"From the editors of Caught Looking, hot and playful stories of watching and showing off. Whether confidently performing for an eager audience or secretly spying on unsuspecting neighbors, these voyeurs and exhibitionists live out their naughtiest fantasies.In this sizzling new collection, an office worker flashes a window washer who’s stunned by his good fortune, while a boyfriend demands to know what his girlfriend gets up to when it’s just her and her vibrator. We get a front-row seat to the steamiest live action around as sexy men and women strip, tease, and make us beg for more."
This book includes a story of mine, "Counting the Days," and I'm thrilled to be sharing space with my local buddy Portia Da Costa, who has a red hot story called "Glint" in the collection. Portia and I both live in Yorkshire and we meet up for lunch and a good natter every couple of months. It's always great fun to share pages with her.
I haven't seen the book yet, but it looks to be a great line up. "Counting the days," my contribution, is a naughty story about a rebellious office temp who gets to liven up her day with an unexpected male caller. Here's an excerpt:
Looking at the clock, I stood up. It was nearly midday, time for my third caffeine shot of the day. I was about to step out from behind my desk when darkness descended and I froze. A shadow had fallen across me from behind, from the window situated behind my desk. The shadow moved across the surface of the desk. My heart beat faster as I tried to make sense of it. Nothing had broken the light falling in the window all week. What could it be?
I turned and took in the sight that met my eyes. Standing in a suspended safety cradle was a window cleaner, moving a large squeegee over the surface of the glass with a rhythmic agility, all the while watching me and grinning cheekily. He winked, obviously well aware he’d given me a fright. I managed to return his smile and waved at him, snatching up my cup from the desk to cover my awkwardness.
Something interesting had finally happened! And, yes, he was interesting. Ruggedly good looking, with several days’ worth of stubble, tall, well-built and bleached blonde. He went about his work in a showy, nonchalant way that made it look a warm up for dirty dancing. He moved his entire body, as if dancing to the music he was listening to via his headset, and rode his massive squeegee easily over the surface of the glass, his biceps flexing, his torso riding firm and strong beneath the t-shirt he was wearing. Sexy. My blood pumped quicker when I noticed he was eyeing me speculatively, from head to toe. I leaned one hip up against the desk, toying with the mug in my hands, eyeing up the sight. Well, why not? He was doing the same.
When he’d finished his task he dropped the squeegee, reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It was a piece of paper and he scribbled on it with a stub of pencil, then held it up against the glass for me to read. I stepped closer and read the scrawled message.
GREAT LEGS. NEXT TIME WEAR A SHORTER SKIRT.
I smiled, I couldn’t help it. He grinned, saluted and hit a control panel, hanging easily on the ropes as the safety cradle disappeared from view.
Well, that had woken me up. Wear a shorter skirt? What a card! Sure, I was up for some fun and games, especially with a hunk like him, but when was the ‘next time’ that he was referring to? There was only one way to find out.
“I just had the most amazing shock,” I said to Audrey, as I poured filter coffee into my mug. “Some guy was hanging on the outside of the building cleaning the windows.”
Audrey gave me a superior smile. “Not what you expect to see this high up, is it?”
“Not exactly. How often do they come around? I’d like to be prepared next time…”
“Oh, usually every six weeks.”
My heart sank. I’d be finished my contract and gone by the next time he appeared.
“Until they started the building work opposite,” she added. “It’s every Friday on that side of the building now, so you’ll have to be prepared for another visit next week.”
“Oh, I will be.” I sidled off, trying to contain my smile.
That second week went much quicker. In fact, counting the days off toward Friday took on a whole new meaning. I was looking forward to my visitor, instead of wishing the days away until the end of my contract. I didn’t even think of bringing the binoculars in; I had something far more interesting to focus on, the arrival of the dishy window cleaner. What would happen if I did as he suggested and wore a shorter skirt? Where would it go then? I raced through my stacks of audio typing whilst at the back of my mind I tried to decide what to wear.
Audrey commented on the fact that my typing had speeded up. She had so little to do; she had to eavesdrop on me to fill her timetable. If it wasn’t for the prospect of the window guy, I would have told her to stick her job. She didn’t approve of me, that much was obvious from the start. I’d heard her on the phone to the temp agency, asking if they had “anyone more suitable, someone the right caliber to work in a legal office.” Too bad for her they didn’t have anyone else, right? And she did so not approve when I arrived for work on that second Friday, wearing the leather mini skirt I usually saved for clubbing, knee length boots and a skin-tight lizard print shirt that dipped low into my cleavage. I waved when I passed her desk where she sat open-mouthed, glaring at my outfit.
The morning went far too slowly and I was up and pacing around between the desk and the window when the shadow of the cradle finally began to descend. And this time I was even more mesmerized, because as the window cleaner lowered into my field of vision I realized he was stripped to the waist. Boy, what a sight for sore eyes that was. He was built all right, all that physical graft had given him a great body and the day was warm enough for him to sun himself while he worked. He grinned, eyeing me appreciatively as he washed the window. I reached for a piece of paper and wrote him a message.
GREAT ABS! DO YOU APPROVE OF THE SKIRT LENGTH?
When he broke into a laugh, I’d have paid highly to hear the sound of it. He nodded, his mouth forming a whistle while he eyed the gap between my boots and the skirt. With his eyes on me like that, I was suddenly aware of every inch of my body. My breasts felt tight. My sex was heavy, responsive to every signal he was giving me, to every nuance in his body language. I turned on my heel and gave him a better look, hands on hips. He reached into his pocket and scribbled on his notepad, slamming the paper against the glass.
OH YEAH, THAT’S MUCH BETTER. BUT I STILL CAN’T SEE WHAT COLOUR YOUR UNDERWEAR IS…
Yes, I laughed. What a lad. And something about the set up, with him on the other side of the glass like that, made me feel even more daring than I might have been under normal circumstances, and I was no shrinking violet either way.
His squeegee was hanging idly in one hand, the other leaned up against the taut ropes of the safety cradle as he watched, riveted while I slid one finger down into the front of my shirt, idly toying with the top button in my cleavage. He licked his lips. My sex clenched; my panties were already damp with expectation. Seeing him through the barrier of the impermeable glass had created a void of discovery, a safe zone to test each other out. I popped my top button, thrilled by the affect I was having on him. He mouthed something encouraging. I let another button pop open. He nodded, one hand gesturing for me to continue. I felt like I was part of an act in a live sex show. The thought spurred me on. I stepped closer to the glass. We were possibly twelve inches apart, but he was so untouchable. I undid the final two buttons, my hands pushing the fabric back to reveal my sheer lace bra.
He shook his head; his eyes glazed, and ran one finger down the length of the glass in front of my breasts, smearing the damp glass with his touch. He continued to stare while he grappled in his pocket for his paper and pencil and wrote me another note:
YOU’VE MADE MY DAY! WILL I GET TO SEE MORE OF YOU NEXT WEEK?
He scrunched the paper in his hand after I read it, and his eyes were molten with arousal. I nodded, and blew him a kiss, winking. As he reached for the controls on his cradle, his other hand ran over the impressive bulge in his jeans, and he flickered his eyebrows at me. Then he was gone. Only the smear on the glass remained to remind me of what had passed between us, a sticky remark on the intervening glass. I touched the inside of the glass, placing my own mark against his. Man, was he ever sexy. And he was making me so hot. I stalked over to the air conditioning panel and turned it up to full whack, my mind racing with ideas of how to up the ante the following week.
By the time that third Friday came around, I’d been thinking on it long and hard, to the extent that I’d even dreamt about the guy twice. Both times it was the live sex show imagery, and the idea of it fascinated me. In the first dream, I was dancing for him, slow and sexy. He was riveted, sitting back in a low chair, his erection straining through his jeans. In the second dream, I stripped naked and then watched as he tried to lick my body through the glass. When I woke, I was twisted in my sheets, my fingers crushed between my legs as I wanked myself off.
My excitement levels built over the week and my imagination was running riot. To top it all, Audrey had pissed me off big time, which left me feeling even more rebellious. I was ready to pull pints in my local pub rather than listen to her miserable condescension a moment longer. That sense of rebellion and the fact the guy had filled my thoughts all week long meant that I was edgy with rebellion and high on my own physical arousal. Thank God it’s Friday, I murmured to myself, yet again. But this time I smiled at the idea.
The window cleaner looked at my floating summer dress with a surprised expression when he winched down into view. I waved and then turned my chair to face the window, to face him. I sat down in it, staring straight at him, smiling. He wrote his message:
HEY, YOU’RE BREAKING MY HEART HERE, THAT SKIRT IS WAY TOO LONG.
He mimed an aching heart, his expression teasing me all the while. I shook my head at him, swinging my chair from side to side, then I kicked back in the chair, one strappy, sandaled foot jamming up against the window frame, the dress sliding down my thighs and pooling in my groin.
Oh yeah, he loved that.
I pivoted on one heel, my chair moving from side to side. I knew he was watching the flash of scarlet g-string I was wearing and it fuelled my fire. Between my thighs, a nagging pulse begged for attention. I let my hand tease along the hemline of the dress. He lifted his head, his eyes on my fingers. I picked up the piece of paper I’d left handy and scribbled on it:
IT MIGHT BE LONG BUT IT’S VERY ACCOMMODATING, DON’T YOU AGREE?
He nodded, vigorously. He scribbled again.
I’D LIKE TO PUT MY HANDS UNDER IT AND TOUCH YOU.
It was just the kind of response that I’d hoped for. He was really up for this. I ran my hand over the surface of my g-string, one finger sliding beneath the fabric. He nodded his head, scribbling again.
YOU ARE SO BAD!
“You better believe it,” I whispered….
:-) Available now from bookshops and online at Amazon, and Amazon UK.