Neighbors

by Ashleigh Royce

  When we reach the corner Dylan asks if I’m all right. “I’m fine, why?”

  “Your face is red.”

  “I just don’t like him being near me. I know he won’t do anything in a room full of people, but I didn’t like him before the attempted rape, and now I loathe him.”

  During the rest of the evening, we manage to stay clear of Greg. Dylan successfully gets my mind off of the unpleasant experience by holding my hand and engaging in conversations with several people I work with occasionally.

  After the cocktail reception, we’re seated at a table with some nurses from the obstetrics department. They are all lovely people and Dylan and I have a nice time talking with them. The band plays soft music during the meal and then picks up the tempo as the servers bring out dessert. A couple of singers begin a beautiful duet.

  “Oh shoot!” Dylan says.

  “What is it?” I say.

  “I promised Tracy…”

  “You promised Tracy what?”

  He stands, bends slightly at the waist, and holds his hand out. “Ms. Baxter, may I have this dance?”

  “I thought you don’t dance.”

  He smiles. “For you, I’ll make an exception.” Then he winks.

  I return the smile and place my hand in his. “Well then, I’d be honored, Mr. Townsend.”

  He leads me to the dance floor and places one hand at the base of my back and holds up his other. I complete the pose and he pulls me close. I inhale that smell…his smell; the perfect combination of his cologne, clean cotton, and him. My heart is pounding, my blood is tingling, desire is unfurling throughout my body. I no longer want to be on a dance floor in the middle of a reception hall, wearing a beautiful evening gown. I want to be in Dylan’s bed, naked, and making love.

  The music ends and I stop dancing. Dylan searches my expression for my thoughts.

  “Take me home,” I say.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I want you and it wouldn’t be appropriate in front of all these people.”

  He registers my request. “I’ll go get your purse.”

  We don’t talk the entire ride home. Instead, I stare at his beautiful profile as he exceeds the speed limit slightly. He parks my car in his driveway, then runs up the front steps and holds the door open for me. Once inside, he closes the door gently. I toss my purse onto the couch and grab his hand and lead him up the stairs. I pull him into the bedroom and place him in the center of the room.

  I kiss him quickly on the lips then take a couple of steps backward until I’m an arm’s distance in front of him. His eyes never leave mine. I pull out the pin holding my hair. It falls around my shoulders. Moving only one arm to the zipper along the side of my body, I pull it down as slowly as I can and let the fabric pool at my feet. I stand before Dylan in my stilettos and the newest of my lingerie acquirements: a strapless, cobalt-colored, lace bra with matching garter belt and thong.

  Dylan swallows hard as his eyes move up and down my body.

  “If I would have known you were wearing that, we would have left the reception sooner.”

  My heart races as my pulse quickens.

  I lift one foot and step over the crumpled dress. The intensity of his stare makes me want to hurry, but I take my time. Slowly, I press my body against his. I feel him through his trousers. He wants me to hurry too. I push his suit jacket over his shoulders, caressing his muscles through his shirt. Then I carefully undo the knot in his tie and slowly tug on one end of the silk until it unthreads from around his neck. I toss it onto the chair in the corner of the room. Starting with the top button, I undo each one until his shirt hangs open. I raise my hands and place them on his shoulders inside his shirt, skimming them over his arms. The shirt lands on the floor.

  “Take your shoes off,” I command and he obliges.

  My hands glide over his well-developed chest, down his stomach, and stops at his belt. I open it and yank it from his waist in a quick motion. He opens his mouth slightly to accommodate his ragged breathing. His chest is heaving. I look up at him through my heavily mascaraed lashes and I open the button on his pants. I drag the zipper down, then caress his hips, sliding his pants and briefs over his legs. He steps out of the clothes and kicks them behind him. He’s standing before me, a perfect specimen of man, ready for me.

  I step close to him, our bodies barely touching. The heat from his radiates on my own. I have to fight to focus. His scent is intoxicating. Leaning in, the only connection I make is when I place the tip of my tongue in the middle of his chest. I make a trail down his sternum to his navel. He moans and it resonates inside me. A whirlwind begins.

  I circle his navel with my tongue, dipping in and flicking it. He fights to steady himself. I kneel and look up at him through my lashes. His mouth is agape. I give him a promiscuous smile before continuing down his happy trail. I take hold of his impressive length. Softly, I stroke him. He gasps and his hips gyrate in unison with my movements. He’s panting now.

  He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. He’s ready. I cover him with my mouth, enveloping all of him.

  “Ohhh.” His fingers mesh in my hair as I move him in and out. The muscles in his legs are tense. “Please…” I don’t stop. He begs again. “Please…” He’s tugging my hair. “Melissa, please, let me fuck you.”

  The words reach down into my groin. I slow my actions. His breathing adjusts just enough for him to realize he’s on Earth. His strong hands pull me to stand in front of him.

  He reaches behind me and unhooks my bra. My breasts fall free as he tosses the lacy truss onto the chair with his tie.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His voice is breathy, and hot.

  His hands cup the sides of my face. He glides them down my neck, to my shoulders, then to the outside of my breasts. My heart is pounding and my breathing is shallow, my chest heaving. His hands glide down my hips, taking my panties with them. I step out of them and I’m left in the garter belt, stockings, and stilettos. He leans forward. His lips mirror the trail his hands have just traveled. His kisses start at my neck. My skin prickles at his touch. I can’t control my breathing.

  He leads me to the bed and lays me on top of the beige comforter. I push myself to the middle. As he crawls up between my legs I can feel my blood hum. He’s not moving fast enough and I pull him up by the shoulders.

  “I need you,” he says as he eases inside me, filling me, but he’s still. His tongue parts my lips and massages mine. One hand rakes through my hair. My head is swimming. And then his hips start to move. The rhythm is slow, deep. I want him. I need him.

  Inside, I’m pulsating. The sensation is overwhelming. I’m building. And before I know it, I hit Nirvana. Dylan pushes into me twice more and whispers my name into my hair as he climaxes.

  Twenty

  “Hello?”

  “Joey? It’s Melissa.”

  “Oh, hey sis. What’s up?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to let you know that you can rent out your house.”

  “You found a place?”

  “Sort of. I’m moving in with Dylan.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit fast, Mel? I mean you only know him a couple of months and then that thing with Greg happened.”

  “I know, Joe. But Dylan will protect me.”

  “Well, I worry about you, you know?

  “I know, and I appreciate you looking out for me. But I’m ready. Besides, Dylan has more than been there for me. This feels right. I love him.”

  “Okay, well you’ve never been one to make a decision lightly, so if you say it’s good then I believe you. I’ll keep it free for a bit until you adjust, just in case you change your mind.”

  “No, you can rent it. Even if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have to move. I wouldn’t be able to live across the street. But, it will work out, Joe. I can tell.”

  “All right. You let me know when you’re ready and I’ll put an ad in the paper. If you want, you can screen them so no wackos will be
across the street from you.”

  “Thanks, Joey. You’re a good brother. How’s it going with Cheryl?”

  “I think I’m in love, too. I’m contemplating marriage.”

  “Really? That’s wonderful.”

  “Can’t talk anymore. She’s walking in. Speak to you soon, sis.”

  “Okay. Bye, Joey.”

  I hang up and look to see Dylan, standing in the center of my living room like a kid waiting to hear whether or not he passed his spelling test.

  “You just have to show me which part of the closet is mine and I can bring my stuff over this afternoon.”

  He grabs me by the waist and swings me around. “Woo-hoo! Show me what to bring over.” He kisses me and smiles.

  I fill his arms with clothes from my closet and I stuff things from my drawers into plastic bags. I don’t have much so by the fifth trip everything is transferred. After I lock the front door, I take a moment on the step. For the first time in my life I’m sure I’ve made the right decision. I practically skip across the street. Dylan stops me as I get to the front steps. “Wait,” he says.

  “What? Did I forget something?” I look behind at my brother’s door. Had I forgotten to lock it? I start to head back across the street to check the doorknob when Dylan pulls me toward him, plants a very passionate kiss on my lips, and then flings me over his shoulder, caveman style. He crosses his threshold. He heads straight up the stairs, pushes the bags of clothing off of the bed with a swipe of his arm and unloads me on the top of it. He crawls beside me.

  Leaning up on his elbow, he tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear. “Welcome home, Melissa.” He kisses me. “Now, how do you want to celebrate your home coming?” A suggestive grin covers his lips.

  I circle his neck with my arms. “Oh, I can think of a way to celebrate my home…coming.” I pull him close and we kiss. Quickly, we strip our clothes off, adding to the pile on the floor.

  Our bodies push against each other. I run my hands through his thick, brown curls. I wonder if he can feel my blood vibrating.

  He looks into my eyes. I’m caught by their sincerity. “I would like very much to make love to you now,” he says.

  “Yes. Now,” I say, nodding.

  He’s gotten to know my body so well and he moves to exactly where I want him. A slow forward thrust has him buried inside me, filling me. I groan. He pulls back and rolls forward again. He repeats the motion over and over. And then his hips begin their perfect tempo.

  “You feel so good,” he says and I lose myself in his words. I lift my hips to meet his and together we climb. As the pressure builds, he increases his rhythm. “Let go,” he says and I do. My body convulses as I give in. A tremor runs through me as I release around him.

  Dylan follows with one sharp thrust and then freezes, filling me. He collapses on the bed next to me and curls his arm around my shoulders to pull me near.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispers into my hair.

  “Me, too.”

  Twenty-One

  We fall into a regular routine over the next few weeks. Some days he has to work late, other days I have to stay at the hospital past my shift, but we always manage to make it work. On rainy days, Dylan doesn’t work on outside projects, so he makes up the time on the weekends. While he’s home he works on his own home projects. In the month since I’ve moved in, the downstairs bathroom has been renovated and his house looks wonderful. He truly is a gifted craftsman.

  “I think I’m going to replace the kitchen cabinets,” he says one Sunday morning. “I need you to help me pick out something you like.”

  “Me? It’s your kitchen.” I’m surprised at his request.

  “You live here, too. I want it to be something you’re happy with also.”

  “I’ll be fine with whatever you choose.” I don’t want him to be stuck with something he’d hate. Then I’d feel responsible that he’d have to look at something just because I like it. What if things don’t work out between us, although I don’t want to think of that, he’d be stuck with cabinets I picked.

  He insists, and since it’s raining on Monday, we go to the cabinet place he uses for his contracting jobs. The salesman shakes his hand and I can tell that they’ve known each other a while.

  “Dylan, how are you, you old rascal?” His hair is almost all gray and by the size of his waist I can tell that his wife is a good cook. “What can I do you for today?”

  “I’m looking to replace the cabinets in my own kitchen, Pete. I know you make the best cabinets and was hoping you’d help me out.”

  Pete smiles. “Sure. Anything for you, Dylan.” Pete looks over and winks at me. “This guy brings me lots of business. Now it’s my turn to help him.” He returns his attention to Dylan. “So what do you and the Mrs. want to see? Something in a pine, or cherry wood? What’s your pleasure?”

  I blush at his reference of me and look down. Dylan doesn’t correct him. “Pete, this is Melissa.” Pete and I shake hands. Then Dylan smiles at me. “I don’t know, what do you think, Mel?”

  My head flips up. “Me? Um, I don’t know.”

  “Now that’s a first,” Pete laughs. “Usually the gals come in with all the plans. They don’t stop talking until the entire room is sketched out and the cabinets ordered. The guys can’t get a word in edgewise. Am I right, Dylan?”

  Dylan confirms his statement with a nod.

  “See?” Pete says to me. Then he reaches under the counter and pulls out a photo album. In it are snapshots of kitchens with cabinets that have been ordered from him. They are all beautiful, but a natural-stained, pine cabinet with simple lines catches my eye. Dylan notices my expression. “Yes, I like that one, too. Okay, Pete. It’s going to be these.”

  “Wait,” I protest. “You should pick what you like.”

  Pete laughs. “I’ll be right back with the graph paper.” Then he disappears into a room behind the counter.

  “You should pick what you like, Dylan,” I repeat.

  “I do like it. And, I like them even more because you picked them out.” He kisses the tip of my nose.

  Dylan and Pete sketch out the dimensions of Dylan’s kitchen-to-be with the measurements Dylan brought. While I look at hardware for the outside of the doors, the two men discuss price and Dylan puts a deposit on his order.

  “I’ll give you a call when they’re ready,” Pete says.

  Dylan shakes his hand for a second time. “Great. Thanks, Pete.”

  “No problem. Nice to meet you, little lady,” he says to me.

  “Same here,” I return as Dylan and I walk out the door.

  “Thanks for your help,” Dylan says holding my hand as we walk toward the car.

  “You’re welcome, but I wish you wouldn’t have put so much responsibility on me.”

  “You handle people’s lives every day and you’re afraid of picking out cabinets?” He chuckles.

  We drive for a while and at a stoplight he turns toward me. “Oh, my dad’s invited us for dinner tonight. Do you want to go? I think he wants to introduce you to his wife, Maria.”

  “Um, sure. I’d love to meet her.”

  Twenty-Two

  Maria Townsend is a beautiful brunette who is closer to my age than to Dylan’s fathers. Her long, thin, manicured fingers cradle a wine goblet as she backs away from the door to let us in. I’m sure the designer blouse and slacks she has on cost more than my entire wardrobe.

  “Maria,” Dylan says, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. “This is Melissa.”

  I hold my hand out to shake hers, but she doesn’t return the courtesy. Instead, her eyes move up and down over me. It makes me uncomfortable to be assessed by someone who is so beautiful and knows it.

  Stuart Townsend appears from another room. He hugs his son and then hugs me. It takes me off guard, but it makes me feel welcome. “Melissa, so nice to see you again. I never thanked you for those cookies the day Dylan moved into the house.” I make a mental note: Stuart has a “warm fuzzy” per
sonality.

  “Those were the cookies that started my life,” Dylan says, just before planting a kiss on my forehead. Maria glares at me.

  Stuart claps Dylan on the back. “So, come on in. Gretta has made the most awesome meal.”

  “Gretta?” I ask.

  “Our cook,” Maria clarifies with condescension. I’m quickly becoming aware that Maria is not a warm fuzzy.

  We sit at an elaborately set table. Fine Lennox china with gold leaf around the edges is surrounded by elegant flatware. A middle-aged woman, with a tight grey bun where her head and neck meet, is dressed in a housemaid’s uniform. She’s holding a tray of food. She smiles as she serves each one of us, beginning with Maria, who scowls at her. When she gets to me, I thank her politely. Maria’s scowl is redirected toward me.

  “So, I hear you two are living together,” Maria says, looking down her nose at me. More judgment.

  I force a smile, as my cheeks get hot. I look down at the fabric napkin in my lap and remember that Dylan dated her for a short time before he dumped her and she dug her claws into Stuart.

  “Yeah, that way I can be with Melissa all the time.” Dylan grips my hand. Stuart gives us a smile.

  Maria reclines in her chair, staring. Appraising me, like a buyer sizes up a piece of art at an auction. It makes me uncomfortable. Accomplishing her deed to make me self-conscious, her gaze wanders to Dylan. She devours him with her eyes. Dylan doesn’t seem to notice as he’s engaged in a conversation with Stuart.

  “Did you guys bring bathing suits?” Stuart asks. “The water in the pool is set for 85 degrees.”

  “I think I left one when I stayed here,” Dylan says.

  “How about you, Melissa?” Stuart focuses his attention on me.

  I had not brought a bathing suit, not knowing I’d need one. I don’t usually equate swimming with mid-October. “Ah, no. Sorry, I didn’t know you had a pool.”

  “It’s an indoor pool,” Maria says as if I’m an idiot. “Stu likes to swim all year round.”