Chapter 1

My name was Toby Jensen. I was 35, and I worked as a mechanic at an auto shop. When I got home that night, all I wanted was some intimacy with my wife, Rebecca Taylor.

However, she kicked me out of the bedroom again, claiming the smell of gasoline on me made her sick.

That made 12 rejections in six months. Staring at the closed door, I let out a heavy sigh.

Restless and unfulfilled, I grabbed my smokes and a lighter and headed out to the stairwell for a puff.

Just as my hand touched the door to the stairwell, I heard a faint, frantic moaning. At first, I thought it was just a cat in heat.

Then, a familiar scent hit me. It was a perfume that immediately made me think of my charming neighbor from next door, Demi Wilson.

Every time I ran into her, that sweet, intoxicating scent always arrived first.

Then came the flash of a red slip dress or perhaps a bodycon dress, with a neckline plunging incredibly low.

I remembered one time in the elevator when she leaned over to pick something up. I caught a glimpse of her cleavage, and I went hard instantly.

If I hadn't bolted out of there, I wouldn't have been able to hide the tent in my pants.

Then, there was her bottom—curvy, firm, and looking like it had a hell of a bounce. Every time I watched her bend over to rub her ankles, I felt the urge to give her a hard smack.

After that, I'd grab her by that tiny waist from behind and just go at it until she was red-eyed and begging for mercy.

Just the fantasy alone was enough to leave me a mess. It was embarrassing.

I guess I'd been in a dry spell for so long that my body was on a hair-trigger. Thinking about Rebecca's constant rejection only made the frustration worse.

I glanced at the door to Unit 602. It was shut tight, and I wondered where Demi was spending her night.

I pushed open the heavy stairwell door, and the motion-sensor light flickered on.

Before I could even step inside, I saw a woman in a red dress leaning against the wall by the stairs.

Demi's face was flushed, her eyes were glazed and wet, and her lips were parted just slightly. One of her hands was hiking up her dress, kneading at her own curves.

My gaze darkened. I swallowed hard and looked down.

The shock hit me like a physical blow. Demi was touching herself!

Her hand was moving rhythmically between her legs. Her breath hitched. Her breathing grew heavier as she picked up the pace.

Seeing it all play out right in front of me set my long-suppressed desires on fire.

My eyes were fixed on the woman lost in her private bliss. The cigarette snapped between my fingers.

I swallowed again and started walking toward Demi.