Free The Dom Next Door by Ariel Storm

The Dom Next Door
    Ariel Storm
     
    Violet Hendrix is a writer stuck in a rut. Behind deadline on a manuscript and struggling with writer’s block, she tries people-watching as a way to jump-start her creativity. With her writing career on the line, and an inability to put words on the page, Violet becomes an obsessive voyeur. There’s no one she’s more interested in watching than Jack Riley, the commanding Dom who lives in the building next to hers.
    As she admires him from afar, she begins to fantasize about being his submissive. When a chance encounter leads to an evening together, she has the opportunity to turn her submissive fantasy into reality. Can she submit to the Dom next door and surrender to pleasure?
     
     
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    All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
     
    Copyright 2015 Ariel Storm
     
     
     
     
    Chapter One
     
     
    I bent at the knees and dipped low, squeezing my ass muscles on the way up, exactly the way the chirpy fitness expert instructed me to. Behind me, I heard her call out several overused words of encouragement and promise I’d only have to do four more reps. I couldn’t be bothered to look at the blond with the perfect body mass and silicone breasts on my TV.
    I performed my workout routine the way I did everything else these days, while staring out the window. Weeks had passed and I’d gone from hoping for inspiration to becoming a full-fledged snoop. I couldn’t stop watching people in my apartment complex. My knees shook from exertion and the perky voice from the TV encouraged me to feel the burn and demanded I perform two more reps.
    “Screw you.”
    I grabbed the remote off my oak coffee table and muted the sound. If I wanted to do more squats or a couple of yoga poses or anything else, I’d do it without the insistence of her energetic voice. Silence really was golden, after all.
    Maybe the quiet would finally help break me from this horrible spell of writer’s block. I’d been trapped in the clutches of unproductivity for nearly four months. For whatever reason, the words had decided to stop flowing and nothing I did made it any easier to sit down at my laptop and peck away. I had to do something soon, I’d already put off my editor two times with lame excuses.
    People-watching used to be the perfect way to spark my creative flow. Whenever I was unsure how one of my characters might react or the way their bodies would move in various situations, I’d simply go somewhere to watch. My regular haunts included the mall, the park, the airport and a nightclub. However, I’d found that the best people-watching was always done right out the big picture window in my apartment.
    I had one of the finest views in the complex. My unit faced the pool, the clubhouse, laundry room and I could see directly into a few apartments. For instance, I knew that the couple living in the downstairs unit in the building across from me fought nearly every night. They threatened each other with divorce no less than three times a week.
    The man who lived above them was definitely single, if the parade of women in and out of his apartment were any indication. He’d moved in a few months back and I’d already pieced together his story. It wasn’t difficult, he was home often and he left his blinds open.
    He received a lot of deliveries, and thanks to the temperate southern California weather, my windows stayed open the majority of the year. The delivery men always addressed him as Mr.