Chapter 2

I barely slept.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw the way he’d looked at me in the hallway—slow, deliberate, like he was filing the image away. The T-shirt that barely covered the tops of my thighs. The fact that I’d been standing there, barefoot and still flushed from coming with my fingers inside myself while he fucked someone else through the wall.

By morning I was a mess.

I left for work earlier than usual, hoping to avoid him. The hallway was empty. His door stayed shut. I told myself that was a good thing.

It didn’t help.

All day my mind kept drifting back. The sound of the headboard. The low, controlled way he spoke while he was inside her. The look in his eyes when he caught me watching. I sat through meetings with my thighs pressed tight, half-hard nipples scraping against my bra every time I shifted. By the time I got home I was so wound up I could barely think straight.

I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to the shower. Cold water. It didn’t do a damn thing.

When I stepped out, towel wrapped around me, I heard movement next door.

His door opened. Closed. Soft footsteps. Then silence.

I stood in the middle of my living room, hair dripping onto the floor, waiting.

Nothing happened for a long time. I almost convinced myself he’d gone out again.

Then the first low sound came through the wall.

A woman’s soft laugh. His voice—quiet, amused. The shift of bodies. A moment later the unmistakable wet slide of a kiss that had already turned hungry.

I should have walked away.

Instead I moved closer to the shared wall, towel still clutched around me, and pressed my ear against the plaster.

They didn’t bother with the bed this time.

I heard the soft thud of someone being pushed against the wall—our wall. A sharp inhale. The sound of fabric being dragged down. Then her voice, already shaky:

“God—yes—”

His reply was lower, almost a growl. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was unmistakable. Commanding. Focused.

The rhythm started.

Not the slow, deliberate pace from the other nights. This was harder. More urgent. Every thrust landed with a solid, wet sound that vibrated through the wall and straight into my bones. Her moans climbed fast, broken and needy. His breathing stayed controlled, but I could hear the effort in it now.

I dropped the towel.

My hand slid between my legs without hesitation. I was already soaked, swollen, aching. Two fingers pushed inside easily. I fucked myself in time with him, forehead pressed to the wall, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a sound.

She came first—loud, almost startled, like she hadn’t expected it to hit that hard. He didn’t stop. He kept driving into her through it, steady and relentless, until her voice turned into helpless little gasps. Only then did his rhythm finally break. A low, rough sound left him as he finished, and the wall shuddered once more under the force of it.

Silence followed.

I stayed where I was, fingers still buried inside myself, breathing hard. My legs were shaking. I hadn’t come yet. I was too wound up, too focused on the sounds, on the knowledge that he was right there on the other side of a few inches of drywall, still inside her, still breathing hard.

I heard soft movement. The rustle of clothes. Low voices. Then the sound of a door opening and closing—hers, leaving.

I waited.

A minute passed. Then another.

I was just about to pull my fingers free and go finish myself off in the bedroom when I heard his door open again.

Footsteps in the hallway.

They stopped directly in front of my door.

My heart slammed so hard I felt dizzy.

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. My hand was still between my legs, slick and obvious.

A soft knock.

Three quiet taps.

I stared at the door like it might bite.

Another knock. Slightly firmer.

I pulled my hand free, wiped it roughly on the discarded towel, and wrapped the towel back around my body with shaking fingers. My reflection in the dark window looked wrecked—flushed cheeks, wet hair, eyes too wide.

I unlocked the door and opened it just enough to see him.

He stood there in the same dark sweatpants as the night before, no shirt, hair still damp from a recent shower. Up close he was even more solid than I’d imagined. Broad chest, defined arms, a thin trail of dark hair leading down under the waistband. His eyes moved over me once—slow, deliberate—then settled on my face.

“Hey,” he said. Voice low. Calm. Like this was normal.

I couldn’t find words.

He glanced past me into the apartment for half a second, then back. “Walls are thin.”

Heat flooded my face. “I noticed.”

A small, almost private smile touched the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I noticed you noticing.”

The silence that followed was thick. I could smell the clean soap on his skin, the faint trace of something warmer underneath. My bare toes curled against the floor.

He didn’t step closer. He just watched me, patient, like he had all the time in the world.

“You okay?” he asked eventually.

No. I was the opposite of okay. I was standing in a towel, still wet between my legs from listening to him fuck someone else, and every cell in my body was screaming at me to pull him inside.

“I’m fine,” I said. It came out quieter than I meant.

He nodded once, like he didn’t believe me but wasn’t going to call me on it. His gaze dropped again—over the towel, the damp skin of my shoulders, the way I was holding the door like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

“I’m Noah,” he said.

“Maya.”

“Maya.” He repeated my name like he was testing the shape of it. “You just moved in.”

“A week ago.”

“I know.” Another small pause. “I’ve been wondering when you’d finally open the door.”

My stomach flipped hard.

He didn’t push. He just stood there, calm and solid and completely aware of what he was doing to me. The hallway light caught the line of his jaw, the faint mark of someone’s mouth still visible low on his neck.

“Get some sleep,” he said eventually. Soft. Almost gentle. “You look like you need it.”

Then he stepped back, turned, and walked the few steps to his own door. He didn’t look over his shoulder. He just disappeared inside and closed it quietly behind him.

I stood there for a long time after the lock clicked.

When I finally shut my own door I leaned against it, towel slipping, and slid my hand straight back between my legs. I came in under a minute—hard, silent, biting the inside of my cheek while I imagined his voice saying my name the way he’d just said it in the hallway.

Afterward I sat on the floor with my back against the door and stared at the wall that separated us.

I could still feel the exact place where the headboard had been hitting earlier.

And I already knew that the next time I heard those sounds, it wasn’t going to be enough to just listen.