Page 8 of Daddy Next Door

StarryLittle: Okay. Well. Speak to you soon, I hope.

I logged off, feeling a little weird. It felt like, even though I’d met Ethan, I was more alone than before.

***

Theheatwavehitour little town like a broken furnace—sudden, stifling, and completely out of place for early spring. Three days of temperatures climbing into the nineties had turned my small patio garden into a collection of wilting accusations. I filled my watering can for the third time that afternoon, sweat beading along my hairline despite the thin cotton sundress I'd changed into after finishing work. The weatherman had promised rain tomorrow, but my sad basil plants couldn't wait that long.

My phone chimed with a text from Jen asking if I wanted to join her for drinks later, but the thought of the crowded bar she favored made my skin prickle with anticipated discomfort. Sometimes after a long workday, adult socializing felt like wearing shoes one size too small—technically possible but increasingly painful. I texted back a rain check, promising brunch on the weekend instead.

I was just bending to water the struggling marigolds when a mechanical clicking sound registered a second too late. The automated sprinkler system—which I'd completely forgotten the landlord had installed last fall—sprang to life with a hiss. Cold water sprayed in wild arcs, catching me full in the face and chest.

"Shit!" I jumped backward, watering can dropping from my hands. Water soaked through my thin dress, plastering it to my skin. The sprinklers continued their determined assault on everything within range, including me.

I darted sideways, seeking the narrow passage between my house and Ethan's. It was the only nearby spot the sprinklers didn't reach. Pressing my back against the siding, I caught my breath and assessed the damage. My dress clung transparently to my body, pink bra clearly visible underneath. My hair dripped cold rivulets down my neck.

"Perfect," I muttered, glancing down at myself. I'd have to dash through the spray again to reach my back door, or circle all the way around the front. As I contemplated my options, a movement from the corner of my eye caught my attention.

From this specific angle between our houses, I had a direct line of sight into Ethan's bathroom window. He'd left it cracked open, probably seeking relief from the heat. A privacy frosted window, but with the bottom portion open, the interior was unexpectedly visible from this exact spot—a spot nobody would normally stand in.

I should look away. I knew that. But before my brain could send the appropriate signals to my neck muscles, Ethan stepped from his shower into view.

Water cascaded from his broad shoulders, catching light as it ran down the contours of his back. Steam rose around him in the small bathroom, giving the scene a dreamlike quality. He reached for a towel, the movement highlighting the defined muscles of his arms and back—not the showy bulk of a gym rat, but the solid strength of a man who used his body purposefully.

My breath caught as he half-turned, giving me a profile view. His chest was dusted with dark hair that narrowed into a trail down his flat stomach. He ran the towel over his hair, face tilted upward with his eyes closed.

I knew I should turn away. Yet I remained frozen, my feet seemingly glued to the narrow dirt path.

When he dropped the towel lower to dry his hips and legs, I saw him fully. My mouth went dry. He was larger than I'd imagined—thick and substantial even in its relaxed state, hanging heavy between strong thighs. Like something primal, untamed despite his otherwise civilized demeanor.

A pulse of heat shot through me, settling low in my belly and between my legs. My nipples hardened against the wet fabric of my dress, a reaction completely disconnected from the cold water that had soaked me.

The adult woman in me appreciated his body with straightforward desire—I wanted to touch, to taste, to feel that body against mine. But something else stirred too—my little side responding to his physical presence with a different kind of yearning. Not just for sex, but for protection, for the safety those strong arms promised. The duality of my reaction confused and intensified my arousal.

He turned further, and I finally managed to wrench my gaze away, heart hammering in my chest. I pressed myself flat against the siding, hoping he hadn't spotted movement outside his window. After counting to twenty with my eyes squeezed shut, I chanced a careful look. The bathroom was empty now, the moment passed.

I made a dash through the still-spraying water to my back door, fumbling with wet hands to get it open. Once inside, I leaned against the closed door, breathing hard. My skin felt hypersensitive, nerve endings firing with confused signals—the cold of my wet clothes contrasting with the heat flooding my core.

Peeling off the soaked dress, I wrapped myself in a fluffy robe and tried to process what had just happened. I'd seen my neighbor naked. By accident, yes, but I'd kept looking when I should have turned away. Guilt and arousal warred within me, neither gaining clear advantage.

I busied myself with mundane tasks for the rest of the evening—answered emails, heated up leftover pasta for dinner, called my mom for our weekly chat. But my mind kept returning to that moment between the houses, to water droplets tracing paths down Ethan's skin, to the unexpected glimpse of his most intimate self.

By nine o'clock, I'd given up any pretense of productivity. I tried settling in my little space—the corner of my bedroom with soft blankets and stuffed animals where I sometimes colored or watched cartoons to decompress. But tonight, even my favorite plush bunny and the soothing pastel colors couldn't quiet the persistent thrumming under my skin.

I closed my little space trunk and turned off the twinkle lights that usually brought me comfort. Different comfort was needed tonight. I changed into a tank top and cotton shorts, then lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling fan rotating lazily above me.

The heat of the day lingered in my bedroom despite the fan's efforts. I closed my eyes, and immediately Ethan appeared in my mind—water sluicing down his muscled body, that trail of hair leading my eye downward to what hung between his legs.

My hand moved to my breast almost of its own accord, palm brushing over my nipple through the thin cotton. The touch sent a jolt straight between my thighs. I circled my nipple with my fingers, imagining larger hands, Ethan's hands, touching me with the same deliberate care he showed in everything else.

I slipped my other hand beneath the waistband of my shorts, finding myself already slick with arousal. I stroked my fingers through my folds, gathering wetness before circling my clit with a practiced touch.

"Ethan," I whispered into the empty room, testing how his name felt on my lips in this context. A shiver ran through me at the forbidden thrill of fantasizing about my neighbor.

I pushed my shorts down my legs and spread my thighs wider, giving myself better access. My fingers moved more purposefully now, dipping inside my entrance before returning to the sensitive bundle of nerves that sent pleasure spiraling through me. My other hand continued working my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple between my fingers.

He was right next door. Right now. He was so close, just a wall away.

In my mind, I reconstructed what I'd seen—Ethan's powerful shoulders, the defined muscles of his back, his thick cock. But my fantasy added elements: his deep voice murmuring praise against my ear, those capable hands gripping my hips, the weight of his body pressing mine into the mattress.

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