The Girl In 411: An erotic BDSM romance by Amber Skye

Author:Amber Skye [Skye, Amber]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2018-05-08T23:00:00+00:00

5

I spent way too much time sitting in my window, holding the cat and watching the parking court. I knew it wasn’t healthy, but I couldn’t quell the obsession I’d developed for the girl in 411. In the blink of an eye, Zoey had become the centerpiece of my world. I saw her leave just before eleven that morning, and I watched her return a bit after noon. She wore a short, pink leather skirt and vest, black boots, and once again had her hair piled high, fashionably apathetic, with a pin holding it in place. A lump grew in my throat both times I saw her. Sitting in the window seat for another hour, I watched the parking court, but her black Audi remained in its spot. I tried to comfort myself that she was only feet above me, but it was little solace. I pined for her. I wanted to feel her touch, smell her, and hear that sweet husky voice.

I managed to pull myself away, shower, attend to my oral hygiene, and swap sheets on the bed. I picked over a sandwich for lunch and drank some iced tea to get a little caffeine running through my veins—I’d missed making my morning coffee in lieu of my window seat vigil. Now adequately charged, an idea crossed my mind. I instinctively knew I should avoid the fourth floor until I was invited—the probability of an invitation unknown—so I devised a plan as the next best way to be near my lover.

After slipping into a white blouse and dressy shorts, I stepped into some comfortable yet fashionable flats—shoes conducive to a fair amount of walking. Horace had told me that Zoey owned a gallery in the Fourth Ward. That her car was still parked in its spot and had been for the past few hours, suggested that she may not go to her gallery at all today. I was willing to risk it. But as I walked out the door, a little black cloud hovered over me. What if she knocked on the ceiling and I wasn’t there? The thought that she might do just that gnawed at me, but I considered visits from her so close together unlikely. I was willing to risk it.

I set out on foot, meandering down Randolph over to Irwin where I detoured along Auburn Avenue. Art galleries littered the street. The first store I happened upon was an avant-garde two-story shop filled with sculptures and statues and creatures made from scrap metal. The art was interesting but not really moving or provocative in the sense I felt art should be, and I was fairly certain that Zoey had nothing to do with the establishment. Nevertheless, I browsed for about forty-five minutes before exiting into the warm afternoon sunshine along Auburn. I toured a couple more places and then entered a quaint little gallery called Off the Wall. I knew immediately I had struck gold. The gallery wouldn’t have been what I’d expected just

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