red light. “I know you’re not a bookkeeper. You’re a big, fancy auditor. But as you said, your options are limited. You either work for me,” I stick out one hand, “or go hand in your application at Billy’s Burger Bar.” I stick out my other hand and make a weighing motion.


She groans, closing her eyes momentarily. Then her gaze moves to me and she scrutinizes me yet again, probably trying to gauge my seriousness. She sits there biting her lip as she considers my offer.


“C’mon, Sam. I’ll pay you four times more than what you were willing to accept from those chumps who interviewed you today.”


Her eyes go wide for a second. Then, she tilts her head and looks at me for a long while. “Okay,” she says despite the skepticism on her face. “Okay, I’ll work for you.”


Now, I’m grinning from ear-to-ear as the streetlight turns green.


She narrows her eyes at me. “But I have conditions, though,” she says sternly.


I feign offense. “I’m the boss. I’m the one who gets to have conditions.”


Her expression remains stoic. “I’m serious, Keeland.”


I sigh. “Okay, hit me. What are your conditions?”


She sits up straighter in her chair. “No more teasing. No more pulling my hair. I’m a professional and I’ll need you to take me seriously.”


I hold up my palms, surrendering to her. “Fine. No more teasing. You’re a professional and I’ll treat you with respect.”


She seems satisfied. She gives me a slight nod.


“So, can we shake on it?” I ask.


“We can shake on it.”


She stretches out her small hand and my fingers wrap around her soft skin. Fuck — I kind of don’t want to let her go. I kind of want to pull her even closer.


What’s that she said about treating her like a professional?


She eases out of my grip. “And one last thing…” Red creeps up her neck and I hear an uneasiness in her voice. “Please, let’s forget that last night ever happened.”


I swallow down the lump in my throat. “Of course,” I say.


But I’m lying. The memory of Sammie Trotten going over the edge is indelibly tattooed into my mind.

BOOK: Dirty Neighbor (The Dirty Suburbs)
12.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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