Free In the Bedroom with the Rope: Tied in Knots by Jenna McCormick

 
     
    Chapter One
     
    T hree days ago, Samantha had never seen a man masturbate. Though technically, she’d watched Alan, her ex-boyfriend, stroke himself right before they had sex, or the men in his porn videos show off their tools for the camera. But she’d never witnessed the kind of erotic show that had captured her attention.
    The early morning desert air evaporated the sweat from her skin as she stood there, a jogger turned Peeping Tom. Her new neighbor hadn’t bothered to close his blinds again, almost as though he wanted her to witness his self-pleasuring. His bedroom appeared empty, save for the king-sized bed that supported his large body in a sensual dance. The common term was jerk-off, but it was too crude a phrase to apply to the way he thumbed the slit of his cock, eased the escaped fluid down over the head and gripped the fleshy rod as thick as her wrist.
    From her vantage point on the nature trail that wound through their development, Sam couldn’t see his face, just the hard planes and angles of his torso. The cream colored sheet had been tossed aside, just like yesterday, and the day before. No clothes in sight, not even a pair of boxer shorts. Did he sleep naked? The thought made her shiver. His feet were poised flat on the mattress, knees bent up. His cock reached to his naval, seeming to preen under his easy strokes.
    After two days of observing she knew his rhythm, and subconsciously her hips rocked as that tanned hand wrapped around his girth and gripped the flesh in one pull down. Her long dormant sex creamed to life, her nipples pebbled from more than just the chilly air as his hips rose up, shoving his dick through the tight grip of those masculine fingers, then lowering on his upstroke. More fluid beaded and he captured it with his thumb, massaging it into the purple crown. She licked her lips, craving a taste.
    His grip tightened and one had disappeared between his legs. Images assailed her. Was he cupping his balls? Or maybe teasing his perineum. Hell, for all she knew he was fingering his own ass. Whatever he did, it excited him into picking up his pace. Her clit throbbed and she was tempted to rub the small bit of flesh, right there in the open.
    She should go. Or at least look around and see if anyone saw her standing there, staring into the man’s bedroom like a fricking pervert. But her eyes were glued to the sexual display, just like they had been yesterday and the day before that. This was so wrong, she didn’t even know his name, wouldn’t recognize him if she passed by him fully clothed on the street. That hadn’t stopped her from obsessing about him though, a welcome distraction from the worries of her own life. 
    As the sun gained altitude, the mystery man worked his body, faster, harder. She craved more information. What kind of expression was on his face? What did he think about? Did he have a lover whose image he fixed in his mind while pleasuring his greedy body?
    That thought stopped her short. What would she do if she were his lover and rolled over that morning to find him in the throes of ecstasy? She’d love to swirl her tongue over the leaking crown, trace the pulsing vein before sucking that thick shaft between her lips. Would he cry out in pleasure? Grip her hair in his hands to hold her steady while he fucked her mouth? Or maybe he’d turn her around until she straddled his face, so he could tongue her saturated sex to orgasm.
    Sam’s channel seized up tight, achingly empty, just as milky jets spurted across his chest and belly. Her mouth fell open as his body arched up in sweet culmination.
    She’d never been more turned on in her life. As she stood there, watching his big body relax, her own tension coiled tighter. His hand came up, reaching for something out of her view and she scurried off before he sat up and caught her in the act. A niggling sense of guilt hissed that she should tell him she could see him. It was rude to invade his privacy this way. What