For Your Pleasure

For Your Pleasure

by

Elisa Adams

Hello Twelve Shades of Surrender reader,

Congratulations! You clearly have excellent taste, for you are holding in your hands one of Mills & Boon’s exclusive Twelve Shades of Surrender. Curious graduates of Fifty Shades wanted more, and we at Romance HQ rose to the challenge…

Daring and seductive, with similar themes to Fifty Shades, all twelve stories promise not only scorching hot reads, but emotionally powerful romances that will stay with you long after the happy ending!

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Happy reading!

The Mills & Boon Spice team

The heat was almost too much to take. Humidity robbed me of a decent breath and sweat coated my brow no matter how many times I swiped it away with the back of my hand. The misery would last for three more days, according to the radio news broadcast I caught this morning on my way to work. Three more days before we got a little relief.

Birds chirped in the trees overhead. Even their songs sounded weak. Uncomfortable. Summers in New England tended to be like this. Hot and sticky for days on end. Some people loved the heat. I hated it. Hated the way my hair and clothing seemed plastered to my body. Hated the restlessness that settled into my gut and wrapped its fingers around my throat.

Even now, I shifted in my lounge chair, wishing I’d put in a pool last summer like my sister had tried to talk me into doing. The air conditioner was on the fritz. The repairman couldn’t get here for two more days. I groaned. The only place to escape the heat would be the office.

A flash of movement drew my attention and a smile tickled the corners of my lips. The slight breeze wasn’t the only bonus to being outside. A light in my neighbor’s window reminded me of the real reason I’d come out here after dinner. He always got home from work at eight-thirty on weeknights. And changed with the lights on.

My neighbor had yet to put curtains in his bedroom windows.

I’d seen him for the first time two weeks ago, when he’d moved into the house across the yard from mine. The second-story windows were tall and narrow, spaced three in a row with only inches between them, affording me a very nice view. For days I’d been telling myself watching the guy was only wrong if I got caught, but it didn’t matter. Wrong or right, I couldn’t stop.

From the first moment, I’d been obsessed. I didn’t know his name, didn’t know anything about him, and yet all my fantasies in the past few weeks had revolved around him. Tonight was no exception. Already I could feel my pussy getting damp. Primed. I knew what would happen next. Most nights, he did more than change with the lights on.

My skin tingled with anticipation. I ran my hands up my sides, teasing my breasts until my nipples peaked, all while wishing it was his touch instead of mine. I just wanted him to fuck me. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently. A sigh born of frustration burst from my lips. Two solid weeks of watching, and he never even looked my way.

Sad, Callie. So very sad. At thirty-two, I’d been reduced to a voyeur, wanting what I could never have, logging way too many hours with my battery-operated boyfriend. I tucked a sweat-slicked lock of hair behind my ear. My sister, the psychiatrist, would have a field day with this one.

My neighbor was gorgeous, but not in a conventional way. Toned muscles. Tanned, tattooed skin. Long, dark hair and an ever-present five o’clock shadow. Ripped T-shirts and worn jeans, the kind of man every girl’s mother warned her to stay away from.

The kind of man I needed over me, inside me, making me scream his name.

I wrapped my hand around the glass of iced tea sitting on the table next to me, stroking up and down like it was his cock. The condensation cooled my hand and I wiped the liquid down my neck. It did little to slow the fire raging inside me, both from the weather and the man across the yard.

He stripped off his shirt and it dropped out of sight. Next, his jeans followed and he dropped to the bed in just his boxers. He ran his hand absently over the bulge there, the muscles in his abdomen flexing and bunching as he stroked his cock through the fabric. I mimicked the motion, sliding my hand over the wet bikini bottom between my legs. Two seconds in and I was already squirming, striving for release. It came quickly when I thought about him, about that big cock and what it would feel like inside me.

I waited, breath held, muscles tense, for him to take off the boxers, but tonight it didn’t happen. My neighbor got up and walked away. Somehow, his absence escalated my excitement. Was he somewhere in a darkened room, watching me out a window?

I moved aside my shorts and panties, exposing my pussy to the hot night air. I brushed my finger down my slit, wishing it was his finger instead. My skin was already slick with moisture, and the dampness increased as I stroked myself with my wet fingers. My breasts tingled, my nipples ached for his lips.

How many nights had I touched myself, thinking of him? Too many, but never like this. Never outside, in full view of anyone who happened to be looking.

In full view of my neighbor, if he chose to look.

But he hadn’t seen me yet, had he? Maybe he wouldn’t. To someone like him, I was invisible. I’d seen his women. Watched him fuck them in his bed while they clawed at his back and thrashed their heads from side to side. An endless parade of blondes, with the occasional redhead thrown in. My neighbor liked them tall and model thin. Two things I would never achieve. Not in this lifetime.

I wasn’t bitter about that, though. Five foot four was tall enough. I liked my curves. The men I dated liked my curves. If my neighbor didn’t, that was his loss.

A car door slamming somewhere in the neighborhood made me freeze, but only for a second. The trees throughout the yard would keep most neighbors from nosing around, and his was the closest house to mine. If he saw me, I didn’t care. Maybe I even wanted him to.

My lids sank closed, my mind already forming images of what he might be doing since he’d left the room. I continued to play my fingers across my flesh, slowly now, knowing I was getting too close to climax and not yet ready for it to be over.

The hair on my arms prickled. I opened my eyes and my breath caught in my throat. He’d moved back to the windows and was standing there with one palm pressed to the glass. The heat in his eyes made my pulse skitter. I swallowed hard. Oh, God. Not my imagination. He was watching me. My movements stilled. What was I supposed to do now? I started to pull my fingers away from my body, but he shook his head. One word mouthed from those full lips had me shaking in my chair.

More.

I swallowed hard. This couldn’t be happening, and yet, I couldn’t deny it. He didn’t want me to stop.

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