My Hot, New Neighbour

Another day, another letter.

Another reminder of my mounting debt.

Ugh.

I chucked it aside and continued my quest for the perfect selfie.

Photo after photo until it captures the right angle.

The angle I was happy with.

The angle I didn’t mind showing off.

The angle with the best lighting, but the loud music drifting through my bedroom window was ruining my vibe.

I couldn’t concentrate.

He seemed insufferable.

Who moves to a quaint English countryside to blast unsociably loud music?

Although I couldn’t hate on Biffy Clyro.

In fact, the song Tiny Indoor Fireworks, which was blaring in my neighbour’s garden right now, was one of my favourite songs.

He had good taste, I’d give him that, but his timing sucked.

I hopped out of bed, hoping to close the window and drown out the noise so I could get back to business, but GOD DAMN!

The music suddenly became forgivable when I saw him.

He could increase the volume to maximum for all I cared.

He was hot.

Seriously hot!

When my elderly neighbour passed away earlier this year to cancer, I heard she was leaving the cottage to her nephew, but I never imagined he’d be a total hottie.

He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome, only his level of hotness was off the Richter scale.

His chiselled physique, as he sawed a piece of wood, completely topless, I might add, caused my senses to go into overdrive.

He was causing carnage.

If I had an on/off switch, he’d just turned me on!

The way he swiped his forearm across his forehead to wipe away the sweat only intensified the moment.

His body was to die for, and the sudden urge that I felt between my legs didn’t help.

My eyes found their way to the waistband of his blue, distressed jeans, and I let my imagination run wild.

Biting my bottom lip as I thought about everything he kept hidden beneath.

I wanted to see it.

I wanted to feel it.

I felt my hand slip beneath my underwear as I stood at the window watching.

He had the type of hands that could do a better job, I was sure of it, but I’d have to make do with my own, as I felt my fingers circle the chaos he was causing.

It felt amazing as my breathing deepened.

My chest heaving as I watched the handsaw he was holding manoeuvre back and forth against the wood, and I swore everything turned into slow motion.

I felt my knees weaken from the magic touch of my fingers and the dirty thoughts I was currently having of my hot, new neighbour.

In my mind, he was the handsaw, and I was his piece of wood, matching his momentum with my fingers as I enjoyed the ecstasy.

Momentum was building as he neared the final cut.

Momentum was building as I neared the finish line, but the way he suddenly looked up at my bedroom window almost caused my world to stop.

I stumbled backwards, landing on my bed.

It should’ve deterred me, but the fact that he saw me was hot.

The thought of him realising what I was doing only heightened my senses, and the pleasure that my fingers were causing took over.

My breathing was heavier as I enjoyed the effects it had on my body, and I let out a moan when I reached euphoria.

The mess between my fingers satisfied my needs as I lay breathless, staring at the ceiling, whilst I let my mind and body return to reality.

Going solo had never felt so good!

I smiled, grabbing my phone from the tripod.

My freshly fucked features meant perfect selfie material, but my satisfaction didn’t last when I realised I’d livestreamed the whole thing.

I must’ve accidentally pressed the button when I placed down my phone to close the window.

Fuck!

Panic mode was instantly activated.

There were too many viewers to ignore it, and I didn’t know what else to do, other than turn off my phone and lob it across the bedroom as if holding it could burn my hands.

Ugh.

How could I be so reckless?