The Tenant Ch. 02: The Glass House

if you have not read The Tenant Ch. 02: The Glass House, please read that to understand the context

Chapter Two: Morning Heat

The sun wasn't fully up when Dan stepped outside.

He wasn't even sure why he'd woken so early -- maybe the shift in place, the unfamiliar bed, or the weight of everything that had happened the day before. More likely, it was her. The way she'd looked in that loose white top. The glimpse of skin.

That mole. He needed air. Movement.

He tied his laces, double-looped them tight, and took off down the gravel path beside the house. The countryside was quiet. Dew clung to the edges of leaves. The earth smelled clean. Dan wasn't much of a runner, but he liked the steady rhythm, the way his thoughts settled with each mile.

By the time he turned back toward the house, sweat clung to his neck and soaked through the center of his T-shirt. He slowed to a walk as the back garden came into view -- green, open, still edged in soft morning haze.

That's when he saw her. Mona. In her room doing Yoga.

She hadn't noticed him. Or at least, he didn't think so.

She was facing away from the garden, mat rolled out just inside her glass wall. A tight black top hugged her back, sleeveless, cut low beneath her shoulder blades. And the yoga pants... God. They clung like a second skin. No panty lines. Nothing to break the shape of her. The soft dip of her waist, the curve of her hips, the perfect stretch of her thighs. When she bent forward into a long pose, her backside arched and lifted, and Dan's breath caught.

It wasn't just tight. It was detailed. The fabric pulled in the center, creating a perfect camel toe to draw his eye exactly where he wasn't supposed to look.

He ducked behind the edge of the garden wall, heart hammering. His shirt clung to his skin, now more from heat than sweat. He peeked again.

She moved into a slow flow -- cat-cow, downward dog, back arching again. Her hair was loose today, half-tied and falling over one shoulder. She lifted her arms overhead, stretched to her toes, then paused. Tilted her head slightly. Smiled.

He froze.

Had she seen him?

No. No way. He was tucked behind the corner, right?

But then... her next pose turned toward the glass. Facing him. Her top dipped slightly with the movement, just enough to show a shadow of cleavage, the curve beneath. She moved slowly. Deliberately. Holding each posture longer than necessary.

Dan swallowed hard.

He knew this wasn't polite. He should look away. Go shower. Cool off.

But he didn't. He stayed, hidden in the garden's corner, watching Mona move like she didn't have a care in the world, as if the glass made her untouchable. Or as if she wanted someone to be watching.

Inside, Mona exhaled slowly through her nose, arms stretched forward in child's pose. She stayed low for a moment, giving him time.

She'd noticed him the moment he passed by the trees. The way he'd stilled. The way his eyes locked on her legs. And then how quickly he ducked behind the wall, like a schoolboy caught with his hands in a cookie jar.

She didn't mind. Not really.

She shifted into upward dog, let her hips roll a little slower than usual, let her top ride up just slightly at the waist. The hem brushed the edge of her stomach. She felt the stretch, the way it pulled across her chest, outlining everything, hard buds pointing straight.

She didn't look toward the garden again.

But she knew he was still there.

Mona moved into a seated pose and let her legs fall to one side, resting back on her palms. Her breathing had slowed, but the air around her felt thick, charged.

Dan was still crouched at the edge of the garden wall, barely breathing. His fingers curled into the stone beside him.

She reached for a towel, wiped the back of her neck, and stood slowly.

That was it, he thought. It was over. Show's done. Get out of here before she sees you.

But then Mona walked to the side of the glass wall, caught the edge of a sheer curtain, and pulled it across.

Not fully. Not hurried.

Curtain, however, was sheer, just enough to create a frame.

And then she switched on the light.

The sudden glow from inside lit the sheer fabric like a soft screen. Dan blinked. His eyes adjusted -- and there she was.

Not in full view now, but in silhouette.

He could see the shape of her reaching behind her back. Her top lifted. Her arms shifted. Then the outline of the fabric fell loose and slowly from her shoulder. She shifted to stand sideways, as if giving a full view of her silhouette.

He swallowed.

The lines of her body became sharper. The curve of her waist. The shape of her breasts -- not exaggerated, but real. Beautiful. The kind of shape your hand would rest in naturally. The kind that moved when she breathed.

And then... the yoga pants.

He saw her thumbs slip inside the waistband. A small roll of her hips. The fabric peeled downward. The shadow of her thighs, the softness where they met. A brief, unmistakable glimpse of bare skin.

He didn't see everything.

But what he saw was enough.

More than enough.

Dan pressed his back to the stone wall, heart thundering. His shorts felt unbearably tight. He shut his eyes, tried to breathe, tried to make sense of what was happening.

This wasn't just a coincidence. Not anymore.

She had seen him. She had known.

And she had given him a show, or was it just his imagination?

________________________________________

When he finally came back inside, the house was quiet except for the gentle clinking of metal on ceramic. The scent of warm toast and tea still hung in the air.

Mona was at the kitchen counter -- barefoot, relaxed, composed like nothing unusual had happened at all.

She wore a deep-cut crop top, soft and sleeveless, clinging just enough to sway with each breath. No bra. The curve of her breasts shifted beneath it as she moved. Her midriff was bare, a small silver piercing catching the light above the navel. Her shorts ended just above her knees, showing long, lean calves and the clean line of her thighs when she shifted her weight.

Dan tried not to look. He failed instantly.

"Morning," she said, turning to him with a warm smile. "Tea?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Please."

She handed him a mug, leaning forward slightly. The neckline of her top dipped as she reached, not enough to be obvious. Just enough to drive him insane.

They stood like that for a moment. Quiet. Mug in hand. The kitchen light soft.

Then Mona walked around to the other side of the island, set her cup down, and leaned forward on her elbows, resting her forearms as she slowly sipped her tea.

From where Dan stood, he could see right down her top.

The full slope of her breasts was visible from his angle, soft, bare, unhidden. Her skin glowed in the morning light. Her breath was steady. She said nothing. Just drank her tea.

He stared. "You're quiet today," she murmured without looking up.

Dan cleared his throat. "Didn't sleep much."

"Oh?" She looked at him now. "Too hot? Or just... unsettled?"

He hesitated.

She added, "I do yoga every day. Around six. You should join sometime."

"I... don't really do yoga."

"Well," she said, casually swirling her tea, "you could try, or help me hold some of the positions, sometimes they become really difficult."

Dan nearly choked.

Mona stood slowly, brushed past him on her way to the sink. Her arm grazed his as she passed -- the lightest contact, but it left his skin buzzing.

________________________________________

Later

Dan sat alone at the kitchen table, staring into his half-empty cup.

His shorts still felt tight. His head was spinning.

He wasn't imagining this. Mona was flirting. Or teasing. Or... something else entirely.

And whatever it was, it was working.

________________________________________

Upstairs

Mona stood at the sink, rinsing out her mug, her expression unreadable.

She hadn't meant to lean that far forward, Or maybe she had.

She touched her own chest lightly, fingers grazing the bare skin beneath the neckline. Her nipples were still sensitive. Not from the air. From his eyes.

From how hard he tried not to look -- and how badly he failed.

She smiled, faintly.

This was going to be fun.

And dangerous.

And she was no longer entirely surewho was teasing whom.

The day passed quietly. Dan worked on his laptop upstairs, headphones in. Mona disappeared for a few hours in the afternoon and came down dressed differently--a long, flowing kurti with her hair in soft waves, gold earrings catching the light.

"I have a shoot this evening," she said over her shoulder. "Don't wait up."

"For what kind of shoot?" Dan asked before he could stop himself.

She smiled. "Traditional bridal. Ghagra-choli, heavy embroidery, all that. Just a preview collection."

She left with a flick of her hair, the scent of jasmine trailing behind her.

Dan ate alone. He didn't know what time she'd return, but the house felt different without her in it--too still.

It was well past midnight when Mona returned.

Dan had dozed off on the couch upstairs, half-wrapped in a blanket, the glow of his laptop still faint beside him. The sound of the front door stirred him, and he padded to the railing quietly, peering down.

Mona walked in barefoot, shoes dangling in one hand, the other still holding the edges of her ghagra delicately off the floor. The outfit shimmered faintly in the hallway light -- deep maroon with silver embroidery, the choli snug and backless, tied with four slender knots. Her earrings still hung, her lips were a little smudged, and her walk was careful. Little tipsy, must have been a few drinks.

She didn't see him.

Dan stood still as she ascended the stairs and disappeared into her room -- the one with the full glass wall facing the garden.

The curtains were open, and she didn't notice.

Inside, she switched on her bedside lamp -- soft, amber, revealing just enough.

Dan stepped to the edge of his own window, staying in shadow. His room, slightly forward, gave him just enough view.

Mona began untying her choli back towards the glass, knot by knot, her fingers slow and practiced. The fabric loosened, slipped off her shoulders, and she let it fall to the bed. Her back was smooth, her skin glowing in the low light. She didn't hesitate.

Her hands reached under the waistband of the ghagra and pushed it down her hips, the fabric rustling as it slid over her thighs. She stepped out of it, standing in a pair of deep red panties -- thin, high-cut, barely there.

Then, slowly, she hooked her thumbs at the sides and pulled them down too.

Dan's breath caught. He knew he shouldn't look but couldn't not.

Her body was bare now. Completely. The curve of her waist, the dip of her back, the soft swell of her backside. She moved without self-consciousness, not putting on a show, but not hiding either.

She stretched briefly, rolling her shoulders, then turned sideways to look in the mirror, slowly brushing her breasts, and he could clearly see the side of the swell and reflection in the mirror. Full view of her breasts, sitting proudly on her frame without any fall. Her long nipples stood proud like a cherry on the cake, begging to be eaten.

A view between her legs, not very clear, but smoothness showing evidence of no hair. Her hips, firm, showing the effects of daily Yoga practice. She reached up and undid her hair, letting it tumble down her spine.

Dan saw all of it. Clearly. He was hard; he did not even realize when he started stroking.

And she never once looked toward the window.

Then the lamp flicked off. Darkness returned, leaving only the faint silhouette of her form under the covers.

The curtains remained open.

Dan stood there, unmoving. His pulse was loud in his ears. Not just aroused, unmoored. If this had started as an accident, it no longer felt like one.