When her parents embarked on their six-week dream vacation, they left their daughter with one instruction: if anything went wrong, go to him—the neighbor who’d been a family friend since before she was born. The kind of man who fixed leaky faucets and remembered birthdays, respectable and trustworthy.
She stood on his doorstep that evening, looking flustered, her hair already pinned up in anticipation of a night out. “The shower won’t work,” she explained, the words tumbling out. “No water pressure, and I have no idea what to do. I was supposed to meet friends tonight.”
He smiled, that easy, reassured smile she’d known her whole life. “Sure. You can use my shower if you like, and I’ll have a look at yours tomorrow.”
“Mind if I go now?” she asked, already shifting her weight, eager to salvage her evening.
He stepped aside, gesturing her in. “Please, come in.”
She skipped past him, and as she walked down his hallway, he found his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips, the curve of her ass beneath her skirt—things he shouldn’t notice, things he’d trained himself not to see. He cleared his throat. “Bathroom is this way,” he said, leading her down the hall and stopping at the door. “Here it is.”
She stepped inside, then paused, turning back with a conspiratorial look. “Please don’t tell Mom I’m going out? She might get mad…”
He mimed zipping his lips. “I won’t.” Then he noticed—no towel. “I’ll go get you one,” he said, heading for the laundry.
When he returned with a fresh towel held ready, he found her already stepping into the shower, blouse undone, the water starting to steam. “Thanks,” she called over the spray.
He held the towel through the crack in the door. “Here you go.”
But she was already under the water, washing her hair, not reaching for it. He hesitated, then spoke through the door. “I’m coming in, my eyes are closed.” He pushed the door open and fumbled his way toward the counter, placing the towel down, then turned to navigate back out.
He tripped over her clothes scattered on the tile—blouse, skirt, underthings—and stumbled against the door. His eyes flew open to stop his fall, and he froze.
She’d gasped at the commotion, stepping out of the shower completely naked, water streaming down her body, rushing toward him. “Shit, are you okay?”
He looked up from the floor, his breath catching. She was exquisite—wet skin glistening, nipples hardening in the cool air, the triangle of dark hair between her thighs. He stared, unable to stop himself, drinking in every detail of the woman she’d become.
“Ah, yeah, I’m fine,” he managed.
She bit her lip, suddenly aware of her nudity, crossing her arms, then uncrossing them. “Oh shit, I’m sorry.”
He got up slowly, not taking his eyes off her. “It’s okay. Probably shouldn’t have walked in here with my eyes closed. Teach me for being virtuous.”
She laughed, a nervous, breathy sound. “Anything I can do?”
He looked her up and down, the desire he’d suppressed for years suddenly overwhelming his better judgment. “Well…” He smiled, that dangerous smile he usually kept hidden. “I know this is out there, but… could I shower with you?”
She arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing at her lips. “Ha, fuck you trying to get in me?”
“No, no,” he rushed, though his arousal betrayed him. “I’ve always had this fantasy to shower with a hot woman, and well… you are here, and I am here…”
She studied him for a long moment, the water still running behind her, steam filling the small room. “No touching?”
“No touching,” he agreed, already pulling his shirt over his head.
She turned and stepped back into the shower, presenting him with her back, and resumed washing her hair as if this were perfectly normal.
He stripped quickly, his heart hammering against his ribs, and stepped into the shower behind her. The space was intimate, her presence overwhelming—the scent of her shampoo, the curve of her spine, the water cascading over skin he shouldn’t be seeing. He watched her hands move over her body as he lathered his own chest, the shared intimacy intoxicating.
“Would you like me to wash your back for you?” he offered, his voice rough.
“Oh yes, please…” she said, tilting her head back into the spray. “You’re kinda pervy but kind.”
He took the loofah, soaped it generously, and started at her shoulders. He worked slowly, massaging the muscles there, feeling her relax under his hands. He worked his way down her back in slow circles, watching the soap suds slide down the curve of her spine, over the dimples above her ass. His cock hardened completely, standing rigid against his stomach, impossible to hide.
“This is a pretty big secret we have now…” she said lightly, her voice different now—lower, playful.
“Yes,” he agreed, his voice thick. “Your parents would have an absolute fit.” He let the loofah drag lower, over the swell of her ass cheeks, watching her flesh move under the rough texture.
She let out a slight moan, barely audible over the water. “They’d kill you if they found out.”
“Yep.” The loofah slipped from his fingers, falling to the shower floor with a wet thud. He ran his hands up her sides instead, palms flat against her wet skin, taking a step closer. The gap between them narrowed to inches.
“Oh God…” she breathed.
His hands stopped on her waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh there. “What is it?” he asked quietly, though he knew—he could feel the tension vibrating through her, the way she leaned back almost imperceptibly toward him.
“Well um, it’s…”
“Yes?” He took another step.
Then one more.
Their bodies were an inch apart now, his chest almost touching her back, his hard cock nestling between her ass cheeks, hot and insistent against her wet skin. He could feel her breathing, the rise and fall of her ribs under his hands, the way she pushed back just slightly, experimentally, against his arousal.
“You’re not supposed to touch,” she whispered, but there was no conviction in it—only invitation, only the same hunger he felt coursing through his own veins.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against her ear, his hands sliding around to her stomach, pulling her back firmly against him. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”
But she didn’t. Instead, she reached back with one hand and found his hip, nails digging in, holding him there. “Fuck,” she breathed. “This is so wrong.”
“Very wrong,” he agreed, his mouth finding the curve of her neck, tasting the water and the salt of her skin. His hands traveled upward, cupping her breasts, heavy and full in his palms, thumbs brushing over nipples that were hard and aching.
She gasped, arching into his touch, her head falling back against his shoulder. “We said no touching.”
“We lied,” he growled, rolling her nipples between his fingers, grinding his cock against her ass. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you’ve thought about it too.”
“God, yes,” she admitted, turning her head so her lips were near his, water streaming between their faces. “I’ve seen you watching me. Summer barbecues. Pool parties. I know you’ve been looking.”
“Couldn’t help myself,” he confessed, one hand sliding down her stomach, fingers tracing through the wet curls between her thighs. “You’re fucking beautiful. Have been for years.”
She moaned as his fingers found her clit, circling gently, teased. “This is crazy. I’m supposed to be meeting friends.”
“Cancel,” he commanded, pressing harder, feeling her hips buck against his hand. “Tell them you’re… busy.”
“Busy getting fucked by the neighbor?” she laughed breathlessly, reaching down between them to wrap her hand around his cock, stroking him against her ass.
“Exactly,” he groaned, thrusting into her grip. He turned her around finally, needing to see her face, pinning her against the shower wall with his body. The water hit his back now, creating a curtain of steam around them. He looked down at her—flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want.”
She wrapped one leg around his hip, opening herself to him, the head of his cock sliding against her entrance. “I want you to fuck me,” she said clearly, no hesitation now. “Right here. Before I change my mind.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted her, both hands under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her back against the cool tile. The position aligned them perfectly, and he sank into her slowly, groaning at the tight heat of her, the way she clenched around him.
“Fuck,” he gritted out, burying himself to the hilt. “You feel incredible.”
She dug her nails into his shoulders, her eyes rolling back. “Move,” she demanded. “Please, move.”
He started slow, controlled thrusts, the water making everything slick and urgent. But she was impatient, rocking her hips against him, urging him deeper, harder. He obliged, picking up the pace, slamming into her against the wall, the sound of wet skin on wet skin mixing with their gasps and moans.
“Yes, yes,” she chanted, her head thrown back, water streaming down her neck and chest. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
He shifted his grip, angling her so he hit that spot inside her that made her cried out, her whole body tensing. “That’s it,” he encouraged, watching her face as she climbed toward the edge. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
She came with a sharp cry, her body convulsing around him, her nails drawing red lines down his back. The sensation of her pulsing around him, clenching and releasing, pushed him over the edge. He thrust deep one final time and spilled inside her, groaning her name against her throat, his knees weak with the force of it.
They stayed like that for long moments, breathing hard, the water beginning to cool around them. He lowered her gently, keeping her steady as her legs trembled.
“Well,” she said finally, a shaky laugh escaping her. “I definitely need another shower now.”
He smiled, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly tender. “We should probably check your shower tomorrow. For real this time.”
“Probably,” she agreed, but she was already reaching for him again, pulling him down for a kiss that tasted like water and promises and secrets they would keep for the next six weeks, and maybe longer.
The kiss deepened, hungry and searching, their bodies still pressed together under the cooling spray. She pulled back first, her lips swollen and red, water dripping from her lashes. “The water’s getting cold,” she whispered, though her hands were already roaming his chest again, thumbs brushing over his nipples.
“Then let’s get out,” he said, reaching behind her to twist the knob. The spray died, leaving them in sudden silence, the bathroom filled with nothing but the sound of their breathing and the occasional drip from the showerhead.
He stepped out first, grabbing the towel he’d brought earlier and holding it open for her. She stepped into it, and he wrapped it around her, pulling her close again, the cotton rough between them. But she had other ideas. She pushed him back slightly, her eyes dark with renewed intent, and turned toward the vanity.
The bathroom counter was wide, marble-topped, with a large mirror above it. She placed her palms flat on the surface and leaned forward, arching her back, presenting herself to him. The towel slipped from her shoulders and pooled on the floor. In the mirror, he could see her face—flushed, wanting, watching him watch her.
“Again,” she commanded, not asked. “Right here. I want to watch you fuck me.”
His cock, which had begun to soften, twitched back to full hardness at the sight of her—her ass lifted, her thighs parted, the glistening folds of her sex visible between her legs. He stepped up behind her, gripping her hips, and without preamble, drove himself into her soaked heat.
“Fuck!” she cried out, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the counter. He was deep, so deep, angled perfectly to hit every sensitive spot. The mirror showed him everything—his face twisted with pleasure, her breasts swaying with each thrust, the way her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
He set a punishing rhythm, their skin slapping together wetly, the bathroom filling with the sounds of their coupling. He watched her in the reflection, memorizing every expression—the way her eyes fluttered shut when he hit just the right angle, the way she bit her lip when he slowed down to tease her.
“Harder,” she gasped, pushing back against him, meeting his thrusts. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”
He obliged, gripping her hair in one hand and pulling her head back, forcing her to look at him in the mirror. “Look at us,” he growled, his voice rough. “Look at what we’re doing. Look at how good you take my cock.”
She moaned, the sound vibrating through her chest, her eyes locked on his in the reflection. “I’m going to come again,” she warned, her thighs trembling. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He reached around with his free hand, finding her clit and rubbing tight, desperate circles. That was all it took. She shattered, her orgasm ripping through her, her body clamping down on him so hard he saw stars. He followed seconds later, groaning her name as he emptied himself into her again, his hips stuttering against her ass as he spent every drop.
They stayed frozen like that, panting, him bent over her back, both of them shaking. But he wasn’t done. He wasn’t nearly done.
Before she could collapse, he pulled out and scooped her up, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck, her eyes wide. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed,” he said simply, already moving toward the door. “I want you properly. In a bed. All night.”
She laughed, breathless, but didn’t protest. He carried her naked through his hallway, past the living room where they’d started as polite neighbors, up the stairs to his bedroom. He kicked the door open and laid her down on his sheets—dark blue cotton, rumpled, smelling of him.
But he wasn’t ready to let her rest yet. He climbed onto the bed and pulled her on top of him, settling her astride his hips. She sat up, her hair wild and damp, her skin flushed pink, and positioned herself above his already-hardening cock.
“Third time’s the charm?” she teased, sinking down onto him slowly, her eyes rolling back at the sensation.
“Third time’s just the beginning,” he promised, his hands finding her waist.
She began to move, rolling her hips in a figure-eight pattern that made him groan and grip the sheets. Then she found her rhythm, rising and falling, using him for her pleasure, her hands braced on his chest. He watched her above him—her breasts bouncing, her stomach muscles flexing, the look of pure abandon on her face.
“That’s it,” he encouraged, thrusting up to meet her, their bodies finding a perfect, driving tempo. “Ride me. Take what you want.”
And she did. She rode him with abandon, grinding down hard, her nails leaving marks on his pecs, her head thrown back as she chased another peak. He let her set the pace, his hands roaming her body—cupping her breasts, squeezing her ass, sliding down to where they were joined to feel himself sliding in and out of her.
“So close,” she panted, her movements becoming erratic, desperate. “So fucking close.”
“Come for me,” he demanded, his thumb finding her clit again, pressing hard. “Come on my cock. Let me feel you.”
She screamed when it hit her, a raw, broken sound, her whole body convulsing, her inner muscles milking him relentlessly. He couldn’t hold back any longer—he sat up, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her neck, and came with a shout, pumping deep inside her, holding her tight as if he could merge them together.
She collapsed against him, boneless, her heart hammering against his. He eased them down onto the pillows, still inside her, not wanting to break the connection yet. They lay there, tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, the house silent around them.
“Your friends are probably wondering where you are,” he murmured after a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
“Let them wonder,” she mumbled, her eyes already closing, her body heavy with exhaustion.
He pulled the comforter over them, tucking it around her shoulders. She shifted, settling more firmly against him, her head on his chest, her breathing already slowing.
“Stay,” he whispered, though it wasn’t really a question.
“Mm,” she agreed, already half-asleep. “Someone needs to fix my shower in the morning.”
He smiled into her hair, his own eyes drifting shut, his arms tight around her. Outside, the night was dark and quiet, and six weeks suddenly seemed like a very long time—and not nearly long enough.
