The rain had started as a gentle patter against the windows of the third-floor apartment, but by the time Amanda kicked off her heels by the door, it had escalated into a furious drumming against the glass. She sighed, shaking the dampness from her shoulders, the black silk of her blouse clinging to her skin in places. It had been a long day at the gallery, longer still because of the three-hour drive back from the city. She had only been home for a week after a two-year stint abroad, curating a collection in London, and her apartment still smelled of dust and absence.
She was reaching for the light switch when a knock came at the door. Not a polite rap, but a solid, knowing thud. Three times. Her heart skipped a beat. There was only one person who knocked like that.
She opened the door to find Ethan standing in the hall, his frame filling the doorway. He looked the same—broad-shouldered, with dark hair that curled slightly at the nape of his neck, and the same piercing gray eyes that had haunted her dreams across the Atlantic. He was holding a bottle of red wine, the label facing out, and his smile was a slow, dangerous curve.
“Welcome home,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in her chest.
“You knew I was back?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in. The familiar scent of him—sandalwood and rain—filled the small entryway.
“I saw the light on last night. Figured you’d be settling in.” He walked past her into the living room, his presence making the space feel smaller, more intimate. “You look good, Mandy.”
She flushed at the nickname. No one else called her that. “You look the same. Still breaking hearts in the building, I assume?”
He set the bottle on the coffee table and turned to face her. “Just waiting for the one that matters to come home.”
The air thickened. Amanda felt the pull of gravity between them, a magnetic tension that had been simmering for years. She had left without saying goodbye, not because she didn’t care, but because caring too much had terrified her. Ethan was the neighbor who fixed her garbage disposal, who borrowed sugar and stayed for midnight conversations, who had once kissed her in the elevator just before the doors opened to her floor. She had never forgotten the taste of that kiss.
“Why now?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
“Because I saw your light,” he said, stepping closer. “Because I’ve been waiting. Because I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you.”
His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. When his mouth met hers, it was like a homecoming. The kiss was slow at first, a deep, languid exploration of lips and tongue that tasted of red wine and want. Her hands found his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath the cotton of his shirt.
He broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin just below her ear. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Ethan…”
“Say it again,” he murmured against her collarbone.
“Ethan,” she breathed, and he groaned in response, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His hands slid down her back, cupping her ass through the fabric of her pencil skirt, squeezing with a possessive grip.
“I’ve thought about this,” he said, his voice rough. “Every night since you left. I imagined you coming back, how your skin would taste, how you’d sound when I made you come.”
Her knees went weak. He guided her backward until she hit the arm of the sofa, and she tumbled onto it, looking up at him with hungry eyes. He followed, covering her body with his, his weight a delicious pressure that grounded her in the moment.
He unbuttoned her blouse slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers. The black lace of her bra was a stark contrast to her pale skin. He dipped his head, pressing open-mouthed kisses over the lace, his tongue wetting the fabric until her nipple peaked against it. She arched into him, moaning.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, his hand sliding under her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
“You,” she said, her voice raw. “I want you inside me.”
He cursed under his breath, his fingers hooking into the waistband of her panties and pulling them down her legs. She helped him, kicking them off as he stood just long enough to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down his thighs. His cock was thick and hard, the head already glistening with need.
He knelt between her legs, spreading them wider. He leaned down, his mouth hovering over her cunt, his breath hot against her damp folds. “I want to taste you first.”
Before she could protest, his tongue was on her, flat and warm, licking from her entrance to her clit. She cried out, her hands fisting in his hair. He lapped at her like a man starving, his tongue flicking against her clit in quick, rhythmic strokes that had her writhing against his mouth. She was already wet, her arousal a slick invitation.
“Fuck, Ethan,” she gasped, her hips bucking against his face.
He hummed in approval, the vibration sending a jolt through her. He replaced his tongue with two fingers, sliding them inside her while his thumb circled her clit. She was close, her breathing ragged, her body trembling on the edge.
But he pulled back, his fingers still inside her, his lips swollen and wet. “Not yet,” he said, his voice thick. “I want to fuck you first.”
He withdrew his fingers and guided his cock to her entrance, rubbing the head through her slick folds before pressing inside. The stretch was exquisite, a fullness that made her gasp. He filled her inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, his hips flush against hers.
He stayed still for a moment, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed to hers. “Look at me,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. In that moment, there was no distance, no time apart. Just them, connected in the most primal way.
He began to move, slow at first, a deep, grinding rhythm that hit that sweet spot inside her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He groaned, the sound raw and guttural, as he picked up the pace.
The sofa creaked beneath them, the only music the slap of skin on skin and their mingled breaths. He drove into her with a focused intensity, his eyes never leaving hers. She felt the pressure building again, coiling low in her belly.
“Come for me, Mandy,” he said, his hand sliding between their bodies to rub her clit.
The touch was the spark that ignited the fire. She came apart with a cry, her walls clenching around him, her body arching off the sofa. He followed seconds later, his own release a hot flood inside her, his groan lost against her neck as he buried his face there.
They lay tangled together, breathing hard, the rain still pounding against the windows. He kissed her shoulder, her jaw, her lips.
“I missed you,” he said, his voice soft now, stripped of its earlier roughness.
“I missed you too,” she replied, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw.
He pulled out slowly, and she winced at the loss. He laughed low, kissing her again. “We’re not done,” he said, his hand sliding down her stomach. “I’ve got two years to make up for.”
She smiled, pulling him back down to her. “Then don’t waste time talking.”
He didn’t. The second time was slower, on the floor, with the rug beneath them and her legs over his shoulders. He watched her face as he fucked her, his movements deliberate, each thrust meant to draw out pleasure. When she came again, it was a silent scream, her body convulsing around him.
The third time was in her bedroom, with the sheets twisted around them and the early morning light creeping through the blinds. He took her from behind, his hand wrapped in her hair, his other hand gripping her hip as he drove into her with a primal urgency.
When they finally collapsed, spent and tangled, the rain had stopped. The world outside was quiet, washed clean.
Amanda traced a pattern on his chest, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. “What happens now?” she asked.
He turned, his hand cupping her face. “Now, we do this again. And again. And maybe we stop running.”
She kissed him, soft and sweet. “I think I can live with that.”
He rolled on top of her, his cock already hardening again. “Good. Because I’m not done showing you what you missed.”
And as dawn broke over the city, Amanda learned that some reunions were worth the wait—and some neighbors were worth coming home for.
