Big Man Next Door

by Penny Wylder

  I'm able to see through it clearly now because I cleaned it the day after I moved in, along with every cupboard, floor, and rug in this place.

  Ian is filthy. There are dirt smears all over his jeans, and his boots have a thick layer of dried mud up around the toes.

  He stands at his door, fumbling with his keys. Lifting his head straight, he's still. With my eye firmly against the tiny window, he cocks his head over his shoulder and looks back at my door.

  Jerking away quickly, I take a small step back. I'm breathing fast and my heart is racing.

  Does he know I'm watching him?

  Slowing down my breathing, I don't hear his door open or close. Leaning forward, I push my eye against the peephole again.

  “You're a terrible spy. You know that?” He's staring at my door, with that sexy smirk on his face. “You going to open up, or are you going to just pretend like you aren't there?”

  Pressing my forehead against the door, I close my eyes. I'm so embarrassed.

  Pulling the door open, my cheeks flush. I can feel the heat as it spreads down my neck and across my chest.

  “I wasn't really watching you, I just wanted to make sure you got inside okay.”

  “Sure, because I need you to protect me.” Chuckling, he lays his large palm against my door and slowly pushes it all the way open. “Would you have saved me if someone tried to hurt me?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It would depend.”

  “Depend on what?”

  “If you'll let me cook you dinner.”

  Ian grins, slowly dragging his thumb across his bottom lip. “I already told you, I don't do dinner.”

  “What if I tell you I'm not asking.” Resting against the door frame, I tuck my hands behind my back. “Maybe I'm not giving you a choice at all.”

  He takes a firm step in, causing my breath to hitch. The scent of his cologne is still there, faint, but there. It's being buried by the smell of dirt and sawdust. It's exotic, electrifying me inside.

  I can't explain it, but the mix of scents turns me on. It's rugged and raw, exactly how a big man, a real man, should smell. He doesn't have gel in his hair, he's not one of those guys that wears fancy suits and shiny shoes.

  And I like that. I'm a southern girl who isn't afraid to get dirty.

  His hair is messy, and I can see traces of dirt all over his face. He lifts his arm up and grabs the back of his neck. His eyes are firmly on mine. Ian steps in again, bringing us chest to chest.

  “Is that right?” he asks, his voice soft as he leans in, pressing his mouth to my ear.

  “If I say yes, will you stay?” I ask, doing my best to not let my voice skip.

  My eyes dart between his. Pulling my bottom lip in, I hold my breath and wait for an answer. He's just staring at me. His eyes hard. The bright blue now deepening like the bottom of the ocean.

  With crushing force, Ian captures my face with both his hands, kissing me hard and fast. He walks us back into my apartment and shuts the door with his foot.

  The tips of his fingers dig into the base of my skull as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. He licks and tastes, coiling his tongue around mine.

  “Breathe,” he says, whispering into our kiss.

  I haven't taken a breath and he notices. He took it away; he stole the ability of my body to think for itself.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I kiss him back. Ian lifts me off my feet easily and carries me through my living room until my back hits the wall. My hands rake through his hair as he moves his lips down to my neck, taking small nips of skin along the way.

  His muscular thigh presses against my pussy. My clit is swollen, aching, painfully sore to have him inside me again. Ian gyrates his hips up, forcing his extremely hard cock against my slit. I'm soaking wet, almost embarrassingly wet.

  My panties are dripping, and despite the burning fire shooting through my veins, every ounce of desire I feel is pooling between my legs in a puddle.

  His hand slips up under my shirt, grabbing my breast. Rough fingers twist and pluck at the sensitive bead. Moaning, my eyes snap shut as I tear at his hair. Ian growls, running his tongue up the side of my neck.

  My skirt slides up to the crease of my thighs. Ian's fumbling beneath me, one arm holding me up as he uses his weight to keep me pinned to the wall. I'm breathing heavy, ready for him to just fuck me and end this torture.

  His pants fall to his ankles. With two fingers, he slides my panties to the side and slips his cock into my heat. I'm so wet he slides in with ease.

  Thrusting up, he holds my ass and uses the wall to keep me place. Grunting, he watches me as he fucks me. His eyes glaze over, and he licks his lips as he digs his fingers into the meat of my thighs.

  My moan grows louder the harder he fucks me. His hips jerk, and I slam down, forcing him to go deeper inside. Groaning, Ian sucks my moan into our kiss as he slams his lips against mine.

  We're like two savages fucking like it's going to keep us alive.

  “Come for me. Let me hear you sing like a sparrow.” Pistoning his hips upward, I let out a moan from deep in my chest.

  It even surprises me. The sound is thick, rooted in passion and need. I need him to make me come. I need him to finish what he started.

  “Fuck me harder, I'm so close.” Throwing my head back, I can't stop the guttural noise that explodes from my mouth.

  “Yes, sing for me.” Driving his lips onto my neck, he bites me hard.

  I don't feel any pain from his teeth. The sensation ripples through my chest, down into my belly and all the way to my toes.

  Ian thrusts inside me one last time, and growls against my throat. His body shakes, the vibration moving through my fingertips and up my arm.

  This pleasure is like nothing I've ever felt before. I'm trembling, my entire body shaking as the orgasm leaves me weak in the knees.

  We're both breathing heavy as he sets me down, when suddenly we hear clapping coming from outside the window.

  Looking outside, there's a small group of people, and all of them are clapping. One of the men hoot up to us. “Yeah, very hot! Nice!”

  Another guy sticks his fingers between his lips and whistles. “Woo!”

  Embarrassing doesn't even describe what I'm feeling. I'm mortified. “Oh my God,” I say, covering my face with my hands.

  Ian, on the other hand, doesn't react like me. There's no embarrassment at all. He laughs softly as he looks down at everyone with a smile on his face.

  Leaning out the window, he waves his hand. “Thank you, but the show’s over.” Pulling the blind down, he glances over at me and smirks. “So those people got a free show, but I'm pretty sure you said something about dinner. Right?” Arching a brow, he tilts his head.

  “You're right, I did promise you dinner.” Walking into the kitchen, I pull out a pot and fill it with water. “Were you serious before about the fire escape?”

  “Oh yeah, this place is falling apart. That thing could break apart any second, just like everything else here. Nothing is up to code. I'm surprised the place hasn't been condemned yet.”

  Looking back over my shoulder, he's slowly moving through my apartment, looking at the pictures on the wall. I can't get over how big he is. His muscles are huge, bulging from under his shirt. His broad shoulders and thick neck make him look like he's a body builder.

  Even touching him is like feeling a brick wall. There isn't an inch of his body that isn't built like stone, including his cock.

  His cock is like granite. The thought makes my body warm and my pussy pulse.

  Everything about him is a fucking turn on. I can't look at him and not get hot and bothered. Inhaling a deep breath, I calm my nerves before I jump him a second time.

  “You lift weights?” I ask.

  “Nah, I'm not really into the whole big muscle, tiny penis thing.” Chuckling, he turns and walks to the small island in the kitchen.

  I laugh with him, setting the pot on the stove and turning on the burner. “Yeah, I guess I can see the
downside there.” Pouring some salt in the water, I pull a box of spaghetti out of the cabinet and I set it down.

  “Why do you ask?”

  Shrugging my shoulder, I can feel my cheeks blush. “I don't know.”

  He smiles, looking down at his arms and flexing his bicep. “It's because of these, huh?”

  Rolling my eyes, I grab the sauce and pour it into a small pot. “Full of yourself much?”

  “Hey, you're the one asking.”

  Grinning, I turn on the oven and take a loaf of garlic bread out of the freezer. “That's not what I asked.”

  “No, but you implied it.”

  “Okay, let me ask you this. What do you do for work exactly?” Taking a couple beers out of the fridge, I slide one across the counter to him. “I know you said you run a construction company, but what do you do there?”

  Twisting it open, he takes a long sip. “We renovate houses, build additions, replace roofs, those kind of things.”

  “With your brother Grey, right?”

  Nodding, he holds the beer in both hands as he looks up at me. “Yeah. We started the company a few years back. He runs the business part and helps on site when he can. I manage the build.”

  That explains the rock solid muscles.

  Dumping the pasta into the boiling water, I give it a stir. “You like it?”

  He nods again, taking another chug of his beer. “I love it, actually. I've always enjoyed building stuff. It's one of those things I'm actually pretty good at it.”

  Twisting to look at him over my shoulder, I ask, “If you love building stuff so much, then why live in a shit-hole like this? Why not build your own place?”

  Ian's body stiffens, and he sits upright. His piercing blue eyes fix on mine and his lips pull taut. He's quiet for a moment, his hands tensing firmly around the bottle of beer.

  “I could ask you the same thing. Why would you live here? This is no place for a fragile girl from the country to spread her wings. You're way out of your element.”

  Veering my stare, I whip around to face him. Who the hell does he think he is? He doesn't know shit about me, and he has no right to tell me where I belong.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Taking a step forward, my hands fly to my hips. “You don't know a fucking thing about me.”

  “I don't need to,” he says, his tone cocky and thick. He holds the beer to his lips with a sneer on his face. “You have ‘small town flower’ written all over you.”

  Slapping my palms down on the counter, I arch a brow. “I'm not a naive little girl, I'm a grown woman. You saw that last night, and just a few minutes ago.” Leaning over to him, I purse my lips. “And I don't need you telling me where I belong. I can take care of myself. I know what I want. No one needs to hold my hand.”

  Ian's face tightens as his brows drop hard. “Right, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm just some guy who's lived here my entire life. What the hell do I know, right?”

  “Well, you don't know me, that's for sure.” Crossing my arms, we glare at each other.

  The air between us is hot, tense, and I can see the anger in his eyes. His nostrils are flaring as he inhales quick breaths. His fingers keep opening and closing around the bottle. His jaw crooks to one side as his lids drop to half-mast.

  “You know what,” he says, standing up quickly. Holding up his hands, he shakes his head. “I got shit to do.”

  Ian spins toward the door, and takes long, heavy steps. Yanking the door open, he glances back at me over his shoulder. “Oh, and you're boiling over, maybe you should take a cooking class while you're in town, too.”

  Storming out into the hall, he slams the door shut behind him.

  What the hell is he talking about?

  The sound of sizzling, hot water creeps into my ears. Looking over my shoulder, the pot of water is in a full rolling boil, with a white foam on top as it spills down the sides.

  “Shit,” I say out loud, turning down the heat and pulling the pot off the burner. The water splatters up, hitting the tops of my hands. “Ah, fuck.” The words come out through clenched teeth as I turn on the cold water and stick my hands underneath.

  I'm frazzled. Ian was able to get in my head and mind fuck me. I've already had my entire family doubting my choices, the last thing I need is some guy I just met throwing the same shit in my face.

  He has no right to judge me and the choices I make. He's not my father.

  Ian is just some guy I fucked. His opinion means nothing.

  I'm doing this for me, not for anyone else.

  8

  Ian

  Closing the door to my apartment, I lean back against door and run my hand through my hair. This isn't how I saw tonight ending.

  Dropping my head into my hands, I clutch my skull, massaging my temples. My muscles tremble as my emotions begin to run wild.

  Why did she have to bring up this building?

  The building doesn't deserve to be saved. It deserves to be blown up, but since I can't do that, it can crumble to the fucking ground for all I care.

  The silence of my apartment is quickly doused as the sound of Heather's guitar cuts through my head. I can't stay here. I don't want to hear her, I don't want to see her. I just can't right now.

  Turning around, I walk back out the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the windows, and leave all together. I need to get out, to be somewhere else, to be anywhere but here. Heading to my truck, I fumble with my keys for a moment, trying to get the key in the lock.

  I can still hear her guitar, and it's killing me. I didn't mean to go off on her like that, or make her feel bad, I just couldn't stop the anger from pouring out. This apartment building is a touchy subject, one that strikes a nerve.

  My hands are shaking because I'm so worked up. Inside I'm on fire. The heat is moving from deep within my gut and spreading through my body.

  Fuck it, I'm just going to go for a walk.

  Tucking my hands into my pockets, the sound of her guitar fades the further away I get. It's almost dark, the top of the sun is starting to disappear beneath the horizon. Keeping my head down, I kick a crushed can down the sidewalk.

  A light rain starts to fall, and I can hear thunder in the distance. But I still keep walking. Turning down a dark alley, I find myself behind the local dollar store and an apartment complex.

  The alley is narrow, one that's home to a few local homeless guys. A barrel filled with fire is burning next to the dollar store dumpster, and two men in thick coats with knit caps are holding their hands over the flames.

  Recognizing one of them, I give him a wave. “Hey, guys,” I say as I pass them. Pulling two ten dollar bills from my wallet, I hand one to each of them. “Sorry, I wish I had more to give.”

  “Thanks, man, we appreciate it,” The man I know as George says, tipping his head in thanks.

  He's lived in this area for years, bouncing from place to place. I met him a few years back one day. He was sitting outside the grocery store, begging for change. I felt bad for the guy. He seems nice enough, and I'm sure at one point he had everything going for him.

  Most people do, even if it's for just a small snippet of time, life isn't always this hard. And one day he took a wrong turn. The path split and he ended up here.

  The other man thanks me too with a nod of his head, and I keep on my way. I'm about to turn the corner when a group of guys step out and block me.

  “We see you like to give your money away to dirt ball junkies. Why don't you do something better with it and give it to us.” The kid grins. He can't be more than twenty, maybe younger.

  “Nah, I'm good.”

  Glancing back at his friends, they all chuckle like I said something funny.

  “I don't think you understand,” the guy says, rubbing his hands back and forth. “I'm not really asking. Give us your fucking money.”

  Sizing up this asshole and his friends, all I see are bunch of kids who don't understand the value of working for what they want.
They're bullies, and I don't like bullies.

  “How about this: you guys go home, maybe ask your mommy for money, and see what she says.” My jaw crooks to the side as I veer my stare.

  This is not the night to fuck with me. My patience is nonexistent.

  The leader of the group laughs loudly, running his fingers across his lips and taking a brave step forward. “Let me make this real easy for you to understand. Give me your fucking money,” he demands.

  Looking him up and down, he's tall, but thin. Small arms, oval shaped head, little beady eyes. He has a thin mustache across his upper lip, and a light scar that runs down the center of his left brow.

  I can take him easily.

  “You have a gun?” I ask, my arms dangling at my sides, hands clenched, and ready to strike. I'll let him come to me. This asshole can make the first move.

  “That doesn't matter. You're still going to give me what I want.” He drops his head down into his chest, his expression falling flat.

  “Look douchebag, I'm really not in the mood for this tonight. So, I'll make this easy for you. How about you and your friends run along and go fuck yourselves.”

  Growling, he bares his teeth and attempts to throw a punch at my face. I dodge it easily, gripping his arm as it flies past my face, and yanking him into his punch so I can knee him in the stomach. He lets out all the air in his lungs, dropping to his knees, but his friends quickly come to his rescue.

  One guy runs behind me, wrapping his arm around my neck, and trying to put me in a sleeper hold. The other guy lunges forward, striking me across jaw with a closed fist.

  It stings for a second, causing my vision to go fuzzy. Shaking my head, I lick my lips and taste the sweet tang of metal. Wiping my mouth, the pads of my fingers are red.

  “You just made a big mistake, dickhead.”

  Kicking the guy in front of me with the heel of my boot, I grab the guy behind me and flip him over my shoulder. Slugging him in the face, I whip around to see the leader charging me with an evil look in his eyes.