The Bad Boy Next Door

‎‎I’m dragging my heels up the stairs, my body aching from a long day at work. Every step feels heavier than the last, my bag slipping off my shoulder once, twice, until I finally adjust it. My mind is already somewhere soft and quiet—my apartment, a cold shower, maybe just collapsing onto the couch.

‎And then I hear it. Giggles. Soft, breathy, intimate. Voices that shouldn’t belong in the hallway at this hour.

‎I freeze mid-step, my heart picking up without my permission. The sound is… familiar. Too familiar. I press myself against the wall, my pulse hammering. I tell myself it’s nothing, just a neighbor being loud. But then I reach my floor and see them.

‎Damien. My dangerous, impossible Damien. Pressed against the wall like he owns it, a girl clinging to him, lips moving against his in a slow, teasing kiss. His hands roam over her in a way that makes my chest tighten painfully.

‎I don’t dare look for more than a second. My eyes sting, my stomach knots. I have to look away. I have to get past them. Quietly. Calmly.

‎I walk past them, my steps careful, pretending I’m invisible. Pretending my pulse isn’t hammering in my ears. Pretending I don’t want to reach out and shove that girl away, press myself against him, take what I can’t stop imagining.

‎My fingers fumble with my keys, trying to unlock my door without drawing attention. My hands shake, betraying me. And just like that, the keys slip from my grip, clattering to the floor.

‎Their heads snap toward me. The girl still clings to him, but Damien’s eyes find mine, dark and amused.

‎“Brooke! Neighbour, I didn’t see you there,” he says, his voice low, teasing, as if he’s caught me off guard on purpose. The girl’s lips still brush his neck, her arms tight around him, and my stomach twists.

‎I nod, wordless, cheeks burning, and finally manage to get the door open. I step inside, closing it behind me with a little too much force, and press my back against it, trying to ground myself.

‎My body feels like it’s on fire. My pulse is racing, my skin tingling from what I just saw. My hands rise on their own, brushing my lips, imagining it’s me there instead of her. My eyes close, and I bite my bottom lip, heart hammering, daring myself to picture what it would feel like if it were me in his arms instead.

‎I know I shouldn’t. But God, I want it anyway.

‎The moment the door clicks shut behind me, my restraint evaporates. My body hums with heat, with want I can’t deny, and I barely make it to the bedroom before peeling off my clothes, one piece at a time. Each layer falls to the floor like it’s burning me, leaving me exposed, trembling, raw.

‎I rush to the bathroom, heart pounding like a drum in my chest. My fingers fumble with the shower, and as soon as the water hits, I let out a soft, breathy moan. Hot water streams over my skin, and for a second, I imagine it’s Damien’s hands—strong, teasing, claiming every inch of me.

‎I close my eyes, leaning back against the tile, letting the water soak my hair, drip down my neck and shoulders. Every nerve ending is alive, every sensation amplified. I tilt my head, letting the spray hit my chest, the droplets running over my breasts as if he were tracing them, thumb brushing over sensitive skin.

‎The small shower head slips into my hand, and I press it against myself, letting the warm water slide over my chest. My eyes remain shut, my lips parting, soft whimpers escaping me as I picture his hands, his lips, his body against mine.

‎I imagine him leaning close, his breath hot against my ear. I imagine his teeth grazing my neck, the rough scrape of stubble against soft skin. My fingers twitch under the water, tracing the path my mind’s eye can see him taking, imagining him claiming me, teasing me, taking exactly what he wants.

‎A moan escapes me, louder this time, and I bite my lip, feeling a shiver run through me. The tension in my body coils tighter with every imagined touch, every dark thought of him. My chest rises and falls rapidly, my hands trembling as I let myself go completely in the fantasy.

‎I imagine his hands slipping lower, skimming over my hips, over the curve of my thighs, sliding higher until I’m arching toward him, desperate for every inch of him. Every whisper of water against my skin feels like his touch, setting me on fire, leaving me dizzy and breathless.

‎I can almost feel him, right there, pressing against me, murmuring my name, rough and teasing, daring me to lose control. And I do. I shiver, moan, and tremble beneath the hot stream, completely consumed by the dark, delicious fantasy I can’t—won’t—stop imagining.

‎I keep moving my hands over myself under the hot water, imagining Damien’s hands, his lips, his body… the fantasy already driving me wild. Even knowing the women he has coming and going from his apartment every night, a part of me aches to be the one he wants. The one who makes him forget them all. I picture it, a little desperate, a little sinful, and moan his name softly. Why can’t it be me doing the walk of shame tomorrow morning?

‎And then—someone’s behind me. Warm, hard, uninvited. His hands slide over my breasts from behind. My eyes fly shut, thinking it’s just my imagination, and I whimper, breath hitching. “Damien...” I moan softly.

‎I then hear a deep, low chuckle that sends a shiver down my spine, before the same voice murmurs, “Brooke…”

‎A deep, dark chuckle rumbles in my chest. My stomach twists. The voice—sultry, erotic—sends shivers straight through me. Damien. My name rolls off his tongue like sin, like possession.

‎I open my eyes, heart thundering, and look down. His hands are on me. My chest heaves as I scream, spinning around—smacking my back against the cold tile wall—and I finally see him fully. A well-sculpted chest, arms covered in tattoos I recognize from the glimpses I’ve caught before, every inch of him dangerous and tempting.

‎I look up and see his handsome face drawn in a tempting smirk.

‎“Damien…” I stammer, covering myself as best I can with my trembling hands. “What—what are you doing here?”

‎He steps closer, slow, deliberate. I look up and down, and my heart stops. He’s naked. Hard. Every line of him exposed, impossible, like he walked straight out of my fantasy.

‎His hands reach up, cupping the sides of my face, and he leans down, the shower hitting his back, steam curling around him, making him look even more untouchable, more sinful.

‎“You think I don’t see how you look at me,” he says, low and teasing, his lips grazing my temple, “like you’re imagining what it would be like… being with me.”

‎I freeze, shaking my head, words failing me. My chest rises and falls, heat pooling between my legs, trembling like a live wire.

‎He leans closer, his lips brushing my ear, teeth grazing my lobe in a bite that sends sparks down my spine. “I heard you… moaning my name the moment I touched you,” he murmurs, each word a command and a promise.

‎“I knocked on your door, let myself in, heard you… and came to give you what we’ve both been craving. A night that will have calling sick tomorrow morning.”

‎I’m trembling, lost, breathless… and entirely his. The water streams over us, soaking everything, but it doesn’t matter.

‎My knees threaten to buckle. My hands grip him, only to find nothing but hot, hard skin beneath my touch. He doesn’t wait for permission. The only heat I feel is him.

‎He kisses me before I can think—before I can stop him—his mouth claiming mine as he pulls my hands away from my body. The shock of it steals the strength from my knees, and I would collapse if he didn’t press me firmly back against the cold tile wall.

‎The contrast makes me shiver.

‎His hands move over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s memorizing every curve he’s imagined a hundred times already. The water cascades down around us, blurring the world, trapping us in steam and heat and something dangerously inevitable.

‎“Relax,” he murmurs against my lips, like he knows I’m barely holding myself together.

‎His mouth trails down my jaw, to my neck, and when his lips seal there—sucking hard—I gasp, my head falling back. I know what he’s leaving behind. I know I’ll feel it tomorrow. And the thought makes my stomach twist with wicked satisfaction.

‎His body cages mine, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. I can feel how badly he wants me without needing to look. The proof of it presses against me, unignorable, and my breath comes in short, broken pulls.

‎One of his hands slides lower, possessive, confident, and my legs part without him asking. My reaction is instant—too loud, too honest—and my eyes roll back as sensation crashes through me. My back arches, muscles aching as I cling to him, my fingers digging into his shoulders, tracing the lines of his tattoos like they’re something sacred.

‎“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark amusement in his voice. “All that pretending… and you fall apart this easily for me.”

‎I should protest. I should push him away.

‎Instead, I pull him closer.

‎The water keeps pouring down around us, the world beyond the shower disappearing entirely as I give in to the dangerous truth—I’ve wanted this since the first night I heard his door open after midnight.

‎And tonight, he’s finally next door no longer.

‎His mouth never leaves my neck. He keeps me pinned there, his body solid, unyielding, as his hand continues its slow, relentless movement. I start to squirm beneath his touch, helpless, breathless, my hips betraying me even as my mind spins.

‎“Damien—” I gasp, my fingers clawing at his shoulders, my body arching into him without permission.

‎He only presses closer, his grip tightening, his mouth working my skin until I know I won’t be able to hide the mark he’s leaving. The knowledge makes my knees tremble. Makes everything tighten, coil, unravel all at once.

‎I can’t stay still. I can’t think. The sensations blur together until there’s nothing left but him and the heat and the way my body finally gives in, shuddering against his fingers as I break with a sharp breath and a broken sound I don’t recognize as my own.

‎For a moment, everything stops.

‎He lifts his head and looks at me, really looks at me, while I struggle to catch my breath, my chest rising and falling rapidly, my legs still weak. His eyes are dark, satisfied, dangerous.

‎Slowly, deliberately, he brings his hand up, his gaze never leaving mine as he draws his fingers to his mouth one by one. The sight makes my stomach flip. I bite my lip hard, my eyes locked on his mouth, imagining those lips everywhere—on my skin, my throat, every place I’m already aching.

‎“You’ve been thinking about this,” he murmurs. “Haven’t you?”

‎Before I can answer, his hands slide under my thighs and suddenly I’m lifted, my body instinctively reacting. My arms loop around his neck, my legs locking around his waist as he presses me back against the wall again, harder this time.

‎His lips crash into mine, deep and consuming, the kiss stealing what little air I have left. The water keeps pouring down around us, steam curling thick and heavy, but all I can feel is him—his strength, his hunger, the way he holds me like he has no intention of letting go.

‎And I know, with terrifying clarity, that the night is far from over.

‎He moves against me, slow at first, then with intention, his body fitting so perfectly against mine it steals the breath right from my lungs. The friction, the pressure, the unmistakable promise of what he’s holding back—it makes me moan into his mouth, needy and unashamed. I cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer like I’m afraid he’ll stop.

‎“Impatient,” he murmurs against my lips, voice dark with amusement.

‎My response is nothing but a broken sound as I tilt my hips toward him, silently begging. He feels it. Of course he does. He always knows.

‎He pulls his mouth from mine just enough to look at me, eyes burning, jaw tight. “Look at you,” he says quietly, dangerously. “All sweet on the outside… and shaking for me already.”

‎I swallow hard. My heart is racing. My body is buzzing.

‎“Hold on,” he tells me, tone shifting—no longer teasing, but commanding. His hands tighten on me, anchoring me in place. “If you’re going to take this, you do it my way.”

‎I nod, breathless, arms tightening around his neck as he presses me more firmly against the wall. The kiss that follows is rougher, deeper, stealing any last trace of restraint I had left. He moves with purpose now, every motion deliberate, powerful, making it impossible to think—impossible to do anything but feel.

‎“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low in my ear. “Stay right there. I’ve got you.”

‎The world narrows to sensation, to heat, to the way he holds me like I belong exactly where I am. My grip tightens as he moves, strong and relentless, and all I can do is cling to him, letting the night take me wherever he decides to lead.

‎And I know—without doubt—that I won’t be walking past his door the same way ever again.

‎He shifts once—just once—and the sensation steals the sound straight from my lungs. He is right at my entrance, his head ready to penetrate. And when he thrusts in, it's fast and deep, making a sharp gasp tear out of me as my body reacts instantly, instinctively, every muscle tightening as he presses closer, deeper, until my back arches and a broken cry escapes my throat.

‎My hands clutch at his shoulders as my spine bows, a deep ache spreading through me as I press into his chest, my head falling back helplessly. I feel everything—his weight, his heat, the way he fills the space between us so completely it’s overwhelming.

‎A low groan rumbles from him, felt more than heard.

‎His hand slides up to my neck, firm but controlled, fingers guiding my face back down until I’m forced to look at him. His eyes lock onto mine, dark, focused, unyielding.

‎“Eyes on me,” he commands quietly.

‎And then he moves—strong, relentless, setting a pace that steals my breath again and again. The wall behind me offers no mercy as he drives the rhythm, holding my gaze, not letting me hide from the way my body responds to him.

‎I cling to him, nails digging into his skin, every nerve on fire. He’s everywhere—too much and never enough—until all I can do is gasp his name and hold on as he takes me apart, one powerful motion at a time.

‎His grip tightens, his body moving with a reckless urgency that steals all sense of time. I’m barely holding on, breath shattering with every motion, my body responding faster than my mind can catch up.

‎“That’s it,” he murmurs against my ear, voice rough, unforgiving. “You feel how fast you fall apart for me?”

‎The pressure builds too quickly—too intensely—and I break with a cry I don’t bother to hold back, my body shuddering against his as sensation floods through me all at once. My fingers clutch him desperately, my legs tightening, my head tipping back as the world blurs.

‎But he doesn’t slow.

‎His hold on me stays firm, unrelenting, his voice low and commanding as he keeps me right where he wants me. “No,” he says quietly. “Stay with me.”

‎The pace only sharpens, driving me higher again, dragging me back to the edge before I’ve even caught my breath. I whimper, shaking my head weakly, my body already trembling from how sensitive everything feels.

‎“Another,” he demands, the word pressed straight into my ear.

‎“I—I can’t—” My voice breaks, but he doesn’t let me finish.

‎“Yes, you can,” he says, certain. Possessive. “You don’t get to decide that tonight.”

‎He holds me there, pushes me back up again, every nerve screaming as the sensation crashes over me once more. I cry out, louder this time, clinging to him as my body gives in again, the intensity leaving me shaking, boneless, undone. I then feel him come deep into me with one deep thrust.

‎He groans softly, his control finally slipping as he pulls me closer, one hand gripping my hip, guiding me with him, keeping me locked in place as he rides out the final wave with me. The movements slow, deepen, stretch out until everything fades into heavy breaths and pounding hearts.

‎When he finally stills, I cling to him, breath held, forehead pressed to his shoulder, my body trembling in the aftermath.

‎For a long moment, neither of us speaks.

‎Then, softly—dangerously—he murmurs, “You’re not pretending anymore, Brooke.”

‎And I know he’s right.

‎The steam slowly begins to thin, the rush of water no longer roaring around us. He doesn’t let go of me. Not even for a second.

‎His mouth softens against mine, no longer demanding—just slow, lingering kisses that make my chest ache in a different way. His forehead rests against mine as we breathe each other in, the intensity settling into something heavier, more dangerous.

‎“Look at you,” he murmurs, almost gentle now. “Still shaking.”

‎I cling to him instinctively, my body not ready to be on its own yet. His arms stay firm around me, holding me like he’s decided I belong right there.

‎The shower clicks off.

‎The sudden quiet feels intimate, exposing. He adjusts his hold and lifts me effortlessly, carrying me out of the bathroom as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I tuck myself closer to him, my cheek against his shoulder, my heart still racing.

‎The next thing I know, I’m laid back on my bed, the sheets cool beneath me. He hovers over me, hands roaming slowly now—reverently—tracing my sides, my waist, my thighs, like he’s learning me in a new way. His kisses follow, unhurried, deliberate, making my toes curl.

‎I look up at him, the tattoos, the dark eyes, the calm confidence that makes my stomach flip all over again.

‎“This doesn’t end tonight,” he says quietly.

‎My breath catches.

‎“I don’t do sweet,” he continues, thumb brushing my lip as if daring me to disagree. “And I don’t share what’s mine.”

‎I swallow, my pulse thudding loud in my ears.

‎“I want this to be… ongoing,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “No pretending. No walking past each other like nothing’s happened.”

‎His mouth dips to my neck again, voice low and certain. “You come to me when you need it. I decide when I take you. And when I knock on your door—” he pauses, just long enough to make my body react, “—you let me in.”

‎It should scare me.

‎Instead, my fingers curl into the sheets, my body already answering for me.

‎He smiles, slow and knowing, and leans down to kiss me again—soft, claiming, inevitable.

‎And I know, with absolute certainty, that I’ve just agreed to something that will ruin me in the best possible way.

‎‎I don’t answer him with words.

‎I lift my chin instead, fingers curling into his shoulders, my pulse loud in my ears. “I’m not pretending,” I whisper.

‎His mouth curves, slow and satisfied. “Good.”

‎He leans in, brushing his lips over mine, barely there. “Because it’s going to be a long night for you.”

‎The promise sends a shiver straight through me.

‎He closes the distance, kissing me deeply, unhurried but hungry, his body pressing back into mine as if he’s picking up exactly where we left off. The sound I make disappears into his mouth, my hands tightening on him as the heat builds again—familiar, overwhelming, inevitable.

‎He keeps me there, tangled beneath him, the night stretching on in stolen breaths and whispered commands, until time dissolves into nothing but him.

‎

‎***

‎

‎I wake to quiet.

‎The sheets beside me are cold.

‎For a moment, panic flickers—sharp and unwanted—but then I notice it. A single rose lying where he’d been just hours ago. Deep red. Impossible to miss.

‎I bring it to my face, breathing it in, and that’s when I see the note tied to the stem.

‎'My place tonight.'

‎My lips part. I bite them slowly, my stomach flipping.

‎I set the rose down carefully and try to sit up—

‎“Ow—”

‎The ache between my legs makes me yelp before I can stop myself. I laugh under my breath instead, shaking my head. I move slowly after that, every step deliberate, my body protesting as I make my way to the bathroom. I’m almost limping.

‎And I smile the entire time.

‎The shower helps. A little. I dress for work with a new awareness of myself, of the marks hidden beneath my clothes, of the night clinging to me like perfume.

‎When I step into the hallway, adjusting my bag on my shoulder, I’m still thinking about the note.

‎Then I see him.

‎Damien is locking his door, dressed in a tailored suit that looks criminal on him. Clean. Sharp. Dangerous in a completely different way. He turns just as I pause, his eyes flicking to me—slow, assessing, knowing.

‎Our gazes lock.

‎No smile. No greeting.

‎Just tension.

‎His eyes dip, just briefly, before returning to my face. Enough to remind me he remembers every sound I made. Every moment I gave him.

‎“Morning,” he says casually, like we didn’t spend the night crossing lines.

‎My throat tightens. “Morning.”

‎He steps past me, close enough that I catch his scent again, and murmurs, so softly only I can hear, “Don’t be late tonight.”

‎Then he’s gone.

‎I stand there for a second longer than necessary, heart pounding, legs weak, knowing one thing with absolute certainty—

‎Last night was only the beginning.

‎