Page 52 of Peaches & Pistols

My legs are heavy, climbing the stairs to the apartment. How did my grandfather do it all those years? It’s not like the structure can support an elevator.

Music plays loudly behind the front door, and I open it cautiously, enter slowly, and softly close it behind me.

The scene before me is like seeing a sunrise for the first time.

80s music is blaring from a streaming app on the TV.

Mia’s performing like it’s a concert for a sold-out stadium of screaming fans. Her thick curls are piled on top of her head, pieces falling from her enthusiastic dancing. She’s singing into a wooden spoon, covered in brown batter.

I’m stricken, having never seen her so carefree, and that she’s become so comfortable living here she can let loose.

But none of that is what I’m captivated by.

Mia’s shaking her tight little ass wearing only black cotton bikini briefs and a white ribbed tank top.

Is this what she does every day when the girls are at school before I come home for lunch? Does she write her notes to me in her panties?

The song changes to “You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC and Mia transforms.

The spoon lands in the bowl full of batter and she starts her performance.

Her right heel keeps time, shaking her ass in those sinful panties, that by all measures are modest, but right now, look like the sexiest lingerie.

Those fucking hips make figure-eights, her hands tangling in her falling updo. I can’t take my eyes off her ass, desperately wishing I was pressed against her, my hips cradling the soft flesh, my hardening dick nestled between her ass cheeks.

She hooks a finger in the hair tie and pulls it out, sending messy golden waves cascading down her back.

She sings along to a particularly suggestive line with a wicked little grin, completely unaware of what she’s doing to me.

I grip my cock through my jeans, granting the faintest hint of relief. Relief that would come so easily if I were to slip inside her.

God fucking damnit. I’m a dirty old man. What kind of sick fuck gets off on a gorgeous, kind, intelligent, sweet woman dancing half naked in their kitchen…

She resumes stirring the batter as the iconic chorus fills the charged air.

I’m feeling more and more like a pervert the longer I stand here with a boner, with Mia oblivious to my invasion of her privacy. But all thoughts of propriety disintegrate when she licks batter right off the mixing spoon.

What I’d give to be that spoon…

As she dances like a wet dream and makes chocolate baked goods like a sweetheart, I lose myself. Lost in the music. Lost in the fluid movement of her body. Lost in the fantasy of having all of her.

The next line hits too close to the thoughts already taking root in my head. One of a kind. Mine.

I realize too late I’ve been stroking my cock through my jeans when bliss jolts through me, and a hot, wet spurt coats the denim beneath my palm.

The song is ending, and her dance has tapered off to a shimmy while she pours the batter into a pan. She could turn around at any second and see me violating her privacy.

I had no reason for coming home other than needing a break, and she’d be embarrassed if I pretended to come in right now and make my presence known.

Shit, I need a change of boxer briefs and jeans but can’t sneak down the hall unnoticed.

I exit the apartment as quietly as I entered and trudge down the stairs in a haze. I delay re-opening the shop, instead hiding like a coward in the back storeroom. I sink down onto an overturned construction bucket and pull my hair so hard I might get bald spots.

Checking the time, I have just over an hour before I’d normally head upstairs for lunch, and she’s always out of the house during my lunch break. Looks like I’ll be stuck in my messed jeans like a pubescent boy until then.

I’m split down the middle. A red-blooded man, hung up on the stunning woman upstairs—and an employer who can never cross that line.

Shame heats my face as I tick off the reasons my attraction to Mia is inappropriate.