Page 11 of Neighbor from Hell
It’s a question, but his eyes—those gray, cutting eyes—say he’s already decided. I don’t think I nod—don’t feel my head move, don’t remember—but then his lips brush mine, slow, warm, tasting like mulled wine and heat, spicy and deep. My breath catches and sticks in my chest. I just stand there, frozen, feeling the press of him, soft at first, barely there. Then it shifts—his mouth moves harder, deeper, and lust crashes in, fast and thick, lighting me up from the inside. My hands twitch, then I’m grabbing his jacket, fingers curling tight as I pull him in. Myactions seem to make him hungrier, needier, his tongue finding mine, desperate as hell.
But wait—it hits me slow, a cold trickle through the raging heat—what the fuck am I doing? He’s a stranger, an asshole, the insensitive jerk from earlier. My chest tightens, and I shove him back, palms flat against him, gasping hard. “What are you… Why are you here?” My voice shakes, and I’m panting. It feels as if the cold night air burns my throat.
He doesn’t move—just looks at me, eyes dark as the nightfall—and then he’s back, grabbing my arms, pulling me in, kissing me harder. His lips crush mine, bruising. I sag against the wall, the bare stones rough on my back, legs trembling and unsteady. My mind’s screaming—stop, stop—but it’s far off, drowned out by the thud of my pulse, the way my body leans into him despite it all.
His hands slide up, slow, deliberate, under my shirt, rough fingers brushing my skin, leaving trails of heat. They find my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them. Needy, oh so needy. I suck in a sharp and jagged breath. His mouth drops to my neck, hot lips pressing, then sucking—hard, wet, pulling the skin tight till it stings, leaving a mark. The mark pulses and burns under my jaw.
He moves lower, his fiery breath on my chest, as his hands yank my bra down, the fabric scraping as it falls. His lips close over my breast, soft at first, just a graze, then sucking slow and deep, his velvety tongue swirling over my nipple, circling. lazy and warm. Teeth scrape—light, just a hint—and I moan, low and raw, the sound dragging out, bouncing off the quiet walls. He shifts, mouth finding the other, pulling it in, wet and greedy, sucking harder now, every tug a measured jolt straight down my spine. I’m arching into him, gasping softly, my hands gripping air, then his shoulders, feeling every pull, every throbbing pulse.
I’m done asking questions because this feels too good and, for some weird reason, I’m pretty sure I have lost my voice and the ability to speak.
He drops lower, knees hitting the floor, and his hands slide roughly down my sides, onto my hips. His fingers hook into my jeans, tugging them off, inch by inch, the denim dragging against my skin, cool air kissing my thighs as it falls. My panties slide down next, slow, catching on my knees, then pooling at my feet, and I whine, “No, stop,” but it’s quiet, frail, my voice trembling in the dark. He doesn’t pause—just looks up, those stunning eyes pinning me, then he spreads my legs wide, with his big, strong hands firm and warm on my thighs.
My knees start wobbling, trembling slowly, like they’re melting under me. My fingers slide into his thick, damp hair, twisting tightly as I press myself against his mouth. His hands grip my thighs, rough and warm, holding me open, and his breath brushes me first—teasing the edges of me. Then his lips find my pussy, soft, just a graze, and I suck in a sharp breath, my chest tightening. He kisses me, slow, deliberate, lips pressing warm against my swollen sex, and I feel the heat bloom, low and deep.
His tongue comes next—sliding out leisurely, flat, tracing me, tasting me, and I moan, a low sound that drags out from the depths of my throat. He sucks then—gentle at first, pulling me into his mouth, lips sealing around me, and it’s heavy, wet, a slow draw that makes my head tip back against the wall.
Every stroke is deliberate—his tongue dips in, thick and warm, curling slowly, then pulls back, sucking again, harder now, a deep, greedy pull. I feel it—fuck, it’s overwhelming—every tug, every lick, unraveling me, driving me crazy. My hips shift, slow, rocking into him, and he groans, the low sound vibrating against me, sending a jolt up my spine. My fingers tighten in his hair and pull harder. In response, he pressesdeeper, sucking long and firm, his tongue swirling inside me, dragging out the ache.
God, I’m so wet.
I feel it—warm and slick, spilling out slowly, and running down my thighs. A thick drip I can’t stop. I know it’s on his lips and smeared all over his chin, but he doesn’t seem to care at all—just keeps going, sucking me relentlessly, like a ravenous man who has finally found food after days of starving in the wilderness. Like his life depends on it. My breath hitches, breaking into gasps, soft then louder, and my whole body shivers as heat pools unbearably between my legs.
The slow, deep ache builds and builds, starting low and spreading through me. It’s heavy and it pulses like a living thing. My toes curl against the floor, and I whimper helplessly. Quiet, little sounds that I can’t hold back. He sucks harder, lips tight, tongue pressing deep, and I feel the edge of the abyss creeping up. Slow, but unstoppable. My thighs tremble, wet with my slick trails sliding down, and I’m gripping his hair so tight my hands ache.
The orgasms come upon me like a dream. Slow at first, a shudder rolling through me, then hard, crashing, and I climax—a cry spills out, loud, raw, tearing from deep inside me. My body quakes, slow waves shaking me apart, and I’m leaning heavily against the wall, panting, shuddering, my sex pulsing crazily under his mouth.
He pulls back, leaving me slick and wrecked.
He rises, slow, his hands sliding up my arms, rough palms grazing my skin, leaving a faint burn where they touch. His fingers curl under my elbows, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. His chest is pressed close, and his hot, triumphant breath brushes my neck. His heartbeat is a slow thud against me. My legs dangle limply, as he carries me—each step deliberate.
The sofa looms ahead, old and sagging, but right now it looks like the most luxurious divan. Fit for a king. He lowers me onto it, his arms flexing under my weight. The springs groan deep in the frame as we sink in. The weight of us settling into the worn fabric of the cushion causes it to tear. It smells like dust and old wood.
My breathing is slow and ragged, my chest rising and falling unevenly. My ribs are aching and my skin is tingling, alive, every nerve raw. He shifts beside me, slow, his body a shadow over mine, and his hand drops into his pocket. He takes out a condom, looks at it, then tosses it on the floor. It melts into all the junk. His fingers work the buckle of his belt. A quiet clink, metal on metal—then he peels his pants off. The fabric slides down his hips quickly, rustling faintly, down his gleaming thighs and pools at his feet. He steps out, bare as the day he was born. Moonlight spills through the small windows, pale and cold, catching him just right, and I see his cock; huge, thick, gorgeous, and the biggest I’ve ever laid eyes on. It hangs heavy, curved just right, the skin taut and smooth, veins gloriously angry under the milky surface.
A quiet gasp of awe slips out of my mouth, and my chest tightens with a slow squeeze of excitement. My mind drifts lazily to Sandy’s dumb research about British guys—and I almost laugh, a huff caught in my throat, but it dies fast, snagged by the sight of him, raw and real in front of me.
For a moment, he stands still, hips slightly slanted, and lets me look at the impressiveness of his thick, solid, and pulsing cock in the bluish-white light. It seems alive in the shadows. The girth, wider than my wrist, the head flushed dark, a wet bead at the tip catches the moon’s glow and glistens like a pearl. I stare greedily, mouth dry, lips parted, and my tongue presses my teeth, slow, like I can taste the air.
Then he steps closer, one foot then the other. The sound is a quiet pulse in my ears. He kneels over me, straddling my hips, his hand sliding down to grip my sex in his palm, warm, firm, thumbs pressing into my skin, slow circles that make me shift. I feel his cock brushing against me, not in yet, just there, heavy against my thigh, teasing and slow. The heat of his cock seeps into me as it rests there, pressing soft, promising more, dragging the moment out.
Now, once again, a sane voice in my head tells me to fight. Before it’s too late, but for some reason I’m unable to speak or move. It feels as though he's drugged me or something, and I am powerless, only able to watch as he has his way with me. I am somewhat panicked by my own helplessness, but even I know that’s just silly.
He lifts his palm and looks at me… and I know. This is it. My last chance to say no, but I don’t take it. My eyes dare him.
He pushes in, inch by thick inch, stretching me wide, the burn creeping up so strong it’s almost too much to take. It’s not soft—nothing sweet about it—just raw, taking me, filling me up, his cock hard and unyielding, pressing into me like it’s claiming a space for itself inside me.
I feel every goddamn bit of his cock—hot, relentless, throbbing, shoving deep, splitting me open. Tears sting my eyes and spill down my cheeks, blurring the dark shape of him above me. A whimper slips out of my tight throat, low and broken. He stops the merciless onslaught and waits, letting me get used to the unbearable stretch. Then his hands grip my waist, rough palms digging into my skin, thumbs scraping over my hip bones, and he begins to move again. A deep, grinding thrust, slow as hell, dragging inside me, and I moan, a guttural, primitive sound. I feel him scrape every nerve raw.
He shifts, harder, deeper, more brutal, fucking me with a steady, punishing rhythm, each push slamming the sofa backagainst the wall. The springs groan, a creak that matches the thud of him inside me. The wet smack of us echoes around us, obscenely as the heat blooms wild between my legs. My voice cracks, a hoarse cry rushes out, rough and desperate. My hands claw at his back, nails raking hard, digging into his skin, drawing blood as the intensity climbs. He grunts. Low. Animal. Every thrust shoves me deeper into the cushions. The cool air against my sweat-damp skin clashes with the fire of him.
I feel it all—his hard cock driving hard, the stretch tearing me apart, my body gripping him, tight and greedy, sucking him in. It’s so good—fuck, too good. The wet heat of us is loud in my ears, a filthy rhythm that drowns out the night. My legs shake with slow spasms, and my spine arches, forcing him deeper, chasing it.
And then I hear it. A knocking. On the front door.
“Who is that?” I gasp.
“My butler. He likes to watch,” he replies.
