Midsummer Night’s Steam: One Night on a Balcony

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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  512 Forest Lake Drive

  Warner Robins, Georgia 31093

  One Night on a Balcony

  Copyright © 2007 by Samantha Lucas

  Cover by Anne Cain

  ISBN: 1-59998-586-1

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: July 2007

  One Night on a Balcony

  Samantha Lucas

  Dedication

  To Art and Terri, Karen and Wendy, Doug and Howard, Chariya and Nancy, Carlos and Pancho and to the summer of 1985. Thanks for the memories.

  Chapter One

  Naked. Sweaty. Sex.

  Jill had been spending far too much time thinking about it since Cole Adams moved in across the hall, but right now she felt like the worst kind of voyeur—not that she supposed there was a good kind—as she sat in her darkened kitchen, watching through the screened back door as a nude, muscled Cole rammed his hard cock into the body of a very beautiful redhead on their shared balcony. Jill decided to call her Ginger, because it seemed wrong not to have a name for someone you’d seen without their clothes on. As Ginger ratcheted up the moans, Jill felt herself growing wet, achy and incredibly needy. These conditions were becoming a regular feature in her life.

  “I wanna suck you, Cole.”

  Rough laughter was followed by a grunted, “By all means, sweetheart.”

  Jill’s eyes bulged as Cole leaned back against the banister, naked and hard and in all his very large glory. She could almost taste him. She surprised herself with how very much she wanted to. Pressing herself against the door, she was careful to keep her head in shadows. Not that she thought they had enough wits left between them to look around and see her, but in a situation like this, safe was definitely better than sorry. She blinked twice. Not that she’d ever been in a situation like this before, but come on, there was something to be said for common sense.

  Now on her knees, Ginger clutched Cole’s hips as her mouth slid over him. Cole moaned and gripped the rail with fervor. Even from her place hidden in the kitchen, Jill heard every slurp and moan as Ginger ate at him enthusiastically until Jill felt her toes curl. Every time Ginger slid her mouth off Cole, leaving his cock wet in the moonlight, Jill fought the urge to rise on tiptoes for a better look.

  “Sweetheart, I’m gonna come if you don’t stop.”

  Ginger moaned, pouted, then swallowed Cole once more.

  Cole responded, voice somewhat strained, “Fine, honey, but don’t blame me when this is over real quick.”

  “Mm-hm,” Ginger murmured around Cole’s shaft.

  Ginger licked Cole’s balls, grabbed his cock and gave it a squeeze before she stood back up. Jill felt as if she’d run ten blocks. Of course, the only reason she could think of for running ten blocks would be if she’d missed the ice-cream man and had a major craving for a fifty-fifty bar.

  As she sank lower on the chipped linoleum and deeper in shadow, she kept her attention riveted on Act Two being executed right in front of her. Cole slipped his fingers deep inside Ginger, whose breath seemed to stop. Then he slowly slid the length of her body and nuzzled her mound with his mouth.

  “Your goatee’s scratchin’ me, honey.”

  Cole stopped long enough to raise his gaze to hers. “That a problem for you, sweetheart?”

  Ginger panted, her fingers working her clit in desperation where Cole’s mouth had been. “Nu-uh.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  Jill didn’t think it would be a problem either, in fact she rather liked the idea of Cole’s goatee coated in her juices when he finished.

  Who are you? Jill asked herself. She honestly wondered why on earth she wasn’t feeling awfully ashamed of her little voyeuristic escapade. Of course, if the duo on the balcony didn’t want their sex life to be a public affaire, then maybe they should have thought for a half a second before putting on a public show. She shook her head. That was hardly the point.

  Ginger wrapped her leg around Cole’s neck. Jill had no idea sex required a background in gymnastics. Now she was wishing she’d stuck with it, despite the pommel horse incident. She found herself mildly worried for Ginger’s safety, as neither of them seemed to care that they were hanging off a balcony two stories above the ground. She also worried about the well-being of her geraniums that filled the window boxes she had attached to the balcony railing. She supposed so long as none of them fell, they’d be all right.

  “Ooooh, yeah, Cole. Right there, baby.”

  A second later, Ginger came. Jill knew this because she started chanting, “God, Cole, I’m coming,” repeatedly, as if Cole needed a play–by-play. Okay, so why did Ginger get to come and Cole didn’t? Somehow the division of labor didn’t seem exactly fair.

  “Fuck me, Cole.”

  Jill’s eyebrows rose. Ginger’s bossy.

  Unkind though it was, she took some pleasure in this. She folded her arms, then quickly became engrossed as Cole grabbed his thick hard cock, sheathed in latex. He stroked it before once again sliding it into his current girlfriend. Painfully slow, Jill moaned internally, but she guessed no one was asking her. She did, however, start wondering why she’d never rented a porn flick before. Probably because watching porn alone in the dark is pathetic. Still, suddenly the thought wasn’t nearly as revolting. In fact, it bordered on fascinating. What in God’s name has come over you?

  She would have thought maybe sex deprivation, but could someone be deprived from something they’d never actually tried before? She wasn’t sure—until this moment she hadn’t even been sure she’d ever want to try it. The child who’d seen way too much had first turned into the adult who had no interest and now seemed to be turning into a middle-aged hoyden. Right now, with the way her body was reacting to the visual stimuli, she was thinking of sex in a whole new light.

  Okay, so maybe thirty-three wasn’t quite middle-aged, but it was incredibly old to still be a virgin. Unless of course you were thinking of becoming a nun. Which she wasn’t.

  Man, the guy’s got a great ass.

  She sucked in her top lip with a little too much enthusiasm and started choking on saliva she swallowed the wrong way in the process. Sinking all the way to the floor, she prayed to God they wouldn’t hear her. It was early June and she often left the back door open at night to welcome the cool night air. Since it was around three in the morning—outside of an occasional cricket, grunts, groaning and sound of flesh slapping against flesh coming from her balcony—it was dead silent out there, making her choking all the more evident.

  She waited, hunched in silence after the choking fit passed. Incredibly, the love duo didn’t even seem to miss a beat. Ginger groaned, leaning back over the balcony rail and Jill’s geraniums as Cole sucked her erect nipple into his mouth. Jill unconsciously pressed hers between thumb and forefinger and moaned without forethought. Slapping a hand over her mouth, she realized the two outside were way too wrapped up in one another to notice her and she released
a sigh of relief. Heart palpitations are the least you deserve for being a snoopy little insomniac in the first place.

  Of course, in her defense, she had been heading to the balcony she shared with Cole—who, by the way, she never even knew used it—to enjoy the spring night and the heady scent of night-blooming jasmine when she’d come across her own personal human sexuality exhibition. Although any decent person would have turned around and gone back to bed, Jill had been instantly captivated.

  “Oh God, Cole. Fuck me harder.”

  Cole growled in response, slid his hands under Ginger’s bare ass and pulled her harder against him. Jill slid her hand inside her plain cotton panties, white with a pink bow—Yeah, yeah, like an eight-year-old. Let’s not go there—and shivered at how wet she was. Knowing it was wrong on so many levels, she still positioned herself in shadow along the kitchen wall where she could get a good view, but for the most part stay out of sight. She dipped her finger inside, spreading her juices over her labia, holding her breath, not making a sound, wondering how in the hell she could have forgotten how good this felt.

  One palm flat against the white semi-gloss, the other circled, dipped and massaged until she was panting. Watching Cole’s cock made her even wetter. She imagined what it might feel like if he was sliding in and out of her. This wasn’t the first fantasy she’d had about her hunky neighbor since he’d moved in three months ago. Every time the man came home on his Harley Fatboy she wondered what it would feel like to have him ride her, to have those muscled thighs entwined with hers. Wondered how hot his mouth was, what it would feel like to have his tongue lave her nipples. God.

  She was having positively wicked thoughts about the man. Not only had she never had these kind of thoughts about another man, she’d never had thoughts like these at all. Not once while standing at the checkout line had an article entitled “Best Sex Ever!” attracted her attention. Not once while she enjoyed a corn dog on the pier had the surfers in their wet gear—or out of it—ever appealed to her. Not once had she ever had an erotic dream. Romance novels made no sense to her, romantic movies went completely over her head—primarily because she could never suspend her personal beliefs long enough to buy into the romantic garbage the writers and directors were shoveling.

  Not once. Not ever. Not until Cole Adams moved in next door. In fact, Jill had grown so content with her brokenness, she hadn’t been overly worried about her lack of sexual interest in anything—until Cole.

  She still didn’t worry about lack of interest, though now she worried about being a perv.

  “Oh God!” For a second Jill wasn’t certain if that had been her or Ginger.

  The moonlight spilled over Cole’s shoulders spotlighting the tattoo of a leopard spanning his shoulder and upper back. She liked to watch that leopard dance and play across Cole’s muscles while he worked on his bike in the street below her bedroom window, his skin beaded with sweat.

  And oooh baby, the man has muscles on muscles.

  Thankfully, however, he didn’t look like the body builders she’d grown up around down on Venice beach, grotesquely disfigured as they all fought for the biggest pecs. Gross.

  It seemed to her that Cole had come by all that muscle naturally. She longed to touch it, touch him, but in the three months they lived side by side she had never found the courage to even speak to the man and she didn’t think it would make a very good first impression for her to say, “Hi. I’m Jill, your neighbor. Can I play with your leopard?”

  Of course, getting caught watching him fuck probably wouldn’t make a very good first impression, either. Somehow, though, over the past three months, she’d managed to build quite a fantasy world around Cole Adams—not that he had ever once encouraged her. He smiled politely at her when they passed one another on the stairs, but that was about it. He’d laugh himself silly if he knew she dreamt about him. If he knew she was watching him now, he’d probably be furious.

  “Cole, you fuck like we’re gonna die or something. It’s never been like this before.”

  Cole, you fuck like we’re gonna die or something. Jill mocked the words silently, but quickly forgot the sharp burst of jealousy as Cole moved Ginger, smashing her ass against Jill’s metal screen security door. Ginger’s white flesh pressed against all those little metal holes while the door damn near rattled off its hinges. Jill was so close to coming, herself, that she couldn’t even laugh at the thought of Ginger walking around with little round indents on her ass.

  She couldn’t see Cole’s cock anymore, or his ass, just a slice of muscular thigh and a hip, but the breeze picked up his aftershave. Momentarily overpowering the scent of pure, unbridled sex, a burst of spruce and musk wafted across her senses while she breathed it in with shuddering gulps. Biting her lip and holding in her groans, she dipped her finger back inside, as Cole bit down into Ginger’s shoulder. Ginger yelped, then moaned. For a flash, Jill thought Cole was looking right at her, his eyes so dark they almost glowed, but then his lids closed and he rammed harder against her door. Within seconds of that, Ginger screamed. Jill made one last pass at her clit and came as Cole growled out his own completion.

  Dropping her head back carelessly, she rubbed a tender spot when it hit the wall. Outside, Ginger continued to whimper and Cole gathered her up into his arms, ravaging her mouth one last time as if he’d die without her taste on his lips. Jill’s heart squeezed tight. When she was a kid she’d wondered if a man could kiss like that, as if his entire world was encompassed in the mouth and body of the woman he kissed and nothing existed beyond the moment. She shuddered, remembering all the lousy kisses she’d fended off over the years. Drunk boyfriends of her sisters’, mostly. She was eight the first time a guy tried to grab her and nine when she decided she’d never let a guy touch her anywhere. Ever.

  She pulled her hand out of her panties. Lowering her big purple tee and reeling from a barrage of emotions, she decided to stay on the floor for a while. Recovering from a fairly intense orgasm while assimilating the fact that she’d spied on two people fucking on her balcony—sounds, sights, smells and all—she discovered maybe the touch of a man didn’t always have to feel slimy. Maybe, if it was the right man, she’d even enjoy it.

  Cole had different women in and out of his place all the time. She couldn’t imagine him ever fantasizing about a woman. If he wanted one, he probably said, “Hey, baby, wanna fuck?” and she’d be all, “Oooh” and “Aaah” and “Me?” Then voila, balcony porn. More than worlds apart from where she lived. That was galaxies apart.

  Slowly regaining her senses, she considered still sitting outside for a while, after they cleared out. She wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway; she knew that from experience. She was certain her geraniums would need some type of TLC after all that, and she did have a primo lounge out there. Big enough for two, even though there’s only one of me.

  She sighed. Sitting in the dark, recovering from a self-inflicted O, trying to come to grips with the fact that it was probably the only kind she’d ever have, she watched the shadow of moonlight flicker on the floor as the breeze moved the kitchen curtains, waiting for the nocturnal bangers to head back inside. She melted with relief when she finally heard a breathy, “Come to bed, Cole,” only to have the knot reform in her chest when Ginger added on a purr, “Let’s do it again.” Cole kissed her. Jill sulked.

  Once they were gone, she’d apologize to her geraniums and watch the stars for a while. What else was she going to do, go inside and masturbate again? The idea intrigued her but she shoved it aside. She was very good at shoving thoughts aside. In many ways, it was her forté.

  Her gaze was focused on the hem of her tee, fingers playing along the edge, when a sound pulled her attention up to the back door. She realized belatedly it had been the sound of knuckles rapping twice on the doorframe. When she looked up she met Cole’s dark eyes head on.

  “Next time join us, brown eyes.” His smile incinerated her. In the space of a second, he was gone. She heard his back door click
shut.

  “Oh, someone please fucking shoot me.” Jill’s head met the linoleum with a thud, her only hope, painless death before dawn.

  Chapter Two

  As predicted, Jill did not sleep one minute of the entire night. However, how much of that she could blame on her usual insomnia and how much was Cole Adams-induced she couldn’t tell. Looking in the mirror, she added some extra blusher to her pale cheeks and extra concealer to the dark circles beneath her bloodshot eyes. Fixing the white apron over her navy skirt, she moved towards the back door with only one comforting thought—Cole Adams was as much of a night owl as she, so there was no way in hell he’d be up yet.

  Even so, she didn’t want to take any chances this morning, so she’d feed her birds later, water the plants at some point before they died and in general stay inside her own apartment until the memory of what she’d done faded. Ten or twenty years ought to do it.

  After locking the security screen, she got down about three steps when she heard the deep, gravelly voice coming from behind her, seemingly out of thin air. As the earth started spinning too fast, she did the only intelligent thing—she gripped the banister for dear life.

  “So, was it good for you, brown eyes?”

  Jill figured she had a few choices here. She’d tried cowardice last night and gotten caught in the act. There was no need to be rude—she deserved that obnoxious little comment and then some. So, drawing a deep breath, she turned to face Cole like the adult she enjoyed pretending to be, only to find him stretched out on her lounger, facing away from the apartment, which was what had kept him hidden from view.

  “That’s mine.”

  She sounded like a pouty four-year-old, and the fact that Cole only smiled at her somehow made it worse. “Sorry, hon. I thought that after last night we’d moved to the furniture-sharing portion of this relationship.”