Gangster Too-Shorts

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“Gasoline” by Halsey running in the background, a broom in my hands, and the last load of dishes running beside me to drown out the tired garble that was my singing. Not because the lyrics were particularly meaningful to me, but because the music itself made me wanna dance.

The windows and back door were wide open to let in the fresh air that smelled like approaching rain.

Every so often, I would stop what I was doing and with a look towards the dying daylight, the broom would become my pretend dance partner (or pole, not gonna lie) for a few seconds. That is, until my neighbor pointedly stood outside his own back door, posing with his phone like he was taking pictures.

I only smiled and threw a peace sign. It wouldn’t be the first time he got a free show, though today I wasn’t drunk. And pictures would last longer than the cleanliness of my kitchen, or probably his interest in me.

Two days later, I’m moving old things into my car as part of my spring cleaning, as well as consideration for getting a pet that didn’t require a cage or tank. I was leaning towards a cat, but then I’d also wanted a big dog when I was little so it was hard to choose.

Who pulls up behind my vehicle, but the neighbor with the camera phone.

He’s got a business smile and a business suit, and damned if it doesn’t make my non-business parts interested in his non-business parts at the fact that he still doesn’t come off as a creep. His body pours out the car, a sleek leather briefcase in his hand, and I try my hardest to keep my eyes on his face, because he’s watching me watch him.

But he waves once before heading inside, and I realize it’s me who’s been staring, slowly straightening out of my car.

Was it my imagination, or did he have color on his jaw? Like a kiss, or the start of a bruise.

I can’t leave it alone, and go knock on his door.

Surprise says hello with a loose tie and I just ask if he’s okay, to which he nods and smirks. It’s definitely a bruise, and a solid one, at that.

“I’ll live.”

I nod kind of awkwardly and take a step back. His words give me pause.

“Do you... I mean you live right there but do you wanna come in? I have a full bar.”

“I left the door open,” I decline, but smile. “Maybe some other time?”

He returns the nod and closes the door as I’m turning, so he doesn’t see the look on my face. The one that says I’m damn near sweating with the strain of telling him No.

Business in a briefcase and makes his own drinks? Now there’d be no way I kept my mind off him.

Hoping he isn’t the kind of guy to be put off by a simple refusal, I return to my own home and play DJ on myself for a few minutes, but it leaves me feeling restless, and movement catches the corner of my eye.

He’s watching through my mirror with his tie undone and shirt hanging open, then raises a drink to my attention. His other hand points down at himself as one eyebrow cocks. So I turn to look through the window.

Of course I’m curious.

And then it’s my turn to taste what he’d been experiencing, as my wide eyes eat up the slow pump of his hand, my mouth hanging open as he demonstrates a fraction of what he wants to do to me, eyes daring to look down, then back up at me. He was a fat boi...

Then he suddenly stops and walks over to his curtains. With a beckoning motion and a grin, he shut them.

You’d best believe I practically ran all the way over in whatever shitty dress I blindly picked out.

When I knock, the door opens apparently by itself, but his hand clamps around my wrist and pulls me in. I was already moving forward, so now it’s like I’m flying.

He was standing just inside, leaning against the wall in the same state of undress. My face burns with the desire in his, but he lets me go.

“Take it off.”

One of his feet nudges the door closed, and I pull on the strings that tie behind my neck, unintentionally timing the fall of fabric to the click.

He raises his glass in a question and I slowly shake my head No.

“That would take too long.”

It prompts him to swallow the remainder of his drink and nod to himself, then he places the empty glass on the small table as my hands were coming up.

His chilled fingers find mine, body peeling off the wall so he can meet me halfway. Then he’s sharing the surprisingly layered flavors clinging to his lips while he slowly turns us around, so he can press me against the spot he’d vacated.

My hands slip free and find that they don’t want to stop tracing serious bumps of flesh he’d been hiding. Patterns of scars that pull a low moan out of me as his breath shakes in.

His arms lean on the wall around me, a single shudder cascading down his back.

“What are you doing?”

“Feeling,” I purr back, and his hand shoots down between us to feel for himself.

I let out a moan as his stiffened finger slides past my hard bud then slicks in reverse, my own hands wrapping around him below to feel for the width for myself. He groans softly at the readiness that greets him and jerks at the smooth hands now stroking him, and after driving the edge of his hand along the wet pleasure a few more times, steps away from me and shakes his head.

“Come on,” he suggests, stepping deeper into the house as he casually sucks my juices off his finger.

A small moan escapes me and my feet start to follow like dumbasses, then I remember to pick up my dress. Turning to bend over for it, he comes up behind me with a huff of breath. I realize he believes me to be impatient.

“I tried.”

The head of him pokes inside as I glance back, and the expression on my face makes him sink his girth slowly, one hand at my hip, the other smoothing up my back to hold the side of my neck where it meets my torso. The long moan from my mouth has his eyes relaxing and his body leaning back to leave me wanting, only to pull me backward onto it again.

His hips shove the last bit, and I moan for him again, hands going to his for balance as I squirm. He’s just the right length to make the stretches pleasurable for me, the satisfied groan behind has me fighting the weakness in my knees so I can keep the angle, and then his hand wraps around my neck to arch me back for his delicious strokes, breaking my speechlessness.

“Ooh, right there, neighbor...”

“Fucking tease,” he growls through our creamy movements, and I whimper shakily. “Yeah, like that. But with my eyes.”

We move differently and I have to bite off my scream at how satisfying that thump was.

“No,” he pulls my neck closer to grit in my ear, “you scream for me.”

His other hand smooths over my front as I stop holding back, and he walks us over to the couch, pulling me back with every step so by the time I’m pressed into the arm of his couch, I’m crying out from the way he rubs my insides.

He releases my neck to indicate my shoulders should lower as I squeeze him with how close I am to coating him in my lust, but I turn my head and offer my wrists, and he gazes into me as he takes them. Tightens his grip, then pulls me for the new thrust and my eyelids fall on the new sound he gets out of me.

It’s nobody’s business who or what I do, but now that he’d stated his preference, I thrust back against his sliding thumps with loud moans, which he answers with groans of his own.

“Damn, woman, you’re gonna make me cum. Where do you want it?”

I try to rush my words between breaths, “Make it drip- mmmmm- down my leg...?”

His groan as he thrusts quickly is the thing that makes me clench and finally scream for him, and I’m even more attracted that he tries to wait for me to finish.

But he pulls out and collapses on top of me for a few seconds, struggling to get enough air in his lungs. I can feel his release in spurts down my thigh, like warm paint as it slides over the back of my knee.

“That’s hot,” he finally pants, his hands bracing on his couch to get off me.

I hum agreement, turning my face to moan for the look on his. I’m still over the arm of his couch, and he’s looking down at the mess we made in a way that tells me he’s not done with me, even if he’s not hard again yet.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I giggle, and he motions an idea, reaching for his phone.

I turn my head away to kick myself, but shortly after, there’s a feathery touch sliding down one raised cheek.

“Don’t look,” he says softly, and his voice makes me shiver, like he’s lost in thought.

“Why?”

But I’m not looking.

“I want to record what you do on my mouth.”

Casually laying out his expectations.

My breath gasps in. His floats over my wet line.

“Do you mind?”

I could damn near feel the additional arousal falling out of my excited non-business parts.

“Okay. But send it to me.”

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