The Neighbor Next Door (Part 3)
Previously…
Malik’s visits had become a rhythm- his knock, my hesitation, our conversations stretching longer each time. He was young, bold, the kind of man who didn’t just flirt- he lingered. In the doorway. In my mind.
That night, he caught me slipping- wrapped in my robe, too late to pretend I didn’t want him there. His eyes wandered like they had questions my body was answering. And when his fingers brushed mine under the pretense of helping, I felt it. The shift. The slow unravel. Something was going to give… and it might just be me.
It was after midnight when I heard the knock.
I should’ve been asleep… hell, I tried. But my mind wouldn’t shut off. Not with the way Malik had looked at me earlier, the weight of his words still curling around the edges of my thoughts like smoke.
“When mi kiss yuh? Yuh ago feel every part a it.”
Now, standing at my door in nothing but a silk robe and bare legs, I hesitated. The knock came again- low, steady, no urgency, just… sure. Like he knew I’d answer.
I opened the door halfway.
And there he was.
Black hoodie. Braids fresh. Eyes locked on mine like he could see right through the silk and into my thoughts.
“Fe,” he said, voice low.
“Malik, it’s late.”
“Mi know… but mi couldn’t drop asleep.”
“Why are you here?”
He looked down, then up again. “Mi did waan see yuh face. Hear yuh voice. Feel di way yuh look pon mi.”
“You’ve had enough of that during daylight hours,” I said, trying to sound unbothered.
His eyes flicked down my body- slow, unhurried. “Night different. Night make a man honest.”
I didn’t say a word.
“Lemme in,” he said softly.
It was a terrible idea.
I stepped aside.
He entered like he belonged, not looking around this time, not pretending. Just turned toward me and said, “I dreamt about yuh last night. Woke up hard as fuck. Couldn’t even go back to sleep.”
I swallowed. My throat was suddenly dry.
“You came over here to tell me that?”
“No.” His voice was barely above a whisper now. “Mi come ‘cause I think you dream ‘bout me too.”
He was so close I could feel the heat coming off him. His fingers grazed the tie of my robe, slow and deliberate.
I caught his hand.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “You don’t know what you’re playing with.”
He stepped in closer, chest brushing mine. “Mi know exactly wah mi a deal wid. One woman- strong, smart, sexy as hell. Yuh nuh need no likkle bwoy… yuh waan a real man weh know how fi treat yuh right.”
My breath hitched.
“You’re 22, Malik.”
He tilted his head. “So? Mi have enough age fi know wah mi want. An’ enough experience fi mek yuh feel somet’ing yuh nuh feel in a long time.”
The silence between us was thick- crackling. I should’ve pulled away. Should’ve pushed him out and slammed the door.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I leaned forward- just a little. Just enough.
His mouth crashed against mine.
The kiss was hungry. No hesitation, no teasing. His hands gripped my waist like he’d been waiting forever. My robe slipped, silk pooling at my elbows as his mouth moved over mine, taking, tasting, devouring.
I moaned into him, fingers tangling in his braids, pulling him closer.
He lifted me, effortless, strong- and walked us toward the bedroom like he knew the way. I felt the edge of the bed hit the back of my legs as he laid me down gently, then peeled the robe off like it was a gift he’d been dying to unwrap.
“You so soft,” he murmured, kissing down my neck. “So damn sweet.”
His voice was reverent, worshipful. Hands rough from street life moved like velvet over my skin. Every touch was heat. Every kiss, a promise.
And when he looked at me- really looked- I saw no boy.
Only a man who wanted to worship every inch of me.
To be continued…
