He Lies in Wait

The lights were on. Finally.
The woman walked across the room, pulling the elastic from her hair and letting it tumble down her shoulders. The man shuddered at the motion, letting the thrill of watching her wash over him. She rolled her head back over those shoulders, pausing at each side to stretch. She then rubbed a hand over her neck. He knew that she’d been feeling a bit of tension these last few days, as she’d been paying more attention than usual to the muscle that sat above her décolletage, not that he minded. She moved through the bedroom, sliding her sweats over her hips, something which made the man’s breathing shallow. He felt the familiar stirring in his groin. 
The man had watched the woman for several days, having spotted her in a supermarket carpark not quite a month ago. He’d been drawn to the curve of her body as she had stretched up, loading the last of her groceries into her car. Her breasts lifted slightly, arching her back and extending her arms above her head. He noticed that she’d not worn a bra that day. It showed in the bounce of her perfect tits as gravity had assisted them back to their resting position. As the unseen force did, the tits gently swayed. She turned to her car, and disappeared inside. 
The man had followed her that day, waiting patiently across the road as she ran into the bank, visited her mother, and finally as she ate dinner at her boyfriend’s house. The man was disheartened when they pulled up in front of a multistorey building at the end of the day. With soft eyes, he watched as the woman’s car had descended into the parking lot below. He nearly decided to leave, but thought better of it. Instead, he entered the building behind a fat, foul smelling, middle-aged man. He feared the woman had escaped him. But then she rounded the corner from the mail room and called for the elevator. He stood behind her as they entered the confined space when it arrived. He smelled the subtle hint of her perfume, left over from its morning application. The man had stepped into the corner of the small room and tried to keep his look subtle. The woman had made eye contact with him, smiling coyly. He had felt it then; the sensation of growing, the increased pressure against the fly of his jeans. Outwardly, he had remained the definition of calm, and returned her smile with a handsome one of his own. She blushed. 
As the elevator door closed, the man had watched her slide the key into the lock of her apartment, 421. That number etched itself in his mind. He found her windows on the outside of the building. After doing so, he ascended the fire exit of an adjacent block, and located an empty apartment to camp in front of. Luckily for the man, no one seemed to take much notice of the world outside of their apartments once they were inside of them. The woman had the lights on. Once he was comfortably positioned on the fire escape, he saw her curl up on her couch. There, she watched a horribly dramatic, vampire-ridden television show. He noticed that she laughed at the most poignant moments of the melodrama. The quirk endeared her to him.  
That night, the man had watched the woman move between the various rooms of her apartment. The lights were off in the lounge room and the man waited an agonising twenty minutes before the light in the following window, the window to the bedroom, had been flicked on.