The watcher

For weeks, she’d felt it.

That prickle on the back of her neck when she undressed at night. The certainty that eyes were on her, even though the building across the street looked dark and empty.

Ava lived on the twelfth floor of a sleek glass tower in the city—floor-to-ceiling windows, no curtains because she liked the view of the skyline twinkling like fallen stars. Privacy was an illusion she’d chosen to ignore.

Until she decided to play with it.

Tonight she wore nothing but a black lace teddy that clung like a second skin—thin straps, deep plunge between her breasts, high-cut legs that framed her ass perfectly. She left the bedroom light on low, just the bedside lamp casting warm gold across the sheets.

She stood at the window, back to the glass, pretending to scroll on her phone.

Then she turned slowly, facing the darkness outside.

Her eyes scanned the opposite building—row after row of blank windows.

One caught her.

A faint glow, barely there.

A silhouette.

He was there.

Ava’s pulse jumped.

She didn’t close the blinds.

Instead, she walked to the bed, sat on the edge, and spread her legs just enough.

Her hand slid down her stomach, over the lace, pressing lightly against her mound.

She tilted her head back, lips parting in a soft sigh.

Across the street, the silhouette shifted—closer to his own window now.

She could almost feel his gaze like a physical touch.

Ava hooked her thumbs under the straps of the teddy, sliding them down her shoulders. The lace peeled away from her breasts slowly, nipples hardening in the cool air. She cupped them, thumbs circling, pinching just hard enough to make her gasp.

The silhouette didn’t move.

But she knew he was watching every second.

She lay back on the bed, legs still spread toward the window.

One hand stayed on her breast, teasing; the other drifted lower, slipping beneath the lace between her thighs.

She was already wet—slick and aching from the thrill of being seen.

Fingers circled her clit slowly, then dipped inside, pumping shallowly while her thumb kept the pressure on that sensitive bundle.

Her hips rocked.

Soft moans escaped her—deliberate, loud enough to carry if the windows were open.

She arched her back, breasts thrusting up, fingers moving faster now—two inside, curling, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room.

Across the street, a light flicked on in his apartment.

Not bright—just enough to outline him clearly.

Tall. Broad. Shirtless, dark hair, hand already down the front of his pants.

Ava’s breath hitched.

He was stroking himself—slow, deliberate—matching her rhythm.

The knowledge sent her spiraling.

She added a third finger, fucking herself harder, thumb grinding against her clit.

Her eyes locked on his window.

She mouthed the words silently: Come watch me closer.

As if he heard, he stepped right up to his glass—cock out now, thick and hard in his fist, stroking faster.

Ava came with a sharp cry—body bowing off the bed, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around her fingers as pleasure ripped through her.

She rode it out, eyes never leaving him.

When the waves subsided, she sat up slowly, chest heaving, slick fingers glistening.

She brought them to her lips, licked them clean—slow, teasing—while staring straight at him.

Then she stood, walked to the window, and pressed her palm flat against the glass.

He froze mid-stroke.

Ava smiled—wicked, inviting—and crooked one finger.

Come over.

His hand dropped.

He nodded once.

Then his light went out.

Ava’s heart pounded so hard she thought it might bruise her ribs.

She left the door unlocked.

And waited.