Morning Ritual

By Paris Dixon

When she rents an ocean beach house along the Georgia coast, overworked photographer Anastasia Hunter finds the peace and serenity she craves. Until she observes her next-door neighbor performing his morning ritual, that is.

Quickly she grows obsessed with the activities of the handsome stranger, and before long, her camera is back in action, capturing from afar every salacious moment for her personal viewing pleasure.

But what will happen when she meets him face to face? Will he discover her addiction to voyeurism? And if so, will he have her arrested, or will he retaliate in a different and pleasurable way?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Sep 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781646569021

Book preview

Chapter 1

Anastasia Hunter anticipated the alarm clock’s warning even before it cut through the morning quietude. She had just finished her light breakfast of a whole-wheat bagel and freshly squeezed orange juice when her internal alarm clock coerced her out of the kitchen chair and propelled her up the staircase. Sure enough, as she entered her bedroom, the buzzing from the clock on the nightstand began. She tapped the OFF button and eyed the 6:45 emblazoned in red letters across the digital readout.

In truth, Ana had been awake for several hours, anxiously awaiting this moment. Ever since moving into the rented beach house along Georgia’s coastline, it had become her habit. Setting the alarm, that is.

Before returning to her native state for a much-needed vacation, she had grown accustomed to rising before the sun. Her job as the lead photographer for Celebrity Parade Monthly kept her dashing to airports in the wee hours in order to get a jump start on whichever movie, TV, or rock star happened to be the magazine’s featured cover model or major news story. Therefore, her internal alarm clock stood perpetually at the ready, waking her usually between the hours of 3 and 4 AM. This whole digital alarm clock business, however, which she started just after her return to Georgia three weeks earlier, had simply become her added insurance so she wouldn’t miss the day’s main event.

The main event, she thought, with a tranquil yet eager sigh.

Ana knew this morning ritual, as she had deemed it, had taken over her life. Every action she performed, whether jogging along the sandy coastline, taking a dip in the invigorating waters of the Atlantic, or reading on the deck, watching the boob tube, or napping away the hours of self-imposed solitary, seemed mere filler. Like an alcoholic performing mundane tasks until that special moment each day when a drink touched their lips, Ana simply killed time before the next morning’s ritual commenced.

But what could she do now?

With a wry chuckle, she wondered if a support group existed for her particular obsession, then dismissed the comic notion. After all, what young, hot-blooded female—straight female, she amended—could resist the temptation she faced every day? And who would want to stop the habit anyway?

With that thought in mind, Ana stepped to the window. She peered at the neighboring house—a rambling, two-story affair, constructed of dark wood and finished with white oyster-shell tabby. From a nearby table, she snatched her lightweight, yet efficient, Takami 3000 with the telescopic lens—her best and dearest companion. She took her usual position beside the bedroom curtain, drew a deep breath, and waited…

Seconds later—a span of time that seemed an eternity—a smile twisted her lips.

Good morning, Sundance. You’re right on time, she whispered against the window, her breath momentarily fogging the glass. As always, the tempo of her heart accelerated as her nearest neighbor appeared on his second-story deck—

In all his naked glory.

Oh, Lordy, you never disappoint, do you, hot stuff?

Per usual, she raised the camera to her eye and adjusted the focus. That’s it, perfect, she decided, when his facial features came into crisp view. As the thirtyish man studied the ocean and greeted the day, he ran both hands through his sleep-mussed hair, the russet-brown locks straggling nearly down to his broad shoulders and undulating in the balmy breeze. The rising sun painted an opalescent blaze in his lambent, almond-shaped eyes, while his generous