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Summer Heat – Part Three

26 August, 2012

The third part of the Summer Heat serial.To catch up on the first two parts, click here.
All up to speed now? Good, let’s carry on…

 

Summer Heat – Part Three

Jessica rapped heavily, noisily, on the door of the flat above hers. The sound of her knocking echoed through the hallway and staircase, no doubt heard by those of her neighbours still awake, maybe waking some of the others. But her concerns were not with the other residents, they were with stopping the pervert upstairs from uploading his stolen pictures of her privacy. And if anybody else heard what he had been up to, well that was probably a good thing, they should know who they were living next to. She knocked again on the wood of the door, followed this by slamming the letter box twice. She knew he was awake, she had seen him at the window, why was he not answering? She raised her hand to knock again when she heard the sound of unlocking, and the door opened.

“For god’s sake,” he hissed, “what’s all the noise?” he gripped the door with one hand, the other adjusting the t-shirt he had hurriedly put on, pulling it down to meet his boxer shorts. But not before Jessica glimpsed a slender stomach, a light line of downy hair.

“I want to talk to you,” Jessica said angrily.

“At half one in the morning?”

“I know you’re still up, I saw you in the window.”

He looked uncomfortable at this, but only for a short moment. “Okay, I’m up but can’t this wait till the morning?”

“No. It can’t.” She was shaking slightly with nerves and adrenalin, and crossed her arms, a symbol of determined defiance which she hoped would disguise her unease.

He bowed his head in acceptance, opened the door wider. “Do you at least want to come in?”

“Not really,” she said.

“Well I’m sure our neighbours would rather we didn’t talk on the landing.”

“I’m fine out here.” And I’m sure you’d rather they didn’t hear about your spying on me, Jessica thought and waited for his next move.

“Seriously,” he insisted, his voice lowering now, “I don’t know what the problem is, but we really shouldn’t wake everyone else.”

She was happy to wake everyone else, to warn them, but she also thought about what he had seen. Did she want a conversation about her in the trees, stripping naked and pleasuring herself in the rain? The cries of her orgasm in the storm?

“Okay, let’s go inside,” she agreed with a sigh, and followed him indoors to the kitchen.

“So what’s this all about?” he asked, switching on the kettle.

“Were you taking pictures of me?” she asked him outright, her voice dropping to a normal level, but still retaining its nervous anger.

“Sorry, what?” A look of confusion crossed his face. Was he really going to try to bluff this out? Did he think a shocked denial would get rid of her?

“I was outside. Just now. In the rain.”

“Okay…”

“And I saw your camera flashing in your window. I saw you at the window.”

“I see.” The kettle reached its temperature, clicked itself off. He looked away, shuffled the cups next to him on the worktop, covered his embarrassment.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” she said with a disbelieving sneer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t really see what you’re getting at.”

“Do I have to spell it out? I know you were taking pictures of me, and I think you’re a fucking pervert.”

“Pictures of you?” he said, apparent confusion returning to his voice. He was good at this, but she knew what she had seen.

“Pictures of me,” she repeated, “I was outside, and you were taking pictures of me.”

“Sorry,” he said, his head shaking as he tried to make sense of her accusation, “why would I want to take pictures of you outside?”

“You know exactly why,” she said, “and I want to see the pictures before I delete them.”

He looked blank again. “I honestly haven’t been taking pictures of you,” he stuttered, “I didn’t even know you were out there. What were you doing that you think I would want to take pictures of?” Was he going to make her say it, was this his way of making her squirm? Of making her tell him what she had been doing as well as taking pictures or video or whatever else he had? Well she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction.

“I was smoking,” she said.

A beat passed as he waited for her to continue. She didn’t.

“So again,” he said, “why would I want pictures of you smoking?”

It was Jessica’s turn to pause. As she had stamped upstairs, she had imagined this conversation going differently. She had assumed that he would be unable to deny what he had done, would be apologetic, contrite, and delete the pictures from his phone. But he was starting to get the upper hand, and her nerves, her natural lack of confidence were beginning to return.

“Well it was raining,” she said, thinking quickly, “my t-shirt got wet, and… well, you took pictures of my breasts through my shirt.” At the mention of her breasts, his eyes flicked involuntarily to her chest, ill-defined beneath her baggy jumper.

“See?” she said, “you’re looking at them again. You’re a pervert.”

His eyes returned to hers. “Look,” he said, “I wasn’t spying on you, I wasn’t looking at your t-shirt in the rain or your breasts.”

“So what were those camera flashes from your window?”

His eyes dipped to the floor, he shrugged, opened is mouth, failed to speak. She knew it, he had been taking pictures of her, and fucking lying all this time.

“I don’t think that’s your business,” he said.

“Oh, I think it is,” Jessica said, her anger rising again now that she had her proof, “it’s very much my business if you’re taking naked pictures of me.” She stopped suddenly, realised what she had said. He looked up again to meet her eye, but it was her turn to drop her head.

Naked pictures?” he asked.

“Naked, topless, wet t-shirt,” she said, her nerve returning, “What difference does it make? You’re still a pervert.”

His phone on the worktop flashed into life, a short alert sounding as a text arrived. Jessica reacted first, snatched the phone, turned her back to him to protect it from his reach.

“This your phone is it?” she asked, “Is this a text saying thanks for the pictures?”

“Give me that back,” he shouted, grabbing at her shoulder, “that’s private.”

She tapped at the screen, called the camera gallery to the display, tapped to reveal the first picture.

Her mouth fell open.

 

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4 Comments
  1. Hmmmm. Now I’m REALLY curious.

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