Midnight Neighbor

It started with thin walls.
She could hear him through the cheap plaster — late-night phone calls, soft laughter, the low hum of a movie when she couldn’t sleep. She liked the sound of him — rough, deep, the kind of voice that made her thighs press together in the dark.

At first, she told herself it was innocent — neighbors passing in the hallway, sharing polite smiles, borrowed sugar and broken small talk in the laundry room at 2 AM. But tonight, the loneliness pressed harder than her guilt.

She knocked on his door with bare feet and no plan. He opened it shirtless, eyes heavy with sleep and surprise that melted into something darker when he saw her in just his old t-shirt she’d never returned.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice rough.
She just nodded. He stepped aside. The air between them cracked like static.

Inside, the TV flickered some old black-and-white film — neither of them cared. He sat on the couch first, legs spread, eyes following her every step as she crossed the carpet. She climbed into his lap like it was the only place she’d ever meant to be.

He smelled like soap and warm skin. She buried her face in his neck, inhaled him until she felt dizzy with want. His hands slid under the hem of the stolen shirt, fingers trailing up her thighs to the soft heat waiting for him.

“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, though his thumbs were already teasing her open.
“I know,” she breathed against his ear, grinding down against his hand anyway. “Do it anyway.”

He kissed her hard enough to bruise — lips, jaw, the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered wild under his tongue. She tugged at his shorts, desperate, clumsy in her hurry to feel him skin to skin.

He lifted her just enough to push inside — one deep, slow thrust that made her gasp and bury her hands in his hair. She rocked her hips, slow at first, savoring the stretch, the heat, the filthy sound of him groaning her name in the dark.

The movie played on, ignored, as she rode him on that old couch — the quiet creak of springs beneath them, the sharp slap of skin on skin as they moved faster, messier, her breath breaking into soft curses every time he hit that perfect spot.

When she came, she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out, her whole body trembling around him until he spilled inside her with a low, broken moan that left them both gasping for more.

She stayed in his lap, forehead pressed to his, hearts pounding in the hush of 3 AM.

Thin walls, forbidden whispers.
Tomorrow they’d pretend it was just the TV she came for.

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