A Good Neighbour

by Clare London

  I rolled my eyes in surrender. It was impossible to be angry with them for long, however interfering they were. “If you insist. I’ll just go and double-check everything’s okay up there. You’ll be all right without me? I’ll hurry back.”

  Mitzi’s gaze was unusually difficult to read. “No rush, Dylan. Take your time.”

  Bess frowned. “Good grief, Dylan, we’re not babes in arms. I can ask Mr Gerald from Laurel House to come fetch us back.”

  “Such a hospitable man,” Mitzi murmured happily in the background.

  Aha. As a part-time leaflet deliverer and their next-flat neighbour at Laurel House, Mr G was probably the source of most of their gossip. “Bess, there’s no need for that—”

  “It’s already arranged,” she said firmly. “I just have to give him half an hour’s notice.” She waggled her mobile phone at me, a Pikachu phone charm jiggling on the end of its chain.

  While I gaped, astonished at the firm way the aunts were taking over the afternoon, Mitzi gave a very unladylike giggle. “Enough time for you to have a nap, Bess.”

  Bess raised an eyebrow. “Enough time for us to clear away these cups and make everything straight again, Mitzi.” Bess turned her back on her companion, smiling determinedly at me. “You just take your time, Dylan.”

  Chapter 2

  I WALKED up the drive to the Whitman house, the gravel crunching under my boots. There was no sign of life anywhere, either in the garden or from inside the house. My heavy footsteps broke the silence, a clumsy human intervention among nature at her best. The house was at the end of the street, so it only had adjoining property on one side, and this allowed it larger grounds all round. Careful planting and landscaping by previous owners meant the garden was gorgeously lush, whatever the season. The front was bordered with flourishing, dark green ornamental hedges, and the back garden was surrounded by a solid fence. As a result, the house was comfortably sheltered from both the street and prying eyes.

  Or at least I’d always thought it was.

  I stopped a few feet away from the front step and took a deep breath. The contrast between this and my own house was vivid. I suspected the Whitmans were considerably stronger financially than I was, but I was also sure Josie was better at keeping on top of the maintenance. It was the same size house, but in far better condition. The brickwork was neat, the paint wasn’t peeling, and the lawn was neatly trimmed at the edges of the path. My house aimed for faded charm. Theirs aimed obviously for elegance, and met it too.

  I knocked loudly at the front door, making my gestures very obvious. After all, I didn’t want any spies to miss a second of my visiting routine, did I? For a brief moment, I worried that the great-aunts wouldn’t rely on Mr G, but would try voyeurism for themselves. I could imagine Mitzi at the window of my top-floor guest room, seeking a view of the Whitmans’ home over their fence. I was pretty sure she’d have to stand on a chair and peer over the top of the curtains, but that wouldn’t discourage her. Surely she wouldn’t be able to get up and down the stairs that easily at her age? Something prickled the back of my neck. Even if I turned back now to look up at my house and caught her at that very window, I was sure she’d pretend to be dusting the curtain rail rather than spying on me.

  I spun around, not proud of my silly imagination. Of course, I could barely see anything of my house apart from the chimney, and there was no one there, with or without binoculars. I didn’t know why I let the old women get so far under my skin. Anyone would think I kept secrets….

  I cleared my throat and held tight to the overblown bunch of blooms Bess had insisted I take with me. I felt hot and awkward in my jacket and smart shirt, and I ran a hand through my hastily combed hair, ruffling it back up. Damned if I couldn’t hear in my mind Bess’s snort of disapproval at my slovenly behaviour!

  The door opened abruptly. For a few seconds, I just stared. My heart was hammering, fierce as anything. But the smile that greeted me was broad and mischievous and full of a welcoming love for life. It was also very familiar. Dark, strong features. With a mental nod to the great-aunts, I stepped inside. My sight began to adjust to the change, the hallway furniture throwing elongated shadows across the pale, waning sunlight, and then the front door slammed behind me as if cutting me off from the life outside—

  And I was plunged into another one.

  I never had a chance to speak. The bouquet was snatched from my hands and flung onto the low table by the door. I was pushed back against the wall and a hard, flat chest pressed against mine, hot breath panting in my ear, broad hands reaching to push my jacket off my shoulders. Strong hands. Impatient.

  “Fuck.” The voice was harsh and masculine. A man’s face brushed against mine, the jawline rough with a half-day’s stubble, the eyes gazing hungrily at me. “You’re early! I thought we said tomorrow.”

  I laughed aloud, partly from protest, partly from the sheer joy of the touch. He was a few inches taller than I was, his body wiry but his shoulders broad. As he opened his arms to wrap them around me, the faded fabric of his shirt stretched tight across his chest, accentuating the sinewy planes of his torso.

  “The aunts insisted I come over today. I didn’t know exactly when you were planning to arrive. If you were. Look, I can go—”

  “Don’t you fucking dare!” he snapped, but his eyes were dancing with pleasure, not anger. The hallway smelled of furniture polish and the lingering aroma of warm toast. Up close, I could also smell strong coffee on his breath, but then he always drank too much of it, a symptom of his commitment to ridiculously long hours travelling. He nuzzled his face into my neck, his skin warm, his thick curly hair uncombed and brushing his shoulders, just the way I liked it. I ran my fingers into it, tangling tightly, tugging back his head. Hard, just the way he liked it.

  “Neal.” I groaned. His neck was taut, the Adam’s apple flexing as he swallowed. My lips tingled with the need to kiss it—to kiss him. “Thank God you’re here.”

  He shook himself free of my grip, though I’d never intended it to hold him back. “Idiot. Of course I’m here.” He laughed raggedly, perhaps still impatient with me. He was panting slightly and couldn’t seem to keep his hands off me, grabbing, stroking, tugging at the soft fabric of my single decent shirt. A button slipped open and he slid his fingers in against my bare skin, catching one of the swollen nubs of my nipples underneath and twisting it. It was painful—it was also impossibly exciting. “Every damned month, right?” His voice was low and hoarse, even though we couldn’t be overheard. “If it’s humanly possible—wherever the hell I am—I’ll get here. I don’t want to miss it. Miss this. You know I don’t.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. Yes, I hoped and I prayed—but I never really knew. And, God help me, I certainly never expected. But did I want to discuss that now? My fingers clumsy with excitement, I helped him open the remaining buttons of my shirt and I shrugged out of it. He took a shaky step back, one of his hands still gripping my wrist. His wild gaze sent goosebumps across my flesh. When he licked his lips, my whole skin shivered with anticipation.

  “Dylan.” His eyes widened with eagerness. “Look at you. Christ.”

  I started to laugh from nervousness and swallowed it quickly. “You’re the idiot. I’m not…. Well, I haven’t been to the gym much this month, you know.”

  He laughed and let go of me. I watched him peel his shirt up over his head, my gaze fixed on the tensing muscles of his stomach. He was well-toned for a man whose job usually involved long hours at a computer screen. The broad shoulders ran into a slender, muscular body. Plenty of strength there, the result of his dogged determination to follow a story wherever it took him, to all parts of the world, through all kinds of physical challenge. Dammit, he didn’t need a budget gym membership like some of us.

  “Dylan,” he whispered. He was smiling, watching me watching him. He lifted a hand to his chest, teasing at one of his nipples, and I heard him suck in a short, fierce breath. I shuddered, instinct taking control of me. Dark hai
rs dusted across the skin of his pecs, then ran in a trail all the way down the centre of his torso to his navel. And below. The skin was slightly tanned but there was a stretch of pale skin showing above the low waistband of his sweats. Long legs and strong feet, bare feet. I knew there’d be nothing else on under the sweats, and I was suddenly breathless. Neal Whitman was a walking wet dream. My cock betrayed my reaction, swelling thickly inside my trousers. His charisma was well-known—I’d read more than once that the success of his exclusives was due to his personal charm. Against him, I truly was the “sickly pale” of Mitzi’s description, a shadow compared to his vivacity, and so far from that wet-dream status myself, it was laughable.

  “Dylan. Dylan?” Neal grinned and gently tapped my forehead. “Hey, come back to me, man. What are you thinking in there?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Everything.”

  Neal laughed again and held his arms out from his sides. “So. You want some?”

  I laughed as well this time; it was a joke between us. “Maybe. You did say I was too early.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re not sure—”

  This time, I was the one to step forward, bringing me right up against his body. I wasn’t very graceful, and I think I stood on his toes, but he didn’t complain. Instead, his eyes darkened and he clenched his hands into gentle fists against my chest. I didn’t wait for him to kiss me, but curled my hand around the back of his neck and pulled his head forward. The taste of his surprised pleasure was worth it. It was rich and yielding, and after the first seconds, just as eagerly returned.

  “Can’t wait, eh?” he murmured into my open mouth. “Know how that feels.” The words hummed against my tongue as I thrust it back against his. A bead of saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth, and I licked at it quickly, afraid of losing a single drop of his flavour. His hands opened and he reached for my waist, starting to loosen the awkward fastenings of my trousers. “Dylan? You okay?”

  “Yes.” I couldn’t say any more but I didn’t need to.

  “Thank God. Thought I’d lost my appeal.” Even though I knew he was joking, his voice shook with genuine relief. “Thought you’d forgotten….”

  “No,” I said. My voice was more like a croak. Never. “Neal. Now. Please.”

  Chuckling, he sank to his knees in front of me and pulled my trousers down my thighs. Crooking his fingers into the waistband of my briefs, he tugged them down as well. No time wasted on foreplay, but that suited us both right now. My cock ached like it had a mind of its own, and it sprang free, the flesh hot and plum-red, a telltale shine at its tip where I was already leaking with desire.

  “Yeah,” he whispered, his gaze on my groin. “Please.”

  He gripped the back of my thighs as an anchor and leaned forward. His breath was warm on the head of my dick, and the coil of need inside me tightened. I staggered to one side so that I could lean against the wall beside the front door. Then I just stood there while he sucked me off, his dark head bobbing at my groin, his fingers pressing deeply into my flesh until they seemed to meld into me. My whole body ached now, but the core of my excitement concentrated itself in a tight, fierce fist in my belly, and I knew I couldn’t control that for long. Neal panted and hummed around me, his breath hitching from arousal. I wanted to touch him, to hold more of him—to return this ecstasy—but I was pressed back against the wall, my knees shaking, one hand gripping the edge of the doorframe. I managed to lift my other hand onto his head, and I threaded my fingers through his hair. But I wasn’t guiding him, just following his movements with amazement and raw pleasure.

  He moaned and his lips tightened on me, catching the ridge around the head. I came, fiercely and fast, with a cry of total surrender. As I jerked in his mouth, his teeth grazed me, and I could feel my cock throbbing and spitting seed against his tongue. For a few, glorious moments, I was nothing but sensation. I stood there, shuddering, savouring it.

  Then he moved his head back, and my softening cock slid out of his mouth. The sudden tug of gravity was sharp against the oversensitive flesh. I realised my eyes were shut so I opened them, trying to focus properly again. Neal stood up, grunting with the effort and grasping my arm for support. And there was me, hoping to use him for the same. He leaned into me, and I could hear how harsh his breathing was.

  “Too long,” he growled. “Jesus, Dylan. Too fucking long.”

  I nodded and put my arms around him, resting my forehead against his. I was smiling, stupidly, I suspected. Neal was shaking and I realised he’d pushed his sweats down his thighs and was jerking himself off.

  “Yes,” I hissed into his ear. “Do it.” I peered down between our bodies, watching him pump himself. The tip of his dick thrust out from his fist, then slid back in, shining, looking both angry and needy. I wanted my hand to be there instead, but for the moment, I reckoned the end justified the means. From the look of pained ecstasy on his face, Neal did too.

  “Dylan?” He grunted, still shaking, his eyes fixed on mine. His pupils were seriously dilated and a thread of his dark hair was stuck to the side of his nose with sweat. He was gorgeous.

  I smiled straight at him, licked my lips, and whispered, “Come on me.”

  He groaned very loudly and shot. I held him tightly as it burst out, the come spattering my lower belly, the fingers of his free hand digging into the flesh of my upper arm. I could smell his sweat and the hot tang of seed. I pressed my lips to his temple and felt his pulse thudding underneath the skin, then starting to slow as his body gradually stilled again.

  “Fuck.” He sighed deeply.

  “Yes. Please,” I repeated, grinning.

  Neal stumbled against me as we turned, cursing when he caught his shin on the table, and bumping me against the wall again. I laughed aloud, amused at us both. Amused at everything! We were even more desperate and clumsy than usual, though we often never made it to the bedroom. The couch had seen more than its fair share of making out, and he’d taken me plenty of times on the floor, my face pressed against the thick carpet, my hands grabbing out behind my back to pull him close as he slid into me. I’d fucked him once on the stairs—a hot, impossibly delicious time, with his hand gripping the guardrail to keep himself still, his knees spread wide across one step and his head bowed down onto the upper one. He’d thrust his arse up toward me, the shadows between his buttocks and thighs glinting with eager sweat. I’d dropped to my knees behind him and died that small death very, very happily.

  “Dylan. Go on, now.” He leaned to one side of the bedroom doorway, pushing me ahead of him.

  My back scraped against the doorframe. “Ouch.”

  “Serves you right!” He frowned at me. “You’re drifting again. I can see it in your eyes. Need you with me here.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I’m with you.” And I showed him I was, pushing him in return until we were both backed up to the bed. I took his head in my hands and kissed him fiercely, until I didn’t know where my lips ended and his tongue began. Then I shoved him, my hand on the centre of his chest, and he tumbled back onto the mattress.

  He grinned up at me, his eyes fevered and his hand hovering around the waist of his sweats. I could see his cock swelling gently again under the soft fabric.

  I peeled down my trousers and briefs all the way this time, full of indecent haste, hopping around a bit when they got caught at my ankles. Neal just watched me, not speaking, his face growing more flushed by the second. When I finished, I stood there in front of him, naked. The room was warm—he must have turned the heating on when he arrived—but goosebumps rose up all over me. I felt self-conscious at the same time as I revelled in exposing myself to him.

  He had that effect on me. I wasn’t complaining.

  “Good,” he said softly. He ran his gaze over each of my limbs in turn, lingering at last on my groin. “So good.”

  “I’ve never done this for anyone before,” I whispered.

  “Stripped?”

  “You know what I mean. Been
like this. Open.” Vulnerable.

  His eyes softened. “I know. This is special, Dylan. We both know it.”

  “Just….” I shook my head slowly, not sure what I wanted to say. “Just needs saying sometimes.”

  “Consider it said.” He wriggled on the bed, yanking off his sweats. As he arched, his belly tightened deliciously. The skin around his groin was paler than his tanned legs, and his thigh muscles clenched as he shifted himself. That was delicious too. Above that, I saw the dark curls on his groin and his cock jutting out from his body. It hadn’t been a bad guess of mine; he wore no underwear.

  It was all… beyond delicious. My body thrummed with excitement.

  Neal glanced up at me and grinned. “You want to do something more for me?”

  I looked down at my own reawakening cock and grinned too. “Looks like it.”

  We laughed together and I scrambled onto the bed beside him. Every time it was new and exciting; every first touch was impossibly needy. I was some way from being a virgin when Neal and I first got together, but I’d definitely never had sex like we had now. In the early months, we’d been full of hunger and awkwardness as we got used to each other, and so desperate I felt I spent all my time apologising for being too rough, too clumsy, too inexperienced—too damned fast! But he’d never taken any offence, never shown any less enthusiasm for me in return.

  Neal groaned in my ear. I lay facing him with my leg lifted across his, so our groins rubbed together. His cock was hot and hard again, and he started to thrust against me, seeking friction.

  “Oh my God.” I gasped.

  He started to chuckle, but his voice caught on a similar gasp. For a few moments we just held each other, kissing, panting, our chests pressed so tight together that my nipples tugged painfully every time he moved. My cock slid against his, the flesh snagging, the precome slicking.

  I knew when it stopped being just playful—I’d learned to recognise the tension in Neal’s body and the agonised hitch in his voice. I leaned into him more closely, kissing him deeply, and I slid my hand down the centre of his back to the dip at the base of his spine. His arse clenched tightly.