Husband for Sale

I couldn’t sleep again. The walls in this new apartment building were paper thin, and the guy next door, Jake, I think that's his name, never seemed to care who heard him.

It was past midnight. I was curled up in bed with my Kindle, trying to read some boring romance, but my mind kept wandering. Then I heard it. Low groans. A woman’s gasp. The headboard thumping against the wall we shared.

My heart jumped. I froze, ears straining.

“Fuck, yeah… take it deeper,” his voice rumbled, it was  rough and deep. His voice always made my heart beat fast even though I’d only seen him twice in the hallway.

He was tall, broad shoulders, dark hair messy, arms covered in tattoos, always in a tight t-shirt that showed every muscle.

The woman moaned louder. Skin slapping skin. Wet sounds. I squeezed my thighs together without thinking. Heat bloomed low in my belly.

I told myself to put in earbuds. Ignore it. But instead I set the Kindle down and crept to the window.

Our apartments faced the same small courtyard. His blinds were half-open like always. Mine were cracked just enough. Moonlight spilled in, and there he was.

Jake had her bent over the arm of his couch. She was naked, ass up, face buried in a cushion. He stood behind her, jeans shoved down to his thighs, thick cock sliding in and out slow and hard. Every thrust made her cry out. His big hand fisted her hair, pulling her head back so she arched more.

I should’ve looked away. I didn’t.

My hand slipped under my sleep shorts before I even realized. I was already wet. Slick. My fingers found my clit and i rubbed it slowly, matching the rhythm of his hips.

“Harder,” she begged. “Fuck me harder.”

He growled something filthy I couldn’t quite hear, then slammed in deep. Her whole body jolted. He slapped her ass once, sharp, loud. She moaned like she loved it.

My breath hitched. I rubbed faster. My other hand squeezed my breast through my thin tank top, pinching the nipple until it hurt good.

Jake’s head turned slightly. Like he felt eyes on him.

I froze, fingers still pressed to my clit.

Did he see me?

His eyes scanned the courtyard, landed on my window. On the thin gap in my blinds.

For a second our gazes locked.

He didn’t stop fucking her. Didn’t even slow down. But that dark smirk spread across his face, slow, knowing, dangerous.

He knew I was watching.

My face burned. Shame and heat crashed through me at the same time. I should’ve ducked away. Closed the blinds. Instead my fingers kept moving, slower now, teasing myself while he stared right at me.

He mouthed something. I couldn’t hear it, but I swear it looked like, "Good girl.”

Then he gripped the woman’s hips harder, pounded faster. Her cries turned sharp, desperate. She came loud, shaking, and he followed right after, burying deep with a low groan, hips jerking as he filled her.

I bit my lip so hard. My own orgasm hit sudden and quiet, waves rolling through me, thighs trembling, fingers soaked. I had to press my forehead to the cool glass to stay upright.

When I opened my eyes again, he was pulling out slow. Cum dripped down her thigh. He smacked her ass lightly, almost playful, then looked back at my window.

That smirk again. He reached up, tugged his blinds all the way open. No shame. Just letting me see everything, his thick, still-hard cock glistening, his abs tight, the way he stroked himself once like he was showing off for me.

My pussy clenched empty. I wanted to die of embarrassment. I also wanted him to do that to me.

He turned away, helped the woman up, kissed her quick like it was nothing. She left soon after, heels clicking down the hall.

Jake stayed naked. Walked to his fridge, grabbed a beer, cracked it open. Then he sat on the couch facing my window, legs spread, cock half-hard against his thigh.

He lifted the bottle in a little toast.

Right at me.

I stumbled back from the window, heart hammering so loud I thought it would wake the whole building. I yanked my blinds shut, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over my head.

But I could still see his smirk in my mind. The way he looked right through me.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

The next evening I was in the kitchen making tea when someone knocked.

I opened the door and there he was.

Jake. In a black t-shirt stretched tight over his chest, jeans low on his hips, toolbox in one hand.

“Hey, neighbor,” he said, voice low and easy. “Heard you had a leaky faucet. Building manager asked me to check it.”

I blinked. My mouth went dry.

“I… didn’t call anyone.”

He shrugged, that same slow smirk tugging his lips. “Guess word gets around.”

He stepped inside without waiting for me to invite him. He closed the door behind him. 

I backed up until my ass hit the counter.

He set the toolbox down. Looked around my tiny kitchen like it was his. Then his eyes landed on me, sweats and oversized hoodie, hair in a messy bun, no bra. I felt naked anyway.

“Kitchen faucet, right?” he asked, but he wasn’t looking at the sink.

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

He walked closer. Slow. Crowded me against the counter until I had nowhere to go.

His voice dropped. “You like watching, Emma?”

My breath caught. He knew my name.

“I… I didn’t mean...”

“Bullshit.” He leaned in, one hand bracing on the counter beside my hip. “You watched me fuck her last night. Rubbed that pretty little pussy while you did it. Came hard staring at my cock.”

Heat flooded my face. Between my legs. I pressed my thighs together.

“You left your blinds cracked,” I whispered, lame excuse.

He chuckled dark. “And you didn’t close yours.”

His free hand lifted. Two fingers caught my chin, tilted my face up so I had to look at him.

“Tell me,” he said. “Did you finger yourself thinking about me bending you over like that? About me stretching that tight cunt until you scream?”

My knees almost buckled.

“Yes,” I breathed.

His thumb brushed my bottom lip. “Good girl.”

Then his hand slid down. Over my hoodie. Lower. Cupped me through my sweats.

I gasped.

“Already wet again,” he murmured. “Dirty little voyeur.”

He pressed the heel of his palm against my clit. I whimpered, hips rocking forward without permission.

“Gonna fix your faucet,” he said, rubbing slow circles that made my eyes flutter. “But first I’m gonna fix this needy pussy. Finger-fuck you right here until you soak my hand. Then you’re gonna thank me.”

I nodded fast. Couldn’t speak.

He pushed my sweats and panties down in one rough tug. Cool air hit my bare skin. Then his thick fingers were there, two sliding through my folds, coating themselves in my slick.

“Fuck, listen to that,” he growled as he pushed them inside me.

I moaned loud. Grabbed his shoulders.

“Quiet, baby,” he warned. “Don’t want the whole building hearing how wet you get for the guy next door.”

But he didn’t slow down. Pumped faster. Thumb grinding my clit. Wet sounds filled the kitchen.

I was shaking already. So close.

“Beg,” he ordered.

“Please… Jake… make me cum… please…”

He curled harder. “That’s it. Cum on my fingers like you came watching me last night.”

I shattered. Pussy clamping down, gushing over his hand, thighs trembling. I bit his shoulder to muffle the scream.

He kept fucking me through it until I was whimpering.

Then he pulled out slow. Brought his soaked fingers to my lips.

“Clean them.”

I opened. Sucked. Tasted myself. Salty.

He groaned low. “Good fucking girl.”

He stepped back just enough to look at me, pants around my ankles, hoodie rucked up, face flushed.

“Faucet’s next,” he said, smirking again. “But tonight? My place. Nine o’clock. Wear something easy to rip off.”

He grabbed his toolbox like nothing happened and walked out.

I stood there dripping, heart racing, already counting the hours.

I was so fucked.

And I couldn’t wait.