Page 52 of Neighbor from Hell
I fuck her like I will lose my mind if I ever stop, and she rocks her hips forward just as frenziedly to meet mine. Her cries sharpen, jagged and desperate, echoing off the bare walls as I thrust deeper, my cock buried in her heat, her tightness a relentless grip that pulls me to the edge.
She’s close, her body tensing, clenching, and I’m right there with her, my balls tight, the pressure blinding, but I hold on, savoring her unraveling. As her climax rises, her breaths come in gasps, her body becomes tight as an arch, and her thighs tremble against my sides.
Finally, she breaks, a keen, animal-like sound tearing from her throat, her release a shuddering surge, her sex clenching around me, hot and relentless, each pulse milking me, drawing me impossibly deeper. The sensations are too much… it shatters my hold on my own control, and my own release roars through me. It’s like a molten rush that blinds me and leaves my cock pulsing as I spill into her, thrust after thrust. Her name is a guttural growl ripped from my chest as my vision dissolves into white-hot static.
I collapse onto my elbows. Our gasping breaths are tangled. Her heartbeat is racing under my chest. Her body is as soft and pliant as chocolate on a hot day. I would have lain with her, but the sofa is brutal. Its springs must be biting into her. I find myself with an uncomfortable feeling of being fiercely protective, of not wanting her to ache even for a while. I summon what strength I have left and lift her up. Her arms are loose around my neck, her breath warm against my shoulder as I carry her in search of her bedroom.
The chaos is even worse upstairs—building materials fighting for space with junk, paint cans stacked like silent watchers. Her renovation is a dream that she’s chasing alone, and I cannot help but feel the first stirrings of real sympathy for her in my heart.Worry gnaws at me, telling me that she’s carrying too much, and it’s not right.
I head up the stairs to find her bedroom. Of course, it’s a single bed. I lay her down on the white duvet and gaze down at her. Her skin is still flushed and glowing, and her eyes are soft, pulling at me, a siren’s call I have to fight to resist. I want to climb into that narrow bed, to hold her and drown in her until the world fades, but this I am sure will be too much. It is clear now that I have an uncharted side, and I’m not sure I want to let it loose right now. Her taste, her heat, is still burning in my veins.
I lean down and kiss her forehead. Her skin is warm with a faint salt tang.
“Sleep well,” I murmur.
She smiles sleepily and closes her eyes. I force myself to turn away. After gathering my clothes and getting them back on, I slip out. The door clicks behind me as I step into the night, but her touch and the thought of her under me remain burning inside of me like a fire I can’t quench.
Chapter
Thirty-Five
LAUREN
The morning light seeps through the cottage’s crooked blinds, a pale, accusing glow that stabs at my eyelids. I’m sprawled naked across the bed, my body a map of aches—inner thighs bruised, hips tender, every muscle heavy with the goings on from last night.
Hugh’s hands are still on me, in memory—gripping, searing, unraveling me until I was nothing but heat and surrender. His mouth, hungry against my neck, my breasts, the way he thrust into me, deep and relentless, shattering me into fragments.
I can’t move, don’t want to. The exhaustion pinning me to the mattress. Suddenly Meredith’s voice in my head—he uses women like tissues, tosses them when he’s done. It was better than any dream, raw and overwhelming, his gray eyes burning into mine like I was everything, but now I’m terrified it was a lie, a game, and I’m drowning in the wreckage of my own weakness. My skin is marked by him.
Are they the first faint bruises of shame?
A knock splits the silence, hard and jarring, rattling the door frame like a gunshot. My heart lurches, a wild thud against my ribs, and I freeze, my breath caught in my throat. It comes again, louder, paired with muffled voices—male, rough. Then the metallic clank of something heavy outside. Alarm surges, icy and piercing, yanking me from my hazy thoughts.
Who’s here?
Then more clanging noises and a different male voice.
Shit. What the hell is going on outside?
I’m naked and sticky, and the thought of facing anyone at all twists my gut into knots. I sit bolt upright, wincing as my thighs protest, each movement a sore reminder of Hugh’s victory. Oh God, the way I arched into him. Sluttish doesn’t begin to describe my behavior.
My hands rush to grab a t-shirt and a pair of baggy shorts from the top drawer of my dresser. The fabric feels rough against my tender skin. I shove my tangled hair back, strands clinging to my sweaty neck, and stumble to the door.
My pulse sounds loud, erratic in my ears.
The voices are clearer now—all male, gruff, impatient, mixed with the scrape of boots and the clatter of tools. I crack the door, just an inch, squinting into the morning’s harsh light, and my breath catches. A crew of men, six or seven, in work boots and hi-vis vests, converse surrounded by piles of lumber, and bags of cement. In the background, a generator is humming like a resting beast. One of them, stocky with a graying beard, steps forward, his clipboard clutched tight, his eyes scanning me curiously.
“Miss Hutton,” he notes. “We’re here to do some work on the cottage. We’ve been told to start today.”
What? My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Work? Start today? My brain’s still too sluggish to process this —this invasionof men and materials. It feels like a nightmare I didn’t ask for. “I… what?” I manage, my voice cracking like dry wood.
He frowns, glancing at his clipboard, then back at me, his patience thinning.
“Renovations,” he says, slower, like I’m a recalcitrant, fretful child. “Full overhaul. The crew’s here to get it done quick. You weren’t told?”
I shake my head, confusion swirling with a creeping dread. Hugh. This is him—his money, his control, his way of bending the world to his will. My stomach lurches, a mix of gratitude and fury, because I need the help, God knows I do, but not like this, especially the way it has just been sprung on me.
“Wait,” I say, my voice sharper, trembling. “Just… give me a second.” I shut the door, not caring if it’s rude, and lean against it. My phone. I need my phone. Uh, probably still in the purse I used last night. I find my purse lying on the floor by the door. What a mess I was last night.
