It was that time of day again, the part of the day Kindall looked forward to most: sunbathing in her bikini. Kindall lay stretched out on a lounger in her backyard; oversized sunglasses shading her eyes, and her earbuds played her favorite Aerosmith songs.
She had just moved in weeks ago. The boxes were mostly unpacked, the bird feeders were full, and her newly-planted butterfly garden had started to stir with flitting bursts of color.
It was the first afternoon she let herself fully relax. No errands, no furniture deliveries, no to-do lists. Just sun, silence, and the breeze kissing her softly.
And yet... something tugged at her awareness. She opened one eye. A shadow flickered near the fence, gone before her gaze could catch it.
She sat up slightly, trying to see through the small gap in the slats that divided her yard from the next. She adjusted her sunglasses and laid back again. Maybe Rick is working out in the backyard? Or maybe he was taking a peek at her butterfly garden, not realizing she was outside? It was definitely something to see and pretty amazing how fast the pollinators had flocked to it.
For a moment, she almost forgot about the shadow, her eyes drawn to the painted wings that kissed the colorful zinnia, bee balm, and bergamot.
Still… it lingered. That sensation. A heat that had nothing to do with the sun. A few minutes passed. Then she heard the faint squeak of a windowpane. She turned her head just enough to look. There. Top floor, corner window. A silhouette. Still. Intent.
Her stomach fluttered—not in fear, but something more electric. She sat up fully now, letting the sun slide down her chest and across her stomach. She arched her back, stretching slowly. Deliberately.
If he was watching—and he definitely was—then let him, she thought. She smiled to herself and adjusted her bikini strap. She wasn’t in a rush to go inside... not just yet.
She reached for her water bottle and took a long, slow sip, thinking about that day he fixed her car, how he had come to her rescue. Rick, the man with the red vintage Mustang and the quiet nods. The one who mowed his lawn like it was a military operation. The one who watched her now, wearing her hot pink bikini that hugged every curve like body paint.
She could see the lines of his face. His mouth. He probably thought she wouldn't notice, that the sunlight was protecting him, that the glare off the glass would make him invisible. Maybe it did from certain angles. But not to her. Not from here.
Rick wasn't usually the kind of guy who sat at the window. He liked to stay moving, and on schedule. He was retired military but still ran his life with structure. Mornings started at six. Coffee pot set to start brewing while he slipped on his robe and slippers. Then chores, errands, the gym. He had plenty of hobbies: pickleball, golf, playing cards with his fraternity brothers. And always in front of the TV in time for The Five. His life was all routine. Predictable.
Until she moved in.
He’d noticed the moving truck first. Then the legs. Toned, smooth, effortless. A woman in cut-offs and a white tank top unloading boxes, seemingly oblivious to how many eyes were watching her.
She didn’t even belong to the rhythm of this neighborhood. Too vivid. Too alive. Like color dropped into black-and-white.
At first, he told himself he was just observing. She was new. A little mysterious. And he was curious. He was doing what any normal person would do—getting a feel for the new neighbor.
But then came the afternoons. He quickly discovered that Kindall liked sunbathing... just as much as he liked watching her.
Today, he found himself standing by the window again. Motionless. Waiting for her next move. He wasn’t proud of it. But he wasn’t stopping himself either. Sunlight flashed against the gold metal rings at each of her hips, their warm gleam tracing the outline of her bikini and guiding his eyes, again and again, over her body.
He followed the subtle tilt of her head from side to side. The way she pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose. Although they hid her eyes, he felt their awareness in her movements. Like she knew.
He stepped back for a moment, telling himself he should go downstairs, do something else. Anything else. But the urge pulled him back, like a tether.
She sat up now, letting her hair fall over one shoulder.
I wonder if she knows that I watch her from this window? The thought sent a slow pulse through him—half embarrassment, half thrill.
He watched her sip from her water bottle, slow and languid, the droplets falling between her breasts.
Her body was sun-soaked and begging to be touched, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a man in control. He felt like a man possessed.
. . . . . .
Ten minutes later, he still hadn’t moved. The sun had shifted, casting shadows across the fence line, but his body stayed frozen by the upstairs window. His hand rested on the sill, the paint warm beneath his fingertips.
Down below, Kindall turned onto her stomach, revealing her curvaceous booty that peaked out from her bikini. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving her.
And then, suddenly, an iridescent blue butterfly landed right on her left cheek. The way it lingered there, wings opening and closing in lazy rhythm, made something primal tighten in his chest. He leaned in even closer to the window. The butterfly flitted away after a moment, leaving the space it had claimed suddenly empty.
Kindall didn't seem to notice, lost in the sun. Then she shifted again, this time rolling onto her back. She was watching the window now and adjusting her sunglasses, letting them slide just slightly down the bridge of her nose. Enough to keep her eyes shaded but not obscured.
She leaned sideways to pick up a small plate of ripe watermelon from the table beside her. Between her fingers she held a slice up to her mouth, the juice trickling down her chin. As she licked it away, his grip on the window frame tightened.
And then, without warning, in one slow and sensual motion, she reached both hands behind her neck, freeing her breasts from the bikini top.
His lips parted. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until it escaped in a low rush. Now, there was nothing hiding her beautiful breasts. He could see them in full view: their color, their fullness, their suppleness. They were perfect. And her nipples... absolutely tantalizing.
He waited—his mind wild with imagination—for what she would do next.
She reached for the dark amber bottle. Starting with her shoulders and stomach, she rubbed the oil in slowly, sensually, making her skin shimmer even more now in the sunlight. Her hands made long, circular motions—down her arms, across her collarbone… all over her beautiful supple breasts.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He clenched his jaw, trying to stay still, but his body betrayed him. His breathing grew louder, heavier. His throat felt dry. He tried to swallow, but it seemed his throat had forgotten how to.
Trapped inside with nowhere to go, the pressure inside him, hungry and testosterone-fueled, grew harder to hold in with every second.
He shut his eyes for a moment. Tried to center himself. But when he opened them, he couldn't believe what he saw: Her fingertips were circling her nipples. Slowly. Very slowly.
Was she teasing him on purpose? Did she just enjoy playing with them? Or was massaging her nipples with oil a secret ritual? He wasn't for sure. But she looked like she was enjoying herself, either way.
And she was. Her lip-reading skills made it extra amusing. Something she picked up from watching TV dramas with the sound off, now it offered her something else entirely: access into his mind.
His lips moved. Not much. Just enough. And oh… the things he was saying. She felt her pulse skip as she interpreted his provocative whispers. His words weren’t shy. They certainly weren't polite. They were the words of a man who wanted do more than just look. Words that would make most people blush. Most, but not Kindall.
What is he doing with that other hand—the one not on the sill, she wondered. But she had a pretty good idea. And that idea made her nipples even harder. Because she realized, the game they were playing now wasn't one-sided. He thought he was hidden, that she couldn't see up there, that he could indulge in his new favorite hobby, but now it wasn't a secret. And now she was watching him. Watching his face change—how his jaw clenched, how his breath hitched, how his eyelids fluttered like he was trying to stay anchored in his own skin, every time she moved. Every time she revealed more. Every time she touched herself.
And that gave Kindall an idea. She sprayed more oil into her palm and began to rub it in more vigorously, this time squeezing her breasts together and massaging her nipples at the same time. Massaging them in a way that made his shaft throb with such intensity, he had no choice but to free it.
She watched his face the whole time. Because she could see what was going on inside his body. That sharp intake of breath. The way his shoulders drew up, the silent stammer of his lips as every muscle in his body seized, his expression twisting between agony and ecstasy.
He wanted nothing more than to touch them. To feel them for himself. But right now, all he could do is watch... and give in to their power.
Her fingertips moved in wide, slow circles, gliding over her breasts. She squeezed them together, pulling them close to her body; but this time, they escaped the grip of her hands, showcasing their energetic bounciness... a quality he found so irresistible, control was no longer possible.
All the desire that had built up suddenly surged up through his body in one violent, electric jolt.
Kindall bit into another slice of watermelon, the sweet juice sliding down the corner of her mouth. She smiled to herself, licking it from her lips.
He stayed there for a few seconds longer, then stepped back from the window, breathless, vanishing from view like a man pulling a curtain on his own confession. It was much-needed relief from the pressure that had built up over the last few weeks. But still, he wanted more.