The Neighbor Next Door (Part 4)
Previously…
I knew better than to open the door. Knew better than to let his cologne drift past my defenses, his slow smile pulling secrets from my skin.
Malik touched me like a man starved for answers. His hands, his mouth, tasting, teasing- asking questions my body was too weak to deny. The way his lips brushed mine wasn’t a kiss. It was a promise.
My fingers slipped into the neat rows of his braids, anchoring me to the moment. He whispered my name against my throat like a prayer he was ready to sin for.
That night, every excuse, every boundary I built between us came crashing down… and I let it.
His name slipped from my lips like a secret I wasn’t supposed to say.
“Malik…”
The sound of it- soft, breathless- did something to him. He looked down at me like he was trying to memorize the way my body curved beneath his. My robe lay forgotten on the floor, my skin warm from where his mouth had traveled, where his hands had lingered like they belonged.
He hovered over me, his braids grazing my collarbone as he whispered, “Fe… mi can’t believe yuh real.”
“You’re touching me,” I murmured. “I’m very real.”
He smirked, but there was reverence in the way his fingers trailed along my thigh. “Still feel like a dream, yuh see it. One mi nuh ever waan wake from.”
His body pressed into mine, bare heat against bare skin. He kissed me again, slower this time. Less fire, more reverence. Like he had all night to explore, and he wasn’t going to waste a single second rushing it.
I hadn’t expected that.
I’d braced myself for something reckless. Fast. Hungry.
But what I got was a man who knew how to savor. A man who kissed like he was learning a language. Who touched me like he respected the weight of what we were doing- even if it was all happening too fast.
When he finally slid into me, I gasped. Not from pain, but from the way it felt to be filled- completely. Not just physically, but emotionally, too. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed this… not just the act, but the closeness.
He moved slowly at first, eyes locked on mine, letting me feel every inch, every unspoken word.
“You good?” he asked, voice thick.
“More than,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around his waist. “Don’t stop.”
His pace deepened. So did the sounds between us- soft moans, whispered names, the hush of skin against skin. We moved like music, slow and low, then building, riding the rhythm of something neither of us could name.
And when I came- shaking, gripping his back like he was the only anchor I had- he didn’t let go.
He held me.
Whispered my name like a prayer.
Then with a savage, desperate moan, he came inside me, his body shaking so violently it felt as if he wanted to carve himself into my soul and never fade.
We didn’t speak for a while after that.
He curled behind me in bed, one arm slung around my waist, the other cradling his head as if we’d done this a hundred times before.
I stared at the ceiling, heart still racing. I should’ve felt regret. Panic. Something.
Instead, I felt full.
Seen.
Wanted in a way I hadn’t been in years.
His breath was warm against my shoulder. “Fe?”
“Hmmm?”
“Yuh always sleep like dis?”
I laughed softly. “I’m trying to figure out what just happened.”
“Mi mek yuh feel good. Dats wah happen.”
I turned to face him. He was grinning lazily, smug in that boyish way, but his eyes were still soft. Still… tender.
“You think this was a one-time thing?” I asked.
He didn’t flinch. “Dat depend pon yuh.”
“I don’t make a habit of sleeping with younger men.”
“But yuh did.” He reached out, brushed a finger down my arm. “An now yuh can’t stop tinkin’ ’bout it.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I didn’t. Because he was right.
He leaned in, kissed my forehead. Then pulled me close again.
We drifted into sleep like that; bodies entwined, his hand resting possessively beneath my breast, a silent claim.
When I woke, sunlight spilled across the room in thin gold lines. The bed was warm, but empty beside me.
I sat up, wrapping the sheet around my body.
There was movement in the kitchen.
I padded out barefoot, expecting him to be gone.
Instead, he stood at the stove, shirtless, humming something low. There were two mugs of tea on the counter- one with a slice of lemon, no sugar. Just how I liked it.
“You cook?” I asked, eyebrows raised.
He turned, gave me that crooked smile. “Mi grew up with mi auntie. Had to learn.”
There was something domestic about him like this- barefoot in jeans, cooking like it was second nature. I couldn’t stop staring.
“I didn’t expect you to still be here,” I admitted.
“Why not?”
“I think most guys your age aren’t the type to stay.”
He walked over, slid a plate in front of me- eggs, toast, and fruit. “Mi nuh like most man at all.”
“No, you’re not,” I said softly.
He handed me my tea, then leaned on the counter beside me. His eyes searched mine. “Yuh regret it?”
I sipped slowly. “No.”
“But yuh fraid?”
I glanced down at the tea. “It’s complicated.”
“Nuh really.” He shrugged. “Yuh like mi. Mi like yuh. We had a good night. Nuttin’ wrong wid dat.”
“I’m almost twice your age.”
“An’?” He stepped closer. “Yuh tink dat mean mi can’t feel real tings fi yuh?”
“I think it means people will talk. That I could fall for someone who doesn’t know what he wants yet.”
He cupped my chin gently, lifting my gaze to his.
“Fe,” he said, voice deep. “Mi know wah mi want, an’ dat’s yuh.”
To be continued…
