THE NEIGHBOR

BRIGHTON WALSH

COPYRIGHT

Copyright © 2017 by Brighton Walsh

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Art © Brighton Walsh

www.brightonwalsh.com

The Neighbor is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

SUMMARY

On a day when nothing seems to be going my way, I just want to binge my favorite show and inhale a couple—okay, a dozen—cupcakes. But the black cloud that’s followed me all day comes back when I realize I'm out of sugar. I resign myself to the fact that I'll have to—*shudder*—ask a neighbor for some neighborly help and set out to harass my fellow apartment-dwellers, all in the name of chocolate. 

When a dripping wet and freshly showered hottie I've definitely never seen before answers my impatient knock, I'm rendered speechless. Okay, not speechless, because that’d be far too easy for me. Instead I humiliate myself in typical Lucy fashion, then bail, certain if I try hard enough I can go the rest of my life without running into Hot Neighbor Guy again.

Too bad my neighbor isn’t so easily deterred.

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CHAPTER ONE

You know how everything seems to go right some days? Your favorite shirt is freshly laundered. There’s no line to get coffee when you’re running a bit behind. Your office mate brings in your favorite donut. Your boss decides to let you take a half-day, just for the hell of it.

Yeah…today is not one of those days. Today is a day from hell.

First, I spilled coffee—after waiting in line for twenty-three minutes to get said coffee—down the front of my white blouse while on my way to work. I broke a heel running to catch a cab because, thanks to the coffee line, it was too late to ride the ‘L’. There was a mountain of paperwork two feet high on my desk to tend to, which, of course, meant I had to skip lunch. My boss did not tell me to take a half-day, instead insisting on a “very important meeting” seven minutes before I was scheduled to leave.

After that wretched day, I stumbled into my apartment two hours later than usual, haggard, frustrated, hungry, and still smelling like coffee from my ruined blouse. You’d think after a day like that I’d catch a break. Just one little break so I could make these goddamn cupcakes I needed to have to save my sanity, but no. No, that’d be too easy.

“Fuck,” I say. Okay, I yell it while stomping my foot for good measure. I stare at my half-made batter and then glare at my empty sugar canister, as if that will somehow help. Why, of all days, did my sugar have to run out today?

With my hands covered in flour, I use my forearm to swipe a stray piece of hair out of my face as I think about my options. Option one: substitute the sugar with something else. Not an ideal plan, but a possibility. If it’ll end with cupcakes shoved in my mouth, who cares what kind of convoluted way I got there?

However, because I am in serious need of a trip to the grocery store, a quick glance in my cupboards shows the only possibilities for substitutes are crumbled up breakfast pastries or saltine crackers. I make a face and slam the cabinet doors closed before resting my hands on the counter. My mouth waters as I peer into the mixing bowl, thinking of what awaits me…

Okay, option two:

…

…

Yeah, there is no option two. I need these cupcakes, I need them filled with loads of sugar—real sugar—and I need them as soon as fucking possible. And after the day I’ve had, I deserve them, dammit!

Resolute in my plan to get my well-earned cupcakes, I wash my hands before I snatch my measuring cup off the counter, resigning myself to do the cliché thing and ask a neighbor for a little neighborly help.

My first stop is the obvious choice. Mrs. Kauffman has lived across the hall since well before I moved into the building last year. She’s in her late-eighties and is always home at seven-thirty at night, usually in her housecoat and slippers, ready to settle in to bed. But of course, today being the shitshow of a day that it is, my knock goes unanswered. Apparently old Mrs. Kauffman has a more hoppin’ social life than I do.

Whatever, I’m not going to dwell on that.

Chanting to myself, “The cupcakes will be worth it,” over and over again, I make my way down the hall to the rest of the neighbors—none of whom I’ve ever actually met—hoping one of them will take pity on me.

By the time I’ve knocked on five doors and received no answers, I’m getting pissed. Yeah, okay, so I’d never open the door to someone I didn’t know either. Especially someone with bedraggled hair and flour all over their face.

When I get to the last apartment on my floor, my patience is nonexistent and I pound on the door. I wait for approximately half a second before slamming my fist against it again, muttering, “I don’t fucking believe this. For the love of—”

And then it’s like God has answered my profanity-laden plea. In the form of a half-naked hottie, dripping wet and covered in only a miniscule towel. I should look at his face, or at the very least say hello—that’s what most people would do in a situation where they meet their neighbor for the first time. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m not like most people.

Instead, I stare. And stare some more, my eyeballs feasting on the glorious sight in front of me. His dark hair, nearly black from wetness, is dripping onto his smooth skin that looks—okay, I’m just going to say it: it looks edible. The color of his hair is the only defining characteristic I catalog as I follow the path of one such water rivulet trailing down his neck. It takes a nice, leisurely path over the hills and valleys of the most impressive chest I’ve ever seen in real life, then cascades over the ridges of his abdomen, until it disappears into the material of a threadbare towel. One large hand grips said threadbare towel, holding it closed around slim hips, though it does little to conceal what appears to be a very large, erm, package.

“Uh, hi?” he asks, confusion ringing in his tone. “Can I help you?”

His voice is deep and rich and is probably attached to a model-worthy face, but I can’t peel my eyes away to even check.

“I need your cock,” I say, my eyes still connected with his, well, cock.

A strangled cough comes from Hottie Neighbor Guy, and that’s when I realize what I’ve just said. Because of course I did.

I slap a hand to my forehead, clenching my eyes closed. “Sugar,” I correct and hold out my measuring cup. “I clearly meant sugar.”

Oh my God, is it possible to die of mortification? Because if so, I’m surely a goner. Is he still standing there? I honestly have no idea because I’m too much of a chicken shit to open my eyes and check.

After a few tense, totally silent moments, he lets out a sort of disbelieving laugh, then tugs the measuring cup from my hand. I open one eye and peek out through the slot I’ve made between two of my fingers. And of course my eye latches on another water path, this one narrowly missing a pebbled nipple.

Good God, is it even legal for him to be strutting around like this? Never mind the fact that he’s technically in his apartment and I apparently just interrupted a shower. He should be forced to cover up at all times for the sheer fact that his body is lethal in concentrated doses. I didn’t even know real guys were made like this! I thought it was reserved for Instagram models and Tumblr gifs.

Hottie Neighbor Guy clears his throat—though I’m telling myself it has nothing to do with me imagining him in the shower, nor the drool that may or may not be leaking out of my mouth. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back,” he says.

Through the tiny crack in my fingers, I watch him walk away. Every inch of this man is delectable. His back muscles flex as he moves, the dimples at the base of his spine drawing my eyes like a magnet. Which, of course, only pulls my gaze farther down to the way his very sculpted and biteable ass moves under the towel.

Once he disappears around the corner into what I assume is his kitchen, I sag against the doorjamb and repeatedly smack the heel of my hand against my forehead. I cannot believe I just did that.

Okay, so I can believe I just did that because that’s what I do. Make a total ass out of myself on a daily basis.

Because I’m a glutton for punishment, I replay the past three minutes in my mind over and over. Sweet Jesus, I didn’t realize it was possible for one person to be as embarrassed as I am right now, and yet here we are. I sort of wish the Hellmouth would open up under me and just put me out of my misery already.

After the fourth replay of the events in my mind, I come to the conclusion that there is absolutely no way I can face this guy again. No freakin’ way. No cupcakes are worth reliving my eternal mortification. And to hell with the measuring cup—I can buy another one at the store. Determined to get the hell out of dodge, I spin around and hustle my ass down the hallway, sprinting on tiptoes to my apartment so as not to draw his attention.

Yeah, because him catching me running away would definitely be the most embarrassing thing to happen tonight.

When I’m safely in my haven, leaning against the closed door, I reaffirm I did the most logical thing by getting the hell out of there. There is absolutely no amount of cupcakes that could make up for the mortification of having to talk to Hottie Neighbor Guy again.

CHAPTER TWO

It’s been more than a week since the Fateful Sugar Incident, as I’ve deemed to call it, and I still get a flush on my cheeks every time I think of what an idiot I was. Shortly after I made it back into my apartment, I called my best friend, Jen, and recounted the event in great, gory detail. She pretended to be supportive, but I could hear her snickering in the background. I knew if I’d told her the story in person, her face would have been bright red from the exertion of holding in her cackles.

Now back in my hermit hole—err, apartment I’ve been scared to leave for fear of running in to Hottie Neighbor Guy—I quickly change out of my work clothes before slipping on a pair of leggings—shut up, they are pants—and a worn hoodie. Tying my hair back as I trek into my kitchen, I try and figure out what to make for dinner. Cooking for just one person is always a challenge, and I rummage through my cupboards and fridge before deciding on some leftover pasta.

Just after I put my dish in the microwave to heat it up, there’s a knock at the door. I narrow my eyes and suspiciously glance toward the noise, wondering who the hell would be knocking, especially since I live in a secured building.

While my dinner reheats, I head to the door then stand on my tiptoes to look out the peephole. As quickly as my brain can register what I see, I gasp at who’s standing there and whip around, my back and the palms of my hands pressed flat against the door as I duck away from the peephole.

Like he’s able to see inside.

I roll my eyes at myself but still cower from the little hole to the outside. The reverberations of his second knock echo against my back, and I clench my eyes closed, hoping he’ll just go away. Taking a chance, I quickly peek out toward him again and watch with both relief and disappointment as he turns to leave.

Of course, that’s the exact moment my pasta finishes in the microwave, and the never-before-been-this-loud beeping of the timer sounds like a bullhorn through my space. With wide eyes, I watch as Hottie Neighbor Guy halts in his tracks and cocks his head to the side before looking back over his shoulder toward my door. He stands still for a moment, almost as if he’s listening for movement. Which, of course, leads me to hold my breath—because obviously he can hear me breathing through the closed door.

After what seems like forever, he finally turns around and heads toward his apartment. Just before he’s out of sight, I notice the measuring cup dangling from his hand.

A week later, I’m roaming the endless aisles of my local superstore half an hour before closing because I am still without a measuring cup. I realized that if I ever want to make another batch of cupcakes again, I needed to get my ass out and buy a replacement. Of course, I don’t technically need to buy one since Hottie Neighbor Guy has attempted to return mine at least three times this week. During each of those times, I was obviously not home, and definitely not crouched and hiding behind my door waiting for him to give up and walk away.

Once in the kitchen section, I look over my options, slightly overwhelmed by the possibilities. There’s plastic and glass, stack-able cups and single, dry and liquid, ones with easy-read measurements…the options are endless. I suddenly long for my good old reliable measuring cup my mom gave me when I first moved out of the house. Simple. Old-school. And nothing like these new fangled ones—digital read out, seriously? People can’t just look at a line?

“Jesus,” I mutter to myself. “I just want a simple goddamn measuring cup.”

“Well, you could have yours back, if you’d answer your door once in a while.”

I jump half a mile in the air, letting out a loud yelp. Hand to my chest to try and slow my pounding heartbeat, I spin around to see who my crazy stalker is. Although now that I have enough wits about me to not be concerned with just wetting my pants thanks to the scare, said crazy stalker’s words finally register. I’m pretty sure I know exactly who’s standing there.

Because in case it wasn’t clear already, I am the unluckiest person alive.

My suspicions are confirmed when I look up to his face, and there before me is Hottie Neighbor Guy. Up until this point, I’ve only gotten distorted visions of him through the peephole in my apartment. And believe you me, it’s a sad, sad substitute to being up close and personal with all this hotness.

His dark eyes, specked with green and gold, spark with mischief, the scruff on his face doing nothing to hide his smirk. That smirk that I want to wipe off his face only draws my attention to his mouth—full and lush with a beautifully curved top lip just begging to be traced by my tongue.

My brain output might as well be jkdjfaksdhfks when he’s around. He short-circuits my mental capabilities. I sputter and glance around as I mentally calculate the probability that I’d be able to just turn and walk away, pretending I didn’t see him. Or that I’m hard of hearing and didn’t hear him. Or that I don’t speak English and therefore didn’t understand a word he said.

“I see you and your shifty eyes,” he says. “Don’t even think about it.”

My mouth falls open. Say what now? Is he a goddamn mind reader?

He chuckles and looks at me for a moment before holding out his hand, as if meeting me here is a perfectly normal occurrence, and that only two weeks ago I didn’t visually assault his twig and berries. “I’m Matt, by the way.”

“Uhh…” I narrow my eyes at him, unsure what he’s playing at here. But I do have some semblance of manners, so I shake his hand. “I’m—”

“Lucy,” he interrupts. “Yeah, I know.” In response to my eyebrow raise, he smiles his toothpaste commercial smile—seriously, is everything about this guy perfect? “Mrs. Kauffman spilled the beans.”

Outwardly, I press my lips together in what I hope passes as a smile. But internally I shake my fist at the sky. Damn that meddling old woman. I knew she was too nice.

“So, Lucy,” he says, emphasizing my name, “do you make it a habit to never answer your door, or are you giving me special treatment?” He smirks, his eyes sparkling in a way that lets me know he’s teasing.

And even though I’d love nothing more than to play along with the fuckhot dude flirting with me while surrounded by kitchenware, his casual mention of trying to return my measuring cup only reminds me of how we got here in the first place.

My mortification is back tenfold as I recall exactly what led us to meet the first time. I can feel the redness sweep over my face, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, yet I can’t flee. For some reason, my fight or flight response has fizzled out completely, and I’m rooted in place.

When he cocks a brow, I realize he’s waiting for a response to his question, and I panic, wondering how exactly to answer. Well, since I begged for your dick before I even knew your name, I’ve been a little hesitant to see you again. Probably not the best option.

“Um, I…” I trail off, trying to think of a plausible lie to get me out of this. “I, uhhh… Oh!” I snap my finger and grin like I’ve just thought of the winning answer on Jeopardy. “I listen to my playlist on Spotify when I’m home so I don’t hear the door! You know, with my earbuds and such.” I gesture vaguely toward my ears.

He gives me a blank stare for a moment, and I’m a little worried he didn’t buy my fib. “I see,” he says slowly. “And you do this because…” He trails off, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Oh, uh, well.” Dammit, I didn’t think of an actual reason for me doing this. “Um…” I dart my eyes around, hoping inspiration will strike. And it does, in the form of a little old lady pushing her cart past us. “Mrs. Kauffman, obviously,” I finally say solemnly while nodding. “Yeah, she really hates anything even remotely loud. Can’t fall asleep. And she likes to sleep a lot. During all hours of the day, really.”

“Oh?” he asks, that cocky-ass smirk totally at home on his smug, fuckhot face. “’Cause when I talked to her, I had to practically yell for her to hear me.” His grin is spreading, getting bigger by the second, and it’s painfully obviously he’s enjoying watching me squirm. “Told me to hold on while she went to get her hearing aids.”

Shit.

Instead of making up another lie—or answering for the one I’ve already told—I scoff and turn away from him. “I really need to get back to”—I gesture to the overwhelming options of measuring cups before me—“all this, so if you’ll just excuse me.”

My back is to him, so I feel satisfied that I’ve effectively shut the door on any further conversation. I don’t hear anything for a minute and breathe a sigh of relief when I assume he’s finally left.

“You’re really going to buy another one when you could just stop by my place and pick up yours?” he asks, his voice in my ear again.

“Jesus!” I yell, my hand going to my chest. “What is wrong with you?” I hiss over my shoulder.

He chuckles and ducks his head before I return my gaze to the kitchen gadgets and attempt to ignore him. Matt clears his throat, and I peek at him out of the corner of my eye, watching as he rubs the back of his neck.

“All you have to do is swing by,” he says. “Your measuring cup’s been sitting on my dining room table since you left it. You can just grab it and go.”

Yeah, I’m not buying that. He’s up to something; I can sense it. I’m pretty sure the stink eye I give him illustrates my skepticism.

He holds up his hands in defense. “Promise.”

Am I really going to buy a subpar substitute to what I’ve been using for years when my beloved measuring cup is just sitting there, waiting for me to retrieve it? I mean, really, Matt has already cornered me. The worst of my embarrassment is over, right?

I finally give in and exhale a deep breath. “Fine.”

Before he can say anything else, I turn and stalk off toward the front of the store, anxious to get in my car so I can relive the past five minutes and simmer in the mortification all by myself.

Even though I’m booking it toward the exit, he manages to keep up, and before long, he’s striding right next to me at an easy pace. Damn these stupid, stubby legs of mine. I huff and try to move faster, but he still has no trouble keeping up, what with him being nearly a foot taller than me. Bastard.

He doesn’t talk as we make our way into the darkened parking lot. I stop at my car, and Matt stands by, waiting as I get my door unlocked.

Just before I slide into the driver’s seat, Matt calls out, “I’ve got someplace to be tonight, but you can swing by anytime tomorrow night, all right?”

I’m not sure if the extra time is a blessing or a curse. On one hand, I’ll have more time to prepare myself. On the other hand, I’ll also have more time to relive the Fateful Sugar Incident, which is only going to end badly for all involved. And by all involved, I mean me.

“Uh, yeah, that’s fine.”

“See you soon, Lucy.” With a smile curving those beautiful lips, he walks backward toward where his car must be. I don’t stick around to watch him any longer. It’s clear he’s already zapped every ounce of intelligence I have.

He offers a tentative wave as I drive past him, trying—and failing—not to freak out about what’s to come.

CHAPTER THREE

This was the worst idea I’ve had in a while, and with my track record, that’s definitely saying something.

I knew I’d be a hot mess of nerves when the time to actually go to Matt’s place was upon me. So why did I agree to it? I should’ve just bought a new frickin’ measuring cup yesterday. Who cares if the one my mom gave me has been passed down from my great-grandmother? Heirlooms are for pansies anyway.

Pacing around my apartment, I silently call myself every name in the book as I try to think up an excuse as to why I haven’t gone over—or, better yet, why I don’t go over at all. It’s already nearing eight, so I’ve spent most of the past three hours marinating in my own fail. And, unfortunately, I’ve come to find it’s just getting more and more difficult to walk out that door.

I finally come to the conclusion the only way I’m getting my ass over there is with a little liquid courage. Since I’m too anxious to wait for a slow buzz, I figure shots are my best bet. After downing two, I start to get warm all over and can’t remember why I was so nervous to see Hottie Neighbor Guy—err, Matt.

My mind wanders back to the first time I saw him. Which, of course, leads me to fantasize about what might have happened in an alternate reality—one where I’m not a complete, bumbling idiot. Maybe I’ll get lucky and he’ll answer his door in just a towel again. A girl can dream, right?

With that thought, I grab my keys and hurry out of my apartment, trucking my way toward Matt’s door. Under my breath, I chant, “Please be naked. Please be naked. Please be naked,” hoping someone will answer my prayer. Because, honestly, I’m due for a little good luck already.

Without hesitation, I knock on his door and wait to see what state of undress he’s in this time. It only takes a moment before the door swings open, and there’s Matt with a big smile on his face.

“Hey, Lucy,” he says, unfortunately fully clothed. Though the boy is certainly rockin’ the whole jeans and T-shirt look. “Thought you were gonna stand me up.”

“Stand you up?” I try to be covert in my appraisal of his body beneath what he’s wearing. Fortunately for me, both articles of clothing are snug fitting, so it’s not too difficult. Especially when I remember—in great detail—exactly what’s under all that material. “It’s not like this is a date.”

It’s then that I get a whiff of a mouthwatering aroma coming from his apartment. As if on cue, my stomach decides to remind me I was so worried about coming over, I forgot to actually feed it something.

Matt, no doubt hearing the loud-enough-to-wake-the-dead grumbles coming from my stomach, smiles. “Hungry?”

Saliva pools in my mouth at the thought of eating Matt…err, what Matt has made for dinner, but I still shake my head. “No,” I say firmly, not allowing myself another glance of his denim-covered dreamsicle. “I just came to get my measuring cup.” I hold out my hand and wait for him to give it to me. He might be hot, but if I’m forced to spend more than thirty seconds in his presence again, there’s no telling what kind of horrifying things I might say. Or do.

Not discouraged by my short answers, he opens the door farther and motions for me to come inside. “It’s in the kitchen.” Noticing my hesitation, he cocks a brow. “I won’t bite, Lucy.”

That’s really too bad.

He chuckles—shit, did I say that out loud?—and turns to walk away, leaving me standing in his open doorway. And, yeah, I watch his ass as he goes, because of course I do. It’s déjà vu from the first time we met. But as good as his ass looks in those jeans—and sweet Lord does it look good—I’m pretty sure I prefer seeing the outline in the skimpy towel he was wearing last time.

I snap myself out of my ass-induced haze and decide what the hell to do. Part of me wants to turn around and scurry back to my apartment, with or without that blasted measuring cup. But that clearly did a whole lot for me the last time, so I quickly nix that idea. However, I’m not sure the two measly shots I had were enough to coerce me into actually entering this hot bastard’s apartment. Lord knows what I’d do to him and his dick behind closed doors, especially considering I’ve liquored myself up for the occasion. On an empty stomach, no less.

“Lucy?” he calls.

I peek my head in, noticing his place is the same layout as mine. His, however, is sparsely furnished and has moving boxes stacked in the corners. I’d wondered why I hadn’t seen him in the building before the Fateful Sugar Incident, but it looks like Hottie just moved in.

“Lucy?” he tries again, his voice coming from the kitchen. “Can you come help me for a minute?”

Damn him and his weaselly ways. He probably assumed I wouldn’t be rude and walk away when someone asked for help. Smart and hot, that one. And he’s right.

Huffing, I head into the kitchen, getting there just as Matt pulls something from the oven. And, yeah, this set-up seems a little, well, set-up. I dart my eyes around, taking in the yummy looking dinner he made, the two plates on the counter in front of him, as well as the two wine glasses and bottle of wine sitting out.

Holy shit, I’ve been duped.

Gasping, I point a finger at him. “You tricked me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, completely unfazed as he proceeds to dish up dinner on both plates.

“This!” I hiss and gesture wildly to the very date-like ambiance of his apartment. “You told me to come by and pick up my stupid ass measuring cup, not meet you for a freakin’ date where you cook me dinner! What the fuck, dude?”

Okay, so I might be getting a tiiiiiny bit worked up about this, but I’ve been completely misled. I mean, had I known this was a date, I would have actually put effort into getting ready rather than throwing on the ripped jeans and old Def Leppard T-shirt I’m wearing. And I may have thrown on some sexy, matching lingerie rather than coming over here in the polka-dot bra and hot pink panties that say sure thing across the ass.

He laughs, and if I’m not mistaken, light pink blooms on his cheeks. Not that I was staring at his face, or his full lips, or his slight stubble, or his glorious, dark mass of hair I want to grab while I ride his face.

Jesus, Lucy, next time remember rum makes you frisky. 

Leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, he slips his hands in his pockets. “You mean to tell me if I’d said, ‘Hey, Lucy, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow night?’ you would’ve said yes?”

My cheeks heat as I recall the first time I met Matt—when I’d practically assaulted him and his dick, then ran away like a scared animal, and thus the entire reason I’m here. Embarrassed all over again, I scoff. “Obviously not.”

“Because you don’t want to be here?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.

“Because—” I cut myself off before I repeat his words, because they’re not true. I do want to be here…I’m just not sure how to move past my mortification.

He glances down at the floor, then back to me. “There are no strings attached here. You’re free to take your measuring cup and leave anytime.” He points to the counter to my left, and sure enough, there it sits. “I don’t want you to feel like dinner is part of the deal to get what you came for. It’s just a bonus.”

Eyeing him warily, my face still hot, I cross my arms over my chest. Damn, he’s really thrown me off my game. If he’d been a dick or super pushy, it’d have been a lot easier to walk away. “Why do you want to have dinner with me so badly?”

I’m not a stranger to being hit on or asked out, but the dudes generally don’t go to such extreme measures. Especially exceptionally hot ones whose cock I’ve lusted after since I first laid eyes on it…err, him.

He shrugs and turns around to uncork the bottle of wine. “You’re beautiful, funny…quirky.” He glances up at me for a moment, his lips curved up on one side, before concentrating again on the wine. “I wanted to get to know you better. And I’m new in town”—he gestures to the scattered boxes—“and I don’t know many people.”

Matt must sense I still haven’t been completely persuaded into staying and adds, “Plus, Mrs. Kauffman tipped me off that you wouldn’t turn down free food and alcohol. Was she wrong?”

As he stares at me with a raised brow, the bottle of one of my favorite wines poised over a glass, I narrow my eyes at him and purse my lips. That meddling old hag. I love her. I’ve never turned down free food and alcohol, which is why my rap sheet of bad dates is nearly as long as Santa’s list of names. And I’m certainly not going to turn down free food and alcohol when it’s this hot as fuck bastard that’ll be sitting across from me.

“Fine,” I say and grab the glass of wine he’s just poured, not hesitating to take a large drink. I’m definitely going to need more alcohol to get me through dinner without wanting to crawl under the table. “But I’m only staying ’cause you called me pretty. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Matt laughs and grabs the plates, tilting his head toward the dining area and gesturing for me to follow. I grab his wine glass along with mine and walk behind him.

“Well, in that case, I actually said you were beautiful, not just pretty.” He winks and sets down our dishes before pulling out my chair for me.

I’ll admit I’m a little taken aback by the gesture. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a guy do something so, well, nice. Actually, I’ve never had a guy do something so…gentlemanly. Manners aren’t high on the list for the dudes I’ve surrounded myself with. Between his manners, his personality, and his good looks—not to mention the not-so-tiny trouser snake I got a glimpse of under his towel—I think I might be smitten. Now if only I’d stop acting like an idiot in front of him.

“Thank you.” I slide into the seat he offers, setting our glasses on the table.

“You’re welcome.” He’s not hovering creepy-close, but he’s near enough that his breath ghosts over my neck, and I fight back the shiver threatening to rack my body. I fail. Obviously, I fail. And from the smug smile on Matt’s face as he sits in his chair, he’s aware of exactly what kind of reaction I have to him.

If I make it out of this night unscathed, it’ll be a damn miracle.

CHAPTER FOUR

Matt takes his seat across from me and offers me one of his panty-dropping smiles. Figuring the best thing to do is start shoveling food into my mouth so I can’t say anything embarrassing like, “Please fuck me on top of this table right this minute, you hung hottie,” I dig into the dinner he prepared.

As soon as the flavors hit my tongue, I moan. “Oh my God.” I take another bite, and yeah, my eyes definitely roll back in my head. “Jesus, are you a chef?”

He laughs almost in embarrassment and shifts in his seat. “Uh, no. Definitely not a chef.”

“Then how the hell do you explain the awesomeness I’m eating? Holy shit, I can’t stop having mouthgasms from this food.”

He coughs and sputters, having just taken a drink of his wine. After clearing his throat, he says, “A mouthgasm?”

I nod. “Yeah, for sure my mouth just came. Multiple ’gasms, even.”

Barking out a laugh, he shakes his head at me. Hopefully it’s in a Man this girl is cute way and not in a Who let this weirdo into my apartment way. He lifts a shoulder. “It was sort of a big deal in our house that my brother and I weren’t totally inept once we moved out. My mom made sure we knew how to cook and do laundry. She was kind of particular that way.”

“That’s cool,” I say, still shoveling forkfuls of this lusciousness into my mouth like the food whore I am. “I wish my mom had taken some initiative in things like that. Or my dad for that matter. They didn’t even show me how to sort my clothes to do laundry. I had to figure that out on my own.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, well, parents who were still babies themselves when they had me…” I shrug and take a drink of wine. “I’m sure you can figure out the rest of the story. It’s a tale as old as time.”

“Wow,” he says. “Well, that must have sucked.”

I give him an eh, what are ya gonna do look and take the opportunity to change the subject. “So, you just moved here?” I tilt my head toward the boxes scattered about.

“Yeah.” He nods and spears a bite of his dinner. “Actually, just a couple of days before you came knocking on my door.”

It’s truly amazing how quickly this guy can go from normal dude to cocky bastard. Because, yep, that damn grin is back, and once again my face flushes as I remember the words I spoke that horrible, wretched day that will no doubt haunt me for the rest of my life.

Instead of responding, I studiously ignore him by focusing on my plate. But that doesn’t stop my face from lighting up like a billboard. Nor does it stop Matt from chuckling.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

I scoff and roll my eyes before meeting his smiling ones. “Oh, please, Matt. Like there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about.” I take another swig of my wine, because if this is the topic of conversation we’re venturing into, I’m not nearly drunk enough for it.

“I’m serious. I’m pretty sure every guy would have loved to be in my position.” Then he mumbles low, almost out of hearing range, but not quite, “And maybe another position later if you’d stayed.”

Wait. What? My hand freezes on its trek to bring me more delicious wine, and my eyebrows nearly disappear into my hairline. Holy shit, dude. Holy. Shit. When I tucked tail and ran, did I leave behind Hottie Neighbor Guy ready and willing…even wanting to do dirty things with me? Here all I could think about was how utterly mortifying it had been, but maybe Matt had been—I don’t know—flattered by my need for his cock?

Needing a little time before I find out what sort of positions he would’ve liked to try, I ask, “You wanted me to stay?”

“Well”—he shifts a little in his seat, running his finger around the base of his wine glass—“yeah, I mean…you were, well, you were…” He scrunches up his nose and raises his eyes to the ceiling like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Finally he says, “I already told you I was attracted to you, Lucy. And what you said then? Well, a towel wasn’t gonna do much to hide my reaction to it.” He raises both eyebrows, silently encouraging me to get his meaning.

And, oh, do I get it.

Hottie had a hard-on for little old me.

My face is warm, though no longer from embarrassment. I thought I had more self-control than to sit in front of him and think about fucking him on the floor of his apartment, but I was wrong. God help me, but those fantasies play out in my mind like a porn reel.

I’m sure my thoughts are written all over my face, but still I can’t drop my eyes. Our gazes stay locked for what seems like forever when Matt finally coughs and looks away.

“I should, um…” He clears his throat. “I’ll just clean up.”

He grabs our plates and takes them into the kitchen. Meanwhile, I try not to look to the place my eyes were drawn to on our first meeting, but come on… It’s like his cock has some kind of magnetic ability my eyes aren’t able to resist. And…whoa, mama. It seems Matt was definitely running the fucking-me-against-his-door-slash-counter-slash-floor-slash-table fantasy I was also participating in. The prominent outline through his jeans is difficult to miss.

I’m rooted to my spot long after he’s out of my sight, too busy replaying those delicious fantasies over and over in my mind.

“I made dessert,” he calls from the kitchen. “I mean, if you want some.”

Oh, I’d like dessert, all right.

Being the lady that I am, however, I don’t say that. “What do you have in mind?” Please say licking whipped cream off your popsicle. I clear our wine glasses from the table and carry them into the kitchen, placing them on the counter before facing him.

He, unfortunately, does not have his cock covered with whipped cream, poised and ready for my tongue. Shame, really. His back is to me as he works on something I can’t see—and don’t really care about, actually, because I am one hundred percent entranced with his ass. God, the things I’d like to do to that round, firm, sculpted piece of male perfection… The real question is, would I start with my hands or my tongue? Both, Lucy. Why can’t it be both?

He turns around, breaking my trance. “I was thinking cupcakes, actually.” Hand outstretched, he offers me one topped with a massive amount of frosting. “I didn’t know what you were trying to make when you came over to borrow sugar, but I figured I couldn’t go wrong with these.”

I look at the chocolate frosted mini-cake then to Matt as a war wages inside my head. Do I want to lick the tasty goodness in front of me, or do I want the cupcake?

The embarrassment I’ve felt since the first time we met takes a back seat to the crazy dance my hormones do whenever I’m in his presence, especially since it’s now obvious he’s interested in me. He planned a ridiculous ruse just to be able to have dinner with me, even after knowing exactly how neurotic I am. No, not just have dinner with me, but cook dinner for me. He admitted he found me attractive, is very obviously sporting a hard-on, and made me baked goods. If he doesn’t let me have his babies, I think it’s only fair that I at least get in some practice with his baby-making wand.

Rather than take a running leap and wrap my arms and legs around him like I want to, I reach for the cupcake. Now, let’s be real. There’s no sexy way to eat a cupcake. Sure, I could play coy, swipe my finger through the frosting and moan, but I don’t have a coy bone in my body. And, I’ll be honest, the smell of this cupcake so close is making my mouth water. With absolutely no shame, I peel away the liner and take a bite.

“Holy shit,” I moan. Or at least that’s what I try to say, but with a mouthful of cupcake—and yeah, definitely just took another bite—it probably came out sounding like hmphy shhhft. Goddamn, this guy is some kind of urban legend. Hot, friendly, genuinely nice, and knows how to cook and bake?

I swipe my thumb across the corner of my mouth, catching a chunk of frosting, and lick it clean. “As I was saying, holy shit these are good.”

Peeling off another bit of the wrapper, I lift my eyes to his…and freeze. His mouth is parted slightly, and he’s staring at me with a look that could only be described as hungry. A look I’m one hundred percent sure was mirrored on my face when he answered the door in a towel.

“Lucy…” he says, his voice somehow both coarse and smooth. My nipples draw tight just from the two tiny syllables. Sweet fancy Moses, how does he make my name sound so dirty?

“Yeah?” Who’s the porn star in the room using my voice?

He licks his bottom lip before swallowing loudly, and just like that, he’s on me.

His hands grip my neck as he backs me up against the counter. I fumble to place the cupcake on the counter so I can cling to him. Yes, cling. His body is flush with mine, all those hard, delicious muscles pressed up against every inch of me, and ohmygod his lips are so soft. The kiss is not suave or delicate; it’s urgent and needy and frenzied. Honestly, it’s exactly how I fantasized our first kiss would be. You know, if it wasn’t his cock I was kissing. Not that I ever thought about that.

“Matt,” I breathe, then proceed to pant into his mouth as he swipes his tongue across my bottom lip. Then…oh, then, he slips it inside.

The words die in my throat as my eyes roll into the back of my head, and I grip his forearms tightly. He bites and nips and sucks my lips, his tongue sliding against mine. I never thought I’d see the day where a man tasted better than a cupcake, and yet here we are.

I slip my arms up around his neck, attempting to get us into a position where I can rock this overwhelming ache between my legs against what I know he’s got hidden in his pants. Unfortunately, the height difference makes it nearly impossible.

As if he can read my mind, he drops his hands from my neck and firmly grasps my ass, pulling me up to sit on the counter. He settles between my legs, and—holy shit—presses the object of my obsession exactly where I need it.

“Oh, God.” I tip my head back and moan toward the ceiling. Matt takes the opportunity to move his lips to my ear, then my jaw, and finally trails down my neck.

“Jesus, Lucy, you drive me crazy.”

I drive him crazy? What the fuck? I nearly object to that statement, but then he moves his hands from my ass and brings them to the hem of my shirt, sliding them under slowly enough that I can object if I want to. Pfft, like that’s going to happen. Palms warm and a little rough, he cups my breasts in his hands, his thumbs brushing over my nipples.

“Fuck.” I can’t tell which one of us says it—probably both. But honestly my brain might as well be a bowl of mashed potatoes for all the good it’s doing me right now. The only thought going through my head is holy shit yes.

And then he ducks down to suck on my neck again, his teeth scraping the spot that’s got a live wire directly to my pussy, and that’s it. I’m gone. The porn star moan I’ve managed to keep bottled up thus far pours out of me. From the grunt Matt gives in response, how he grinds his dick even more insistently against me, I’m going to assume he’s a fan of my porn star ways.

Before I can blink, he pulls back slightly as he lifts the shirt over my head. I don’t have time to worry about the fact that I’m in a less-than-sexy bra before he drags down one of the cups and engulfs my nipple in his mouth.

“Jesus,” I groan, my head dropping back as I delve my fingers into Matt’s hair and tug. Between his tongue against my skin and his dick between my legs, I worry for a second that I’m dreaming. Either that or I’m in heaven.

Even still, I can’t help worrying we might be moving just a little fast. I mean, I was all for some making out, and, yeah, the idea did run through my mind about fucking him on this very counter, but thinking and doing are two very different things.

Before I can voice my questions, his mouth is on mine again while he cups my breasts, giving the perfect amount of attention to my nipples. Seriously, my toes are curling. I didn’t know that actually happened outside romance novels!

God, did I really think this was too soon? He has magic hands, for fuck’s sake. I fall into his kiss again, letting myself be pulled into the glorious abyss of knowing nothing but his tongue and his hands and his hard as fuck body against mine. But when he reaches for the button of my jeans, those worries come flooding back.

I still his wandering hands, hating myself a little for doing so.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Wait,” I murmur around his lips. “Wait, Matt…”

He freezes like the good man he is, pulling back just far enough where I can see the hazed look in his eyes, the pink flush to his cheeks, the heaving of his chest. Fuckhot.

“Yeah?” He flicks his eyes down to my lips and back again, and ho boy, this crazy chemistry definitely isn’t one-sided.

“Soon we are too?”

“Huh?”

Yeah, okay, so my brain definitely isn’t working yet. With my hands on his biceps—hnnnnggggg—I push away, hoping some space will help clear my head. It does, if only barely.

“Is this too soon?” And, yeah, I definitely just moaned that entire question, but look at what I’m dealing with here!

He lets out a snort and grips my hips, his thumbs sliding along the bare skin above my waistband. Good Lord, even that gives me goosebumps. “Lucy, you told me you wanted my dick before you even knew my name. So, no, I don’t think it’s too soon.”

Well, the boy certainly has a point. Who am I to dispute his well-made argument? And, really, if you think about it, it’s sort of like my reward for suffering through all that embarrassment. I deserve this and anything else he can come up with tonight.

Matt slips a finger under my chin and tips my head back so I’m looking into his eyes. “But if you do, we can pause everything. No questions.”

I’m sure I look like some sort of bobble head, vigorously shaking my head back and forth, because no. No I definitely don’t want to.

“Thank God.” He smiles and dips his head to kiss along my neck. Against it, he says, “I do, however, think we should move this to a bed.” He grabs my ass and pulls me from the counter as I wrap my legs around him. And, yeah, I totally grind myself down on his dick. “Call me old fashioned, but I don’t want our first time to be in the kitchen.”

Once again, he brushes his lips across my skin, moving them over the part on my shoulder that makes me see stars. At this point in time, he could get me to agree to just about anything. I moan my approval as he walks us down the hall, all the while continuing his mouth torture on my neck.

When we’re in his bedroom, he drops me in the middle of his bed and smirks. “We’ll save the counter for later.”

I stare at him open-mouthed, certain I’m dreaming. Whatever you do, Lucy, do not wake up. This man—this gloriously hot, intelligent, well-hung, knows-how-to-cook-and-clean man just admitted to already planning on round two. So either I’m dreaming, or I’ve obviously been a good girl this year and Santa has answered my wish a little early.

He braces his hands on either side of my shoulders and leans over me. Bending down, he nips my parted lips. “Close your mouth,” he says. “Or is that an invitation?”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline, and I let out a noise between a cough and a gasp, shocked at his bluntness. Could all my dreams have been answered, and Matt here is a dirty talker, too?

“Come again?” I finally manage.

He smirks down at me. “I still have to come the first time, but we’ll get to the ‘again’ part soon enough. Now, let’s lose these pants.”

He wastes no time popping the button on my jeans and tugging them down. They get stuck before they’re completely off, and I try to help him in the whole getting-me-naked-quicker thing. I flail and kick my legs a bit, trying to shimmy them down, and somehow end up on my side when they finally come off.

Matt’s fingers trail up my legs, and I thank whatever God is up there that I shaved yesterday so they’re not the ape-like monstrosity they had been just days before. I shiver as his fingers graze the back of my knees and thighs, then give a little yelp when he lightly taps my ass.

“Wish I saw these earlier.” He kisses the skin on my back just above the waistband of my underwear. “Would’ve saved me a lot of uncertainty.”

I hear everything he says, but the words don’t quite work right in my mush-like brain. Especially as he continues to brush his lips against my flesh, rendering me incoherent. “Huh?”

Matt slips his finger under the elastic of my underwear and drags it slowly against my ass cheek. “These,” he repeats, tugging a little on my undies.

It’s then I remember, with great mortification, exactly what panties I’m wearing. I groan and roll onto my stomach, burying my face in his comforter while he continues driving me crazy with his slow torture all over my ass. My embarrassment only intensifies when he chuckles.

“Don’t laugh,” I say, but it comes out garbled through the layers of down feathers underneath me.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against my ear.

I can hear the smile in his smug voice; he’s not really sorry at all. But when his lips trail against the shell of my ear and his entire body is suddenly flush with mine, I find I can’t really be bothered with it anymore. Especially since—God help me—he’s removed his jeans since I last groped him. There’s only a thin piece of cotton containing the beast in his pants. I could probably rip them off with my teeth…

Matt quickly undoes the hook of my bra, and I shift around so he can slip it out from under me. After I lie once again on my stomach, he slides my hair to the side so he can get at my bare back. I’m tense as I wait for him, my entire body lit up like the sky on the Fourth of July. The anticipation of what he might do is almost as delicious as anything he could actually do to me.

Okay, that’s a lie.

Because then…then his lips ghost over the top of my spine, and ohmygod I was wrong. Matt’s lips on me beat out every anticipation, dream, or fantasy I could possibly have. A shiver works its way through my body as he continues kissing across both shoulders and down the slope of my shoulder blades. Goosebumps pebble all over my skin, and my nipples rub almost painfully against his down comforter.

My ass proclaiming I’m a sure thing is proudly displayed for him, but that doesn’t stop me from practically humping the mattress as he continues tormenting me with his mouth. Jesus, I need some damn relief. I nearly slide my hand between my body and the bed, ready to get myself off. But it’s been a while since anyone but me has been all up in my business, and I’m more than ready for Hung Hottie to have a go at it.

With my hands on either side of my head, clutching the comforter, I’m finally put out of my misery as Matt’s fingers trail over the curve of my ass. I groan and lift my butt a little in the air—and maybe spread my legs a bit, just to get things moving along.

“Someone’s eager.” He chuckles.

“Shut up and touch me already.” Yeah, I get cranky when I’m horny, so what.

His hand disappears between my legs, and I can’t help the whimper that escapes my lips. Even through a layer of cotton, his touch feels like heaven.

“Like this?” he asks, smug as hell because he knows damn well that’s what I was talking about.

Instead of the smart reply that’s on the tip of my tongue, I let out an embarrassingly loud moan. Matt continues his kiss assault to my back as he works his magic between my legs. It feels nice, but I need more—light rubbing through my underwear isn’t going to get me off, despite the fact that I’ve already soaked through said underwear. Either he has great intuition or the loud grumbling moan I just did was a huge clue for him, because he’s off me in a second and my undies are around my ankles in the next.

Yelping, I push myself onto my elbows and look behind me. He’s just sort of staring at me, his ginormous dick barely concealed by his boxer briefs. Good God, I can’t wait to take a ride on that bad boy.

And even though I’m ready for said ride, he keeps staring. Now, every girl likes to be appreciated, and the look in his eyes tells me that’s exactly what he’s doing. But this girl needs to get a good dicking already, so I shake my ass a little to entice him to hurry up.

“Spread your legs, Lucy.” His voice is low and gravelly, and it does things to my lady bits no voice should have the power to do.

Shuddering, I part my legs slightly, still propped on my elbows as I watch him. He meets my eyes briefly as he slips off his boxers, and I have to swallow the moan that threatens to escape and brace myself so my jaw doesn’t come unhinged.

Hung hottie is hung.

Even the porn I’ve watched—and I’ve watched a lot—has nothing on him. He’s pure, sculpted, male perfection. I mean, what I thought I saw behind the tiny, thin towel is like a tootsie roll compared to the flesh and steel in front of me.

Matt steps to the nightstand and grabs something out of the drawer—I can’t bother to look at it, because I’m too mesmerized by the work of art between his legs. A light crinkling fills the otherwise silent room, and then I watch with great interest as he rolls a condom down his length. I may moan when he gives his dick a couple quick tugs.

“You’ve had me hard for weeks, do you know that?” He covers me with his body, bracing himself on an elbow as his lips brush against mine. “Since you stared at my cock like it was an ice cream cone and all you could think about was giving it a lick.”

I open my mouth to protest, but really, what am I going to say? I did stare at his cock exactly like that.

“I’ve dreamt about what you said, replayed it over and over again.” He swipes his tongue along my lower lip as I pant into his mouth, lifting my ass to get closer to the object of my obsession. “Say it again for me…”

“Dude, if you don’t give me your cock right now—”

He huffs out a laugh before he kisses me breathless. This kiss is nothing like our previous ones; it’s slow and calm and sensual. And holy fuck, apparently it doesn’t matter at which speed he kisses because they all melt me into a puddle of goo. I’m completely boneless beneath him. If he can kiss this good, what else can he do with his tongue?

He slips his hand under my stomach and trails down until his fingers graze my clit. And then my world is focused laser-sharp on the circles he’s working around my detonation button. It’s too much, so I stop trying to hold in my noises and moan into his mouth as his tongue slides against mine.

“Jesus, you always get this wet?” He’s moved so he’s nearly flush along my back, his cock nestled between my thighs as he continues to work me over with his fingers. Sweet Jesus, those magical fingers.

I try to answer his question, try to even say his name, but it comes out as an incoherent groan into his mouth. Matt chuckles and moves his lips to the back of my neck as I drop my head down and concentrate on…everything.

He’s solid and firm behind me, his warmth seeping into me as he flicks his tongue along the curve where my neck meets my shoulder. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he slips his cock between my legs, sliding it up and down along my slit. On every down stroke, his cock connects with his fingers, putting more pressure on my clit, and I’m about two-point-five seconds from going off like a firecracker.

But I want him inside me when I do. I want to be filled by him, stretched by him. I want to squeeze him as he makes me come.

Thank God he’s apparently eager for that, too, because his warmth is gone as he pushes back on his knees and guides his cock with purpose until he’s right there. The anticipation of what it’s going to feel like to be full of him is nearly my undoing, but I’m patient because he hasn’t let me down so far.

He covers my body again, his chest against my back and his cock poised and ready. And God knows I’m ready. He’s worked me up so much, it’s like Niagara Falls down there.

“Say it,” he whispers as he rocks his hips forward slightly, and my eyes roll back into my head. God, he’s going to ruin me for all other men. But that’s fine. That’s totally fine as long as I have this one time with him. I just need…a…little…more… “Say it,” he says, louder this time.

I try to respond in a normal way, but all that comes out is, “Hmph.” Lifting my hips, I try to catch his cock so I can push back and slip it in, but he keeps teasing me, moving just out of reach.

“Come on, Lucy. Say it again for me.”

“Matt!” I snap and reach back, digging my nails into his ass. “Give me your cock right fucking now.” And with that, I lift my ass slightly in the air, hold him in place with my hand, and push back to engulf him.

Holy. Shit. I mean, holy shit.

Christ on a cracker, my imagination had nothing on what it feels like to have him inside me.

This time, the strangled moans aren’t just from me. Matt’s breath is hot on my back as he drops his forehead to my shoulder and works his cock in and out of me, inching farther in with each thrust. Finally, finally, he slides his cock all the way inside me, stretching me to just this side of discomfort. Jesus, I’m full—so full. He’s hitting places inside me my last three boyfriends could only dream of reaching.

I try to move my hips and work up to a nice rhythm, but this position makes it difficult. I’m pinned to the bed by Matt’s body, which makes me fairly dependent on him to rock my world.

“Christ, Lucy, you feel…” His hair brushes against my back like he’s shaking his head. Then he grips my knee and lifts my leg up, opening me even wider and allowing him to settle deeper inside me. “Fuck.”

“Oh my God,” is what I try to say, but it comes out more like omfghshf. I fist the comforter on either side of my head, needing something to ground me because surely I’ve died and am in heaven right now.

Well, actually, heaven would be him moving, but he’s still just seated deep inside. I give a swivel of my hips to test the waters, and Matt groans, long and low, before he lifts his head so his lips are just touching my skin. He pulls himself out slowly, then slides all the way inside, filling me exactly the way I need.

And then…then…he starts an easy, steady rhythm, one hand gripping my knee as he holds me open for him and the other still masterfully working over my clit. Every once in a while, he moves his fingers down to where he’s disappearing into me, and I’m almost certain I’m going to combust from the imagined visual of that alone.

Matt shifts slightly so his lips are right by my ear. His thrusts increase in pace and vigor, and all I can do is lie there and take every thrust he gives me and every dirty word he breathes. “Jesus, Lucy, your pussy is like heaven.”

Funny, I was thinking the same thing about his cock, but of course I don’t say that. Mostly because he’s rendered me incoherent and the only sounds coming out of my mouth are of the moaning variety.

“Is this what you wanted that first night?”

And every night since then…

“God yes.” I turn my head back to try and capture his lips. He doesn’t disappoint, swiping his tongue against my bottom lip before he licks inside. I moan into his mouth as he moves faster, our panting groans combining with the sound of our skin slapping together, and before long we’re shaking the whole bed, the headboard banging rhythmically into the wall.

“Fuck.” He grunts and drops his head, finally losing his composure. “I need you to come,” he insists through gritted teeth as his fingers fly over my clit. He moves his hand from my knee and slips it between my chest and the bed. Cupping a breast, his finger grazes my sensitive nipple, and I tighten around him.

“Christ, I can feel you squeezing my cock. Come on, Lucy, let me feel you come.”

It doesn’t take anything more than a pinch with two fingers against my nipple and a tap from another before I’m clenching and exploding, my whole body throbbing as I moan through my release.

“Fuck yes,” he exhales, still rubbing softly against my clit until the last wave washes through my body.

Once I’ve relaxed, Matt moves his hands, bracing one by my head as the other grips my hip while he drives into me. It only takes another minute before he’s swearing and pulsing and spilling inside me.

With panting breaths, he drops his head, nearly collapsing onto me. His heat envelopes me, his hair brushing against the middle of my back, and a shiver overtakes me.

“Cold?” His breath washes over me, a cool breeze on my sweat-slicked skin.

Not really, no. The shiver is from the fact that my body is raring to go another round with him, my nipples still tight against the bedding, despite just having my world thoroughly rocked. But because I want to at least act a tiny bit dignified, I nod and pretend the coolness of the early spring air is what’s got goosebumps erupting all over my body and not the fact that Matt can fuck like a goddamn king.

He kisses my shoulder and slowly pulls out of me before giving my ass a little tap. “Why don’t you get under the blankets? I’ll be right back.”

Even though I want to just lie there and never move, I turn my head enough so I can watch his naked backside retreat from his bedroom. Yep, definitely not something I’ll get sick of staring at any time soon. Since I’ve already shifted from my comfy place, I might as well keep going. I quickly nestle myself under his cloud of blankets and curl into his pillow. I may or may not inhale deeply because it smells just like him, and I also may or may not have a goofy grin on my face because of it.

CHAPTER SIX

I must have dozed off quickly, because the next thing I know, only the faint light of the moon shines through Matt’s window. He’s curled up behind me, his lips pressed to my neck and his arm hooked over my stomach, one hand cupping my boob. Not exactly how I would have expected the night to go, but I’m not going to complain about it.

A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s just before two in the morning. I shove my head farther into the pillow and hope the nagging in my bladder will go away, if only I could fall into a deep sleep again. Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards, so I reluctantly leave my warm cocoon.

As quietly as I can, I blindly feel around the floor for something to put on. I come across cotton, and I pull the shirt over my head before I realize what I’m wearing. Though as soon as the neck of the shirt goes over my head, the smell alone gives it away. I smirk a little and strut—yeah, strut…you don’t get fucked like that and not have a little pep in your step—my way to the bathroom, wrapped in Matt’s shirt from earlier. Luckily, I know the floor plan of his apartment since it’s just like mine, so I don’t have to feebly try to find my way.

Once I’ve taken care of business, the light over the stove in the kitchen reminds me of the sugary goodness I had earlier, in the form of the cupcake I never got to finish, and my sweet tooth prevents me from going right back to bed. I tiptoe my way in and quickly find where he stored the cupcakes, helping myself to one before I hop up on the counter, legs swinging.

And that’s where Matt finds me, fifteen minutes and three cupcakes later, with a guilty look on my face.

“Hey,” he rasps. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hungry, were you?” He’s sleepy and has pillow marks on his face, but he still manages to make my lady bits quiver with his smirk. And the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt. And because his pajama pants hang so low it’s obvious he’s not wearing underwear, either. And because I now know, with complete certainty, exactly what he’s packing behind that thin cotton.

God, why didn’t I take the time to lick those delicious lines that point straight to his cock? For that matter, why didn’t I lick his cock?

I nearly fall into another state of cock-hypnosis, but then remember exactly what I was doing out here. I try to sweep the three paper tins off to the side so he can’t see what a horse I just made of myself, but it’s of no use. Besides, I’m pretty sure I have frosting all over my face.

Since my mouth is still full with my last bite, I just shrug and smile around the cake. With a laugh, he moves to stand between my legs and trails his hands up my calves.

“I thought you left,” he says softly. His eyes are preoccupied with the shirt I’m wearing, and I’m pretty sure a smile ghosts over his lips, no doubt at the fact that it’s his shirt.

After I’ve swallowed the last bite of cupcake, I move my hands to him, feeling along his biceps and up to his shoulders before I lock my fingers behind his neck, tugging him a bit closer to me.

“Now why would I do that?” I ask, my head cocked to the side. “You promised me you’d fuck me on this counter, didn’t you?”

Matt grins, no longer showing any signs of being tired. “Are you wearing the panties that tell me I’m sure to get lucky?”

I shake my head, quirking my lips into a small smile as I grab his hand and guide it between my legs. “Nope,” I whisper in his ear, tugging on his hair as I wait for his trailing fingers to reach bare skin. “Hope this will do…”

Thank you for reading! Want more swoons and sexy times? Check out Caged in Winter where opposites attract in this steamy read!

The last thing I need in my life is a Prince Charming in-training. I fought hard to escape the life I was born into, and I've gotten where I am without anyone's help. I'm only seventy-six days away from college graduation, not to mention the future I've dreamed of for so long. I don't need a hulking man covered in metal and ink to derail those plans, no matter how enticing he is.

But Cade Maxwell isn't deterred by the walls I've erected around my heart. He swoops into my life, all brash exterior with a heart of gold, strips away those walls as easily as he strips away my clothes, and plants himself as if he's always been there.

The only reason I give into this explosive chemistry between us is the fact that we don't have a future. He's white picket fences and Sunday mornings in bed. I'm nothing more than broken dreams and secrets.

He swears he's not giving up. But I'm not giving in.

One-click Caged in Winter now!

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Keep reading for an excerpt from Caged in Winter!

CAGED IN WINTER EXCERPT

cade

Despite Jason telling me over and over what a stupid idea this was, I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. Not when I couldn’t get this girl out of my head. I figured I could just talk to her at work…try to figure out why she got under my skin so much. Not just that, but to apologize. Except she hadn’t been in when I got here. And when she did show up, the place was so packed, there wasn’t time for a conversation. So, of course, the next obvious thing to do is to stand outside in the dark like an idiot and nearly give her a heart attack.

I hold up my hands before stuffing them in the pockets of my jeans. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

The look she shoots me is made of pure disdain. “Then maybe you shouldn’t lurk around in parking lots at fucking midnight. Are you a jackass and a stalker?”

“I’m usually neither. You just bring out the best in me, I guess.” I offer her a smile, hoping to coax one from her, or at the very least, soften her up a bit.

It does neither.

She stares at me for a minute before shaking her head and looking toward the ground. She’s changed into a sweatshirt and fitted pants, her long, dark hair pulled away from her face, and even though she’s ninety percent more covered than she was the last time I saw her, she’s still beautiful. When she looks back up at me, her eyes spark with the fire I saw that first night. “I’m not sure how else I can say this so you get it, but here goes. I don’t want or need your help. Got it? Stay away from here, or I’ll tell Annette to add you to the Wall of Assholes.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wall of Assholes?”

“Yeah. Assholes who aren’t welcome back.”

“You actually have one of those? Did you put those guys from the other night on there?”

She throws her hands in the air. “They didn’t do anything!”

My mouth drops open, and I stare at her, shocked silent. When I find my voice, my words come out sharper than I intend. “He grabbed your ass!”

Turning, she walks away from me, shaking her head as she goes. She mumbles just loud enough for me to hear, “Believe me, that’s not the worst thing they do.”

I catch up to her quickly. “Then why do you work here?”

“God, you’re like a flea that just won’t go away.” She gives a quick glance in both directions before she hops off the curb and hustles across the street. There are a few students roaming, but it’s a Friday night. How secluded is it on a Monday? The idea of her out here, walking by herself, bothers me more than it should. “Are you intentionally being this obtuse? Why do people usually work? So I can pay for things.”

“I get that. But why there?”

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye before moving her attention once again in front of her. There’s a weighted silence between us, almost as if she’s deciding how much to reveal to me. Finally she says, “Because a partial scholarship only goes so far, and this pays the best for what’s available with my schedule. Unless I go down to Roxy’s.”

My jaw locks, hands clenched at the idea of her working at a fucking strip club. If I thought a guy grabbing her ass got me pissed, it has nothing on someone staring at her while she struts naked on a stage.

Not seeing my reaction, or ignoring it entirely, she continues, “I’m not quite that desperate yet.”

Thank fuck for that.

“What about your parents? Why don’t they help you?”

“I have a better question: Why are you still here?”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I’m not such an asshole that I’d knowingly let you walk to the bus stop by yourself after midnight. You do this every night?”

“Careful, stalker, you’re starting to sound creepy.”

I chuckle, shaking my head. “Seriously, though. I can…I could come by tomorrow and give you a ride home, if you want.”

She stops suddenly and stares at me, her mouth parted. “Are you seriously hitting on me right now?”

I grimace, running my hand over my hair. None of this is coming out how I wanted it to. “No…Yes. Maybe.”

She huffs out a laugh. “Okay, now I know you’re just being obtuse. What part of my fuck-off body language isn’t coming across? It’s obviously something I need to work on.” She turns and continues walking, speeding up slightly.

I take a deep breath, hands shoved in my pocket as I follow her, because sometime over the past few days, I’ve apparently turned into a masochist. “Look, I wanted to say I was sorry. I just…I read your signals wrong, I guess. I thought I saw you stiffen when he grabbed you, and I can’t…I’m not the kind of guy who can sit back and watch something like that happen, okay? I couldn’t do nothing.”

She doesn’t say anything, and we’ve arrived at the bus stop already. We’re the only ones there, and the bus is nowhere in sight. I know I’ve got a couple more minutes, and I intend to use every one until this crazy, beautiful girl accepts my apology.

She leans against the metal pole of the bus stop sign, her arms crossed as she considers me. “You’re really sorry?” At my nod, she continues, “And you won’t do it again?”

I force myself to shake my head, even though I’m not sure it’s a promise I can actually keep.

“Fine. Apology accepted.” She turns her back on me, facing the street, clearly done with our conversation. With me.

Jesus, this girl is making me work for it. I step off the curb and move to stand in front of her. “I’m Cade, by the way.”

She doesn’t even look at me, her head turned to the side, eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder.

“I didn’t catch your name…”

“That’s because I didn’t give it.”

I blow out a breath. “No, I mean before…the other day. Your name tag? I didn’t see what it said.”

“Probably because you were too busy throwing your Neanderthal bullshit around and scaring off my customers.”

“I said I was sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How do you plan on doing that?”

“I, ah, I could make you dinner…”

Her abrupt laugh, throaty and deep, surprises me. From the look in her eyes, the sound is more disbelief than anything. “You’re hitting on me again.”

I chuckle, rubbing at the back of my head as I stare down at the ground. “Yeah, I guess I am.” The rumble of the bus grows louder as it rolls down the street toward us. “So what do you say?”

She looks at me, stares straight into my eyes until the bus stops in front of us, its doors sliding open. Only then does she look away, climbing the first step, and I almost think she’s going to leave without even answering. But before the doors close, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Same thing I said before. Go find someone else, Prince Charming.”

And then she climbs the rest of the steps, the bus hisses and pulls away, and she’s gone.

And I still don’t know her name.

Keep reading Caged in Winter now!

OTHER TITLES BY BRIGHTON WALSH

Starlight Cove Series

Defiant Heart

Protective Heart

________

Holidays in Havenbrook Series

Main Street Dealmaker

________

Havenbrook Series

Second Chance Charmer

Hometown Troublemaker

Pact with a Heartbreaker

Captain Heartbreaker

Small Town Pretender

________

Reluctant Hearts Series

Caged in Winter

Tessa Ever After

Paige in Progress

Our Love Unhinged

________

Stand-Alone Titles

Dirty Little Secret

Season of Second Chances

Plus One

HAVE YOU READ LONDON HALE?

Filthy, taboo, smart erotic romance is what you get when Brighton Walsh and Ellis Leigh/Kristin Harte team up. Ready to set your e-reader on fire?

may-december romances

Daddy’s Best Friend

The DILF

Nanny With Benefits

opposites attract romances

Sinner (formerly Sinful Temptation)

Cuff Me (formerly Sinful Attraction)

Talk Dirty to Me (formerly Sinful Distraction)

friends to lovers romance

Reunion

one night stand to more romance

Tapping That Asset

teacher/student romance

Seducing His Student

stepbrother’s baby romance

Knocking Her Up

billionaire boss romance

Bedding the Billionaire

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning USA Today and Wall Street Journal bestselling author Brighton Walsh spent a decade as a professional photographer before taking her storytelling in a different direction and reconnecting with her first love—writing. She likes her books how she likes her tea—steamy and satisfying—and adores strong-willed heroines and the protective heroes who fall head over heels for them. Brighton lives in the Midwest with her real life hero of a husband, her two kids—both taller than her—and her dog who thinks she’s a queen. Her boy-filled house is the setting for dirty socks galore, frequent dance parties (okay, so it's mostly her, by herself, while her children look on in horror), and more laughter than she thought possible. Find her online at brightonwalsh.com/quicklinks.

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