Lust Next Door Novels & Stories

Danica Jones is a fierce, talented hockey player who has fought her entire life to be taken seriously in a male-dominated sport. When she becomes the first and only woman to make the university’s elite Division I men’s hockey team, she expects resistance — but nothing prepares her for Captain Caleb Ruiz. Caleb is the arrogant, brooding, and undeniably gifted team captain who rules the ice with an iron fist and a permanent scowl. From the moment Danica steps onto his rink, he makes it brutally clear that he doesn’t want her there. His sharp words cut deep, yet his actions tell a different story: during practice he deliberately traps her against the boards, his hard, gear-clad body pressing intimately into hers under the guise of “fixing her stance.” The tension between them is immediate, electric, and dangerously forbidden. When a housing crisis forces Danica to move into the hockey team house — right next door to Caleb — their icy glares and biting arguments quickly spiral into something far more intense. Late-night hallway collisions, shared showers, and accidental touches turn into stolen, frantic encounters. What begins as pure hatred and resentment slowly melts into raw, addictive lust, and eventually into something deeper. As they navigate secret hookups in the locker room, risky hotel room nights during away games, jealous rages, and the constant threat of the team finding out, Caleb and Danica must confront the truth: the arrogant captain doesn’t hate that she’s on his team — he hates how desperately he needs her, both on the ice and in his bed.

The fortune-teller said that Olivia was born to be spoiled. Olivia didn't believe it until one day she inadvertently forsaw that the poor man next door who had been abused by his own mother would be a powerful and overbearing president; the miserable pregnant woman downstairs would be the wife of the cold president; the hungry young man in the basement became a superstar movie star; and most importantly, the man who carried bricks on the construction site turned out to be an overbearing president of amnesia. In the end, she found that she seemed to be...

Rake disappeared from Ava's life the day of their anniversary celebration, and after years had passed, he resurfaced at her door asking for her help with a bullet wound on his side. He then left early the next morning and Ava thought he was gone for good, until an incident got her caught up in the other side of Rake's life that he had tried so hard to keep her out of, and now it was Rake's duty to protect Ava from the danger that she got involved in because of him.

On my wedding day, Ethan Westbrook's ex-girlfriend sent word that she was terminally ill. Her dying wish was to wear a wedding dress once in her life. Ethan locked me in the waiting room while he prepared to hold the ceremony with her instead of me to fulfill this wish. I heard his impatient voice through the door as he said to me, "Can't you show some compassion? She's dying. What's wrong with granting her one final wish?" Later, the guy next door who had carried a torch for me for years climbed to the rooftop and begged me to marry him. Ethan stared at me with bloodshot eyes. "Are you really going to throw away our seven-year relationship just for him?" I brushed his hand away. "Should I just let him die? It's only a marriage certificate. Where's your compassion now?"

It's 11:30 pm. Home alone, I decide to order some takeout. When the map shows the delivery guy is zero miles away, I receive a call from him. I pick up, only to hear unsettling silence from the other end. I hang up, annoyed. The next moment, the guy texts me, "Sorry, I'm hearing-impaired and unable to speak. I called to notify you to pick up your food as soon as possible. I can't explain things over the phone, and I apologize for that." Then comes another text. "You must've been waiting for a long time. I've left your order at your door, so please pick it up as soon as you can." Just as I prepare to open the door, I see bars of live comments—reminiscent of livestream chats—floating right before my eyes. "Don't open the door! That dude isn't a delivery guy at all! He's a murderer!" "He called you to check if you're a woman living alone!" "Seriously, why are all thriller story protagonists always so dumb? The delivery guy is obviously suspicious, yet she still wants to open the door."

After lights-out, I make my roommates play with an Ouija board with me. Being the scaredy-cat she is, my roommate decides to ask something stupid, "Where did my earphones go?" I almost burst out laughing. I can't believe she's using it to find her earphones. To our surprise, the planchette starts to move. It spells out, "It's under your bed beside the eye." We exchange glances in confusion. What eye? I snort and get out of bed. Using my phone's flashlight, I check under the bed. Nothing is there. Before I can make fun of my roommate for being superstitious, the door slams open. The student who stays next door barges into our room, her face as pale as a sheet. Her voice trembles as she shouts, "Wake up! Everyone on campus is going wild! Someone found an eyeball in our dorm!"

BLURB Aira accepted one night for money. Four men. One room. Masks on. No names. It was meant to end when the door opened. The next morning, she discovers the men she shared that room with now share her home with two stepbrothers, her stepfather, and a man who knows them all too well. None of them know they touched the same woman. Yet. As memories resurface through scent, proximity, and fractured restraint, Aira is forced to live inside a secret that grows more dangerous by the day. Because the masks are gone. And the truth is getting closer.

My roommate brought back an old music box, saying she had picked it up at a flea market. I told her not to keep it. It was too old. Who knew where it had come from or how many hands it had passed through. But the moment the music box was opened, and the melody began to play, a chill ran down my spine. The next day, a girl from the dorm next door jumped off the building. A week later, a child from a nearby orphanage died the same way. When the police came to investigate, my roommate quietly hid the music box. It wasn’t until I found myself standing on the rooftop that I realized none of this was an accident. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she brought the music box home. This time, I was going to make sure she listened to it.

My mom ran a clinic her whole life, charging just five dollars for cold medicine. After I took over the clinic, I followed her teachings closely, doing my best to care for the folks in our community. However, after I charged an influencer 30 dollars for medication, I got blasted online as a scam clinic that was out to rob people blind. The entire town showed up at my door, young and old alike, demanding I return the 'overcharged' fees. I gave them exactly what they wanted and refunded every penny before shutting down the clinic for good. "There you go, just like you wanted. The clinic's closed. From now on, if you've got health concerns, feel free to drive 30 miles to the county hospital for consultation. I wish you all good health." The very next day, they were back at my door again. Only this time, they were begging me to reopen.

My wife, Wendy Sinclair, has a severe sleepwalking disorder. After she falls asleep, she always wanders out in a state of unconsciousness. The night before our wedding, she disappears without a word. I have no choice but to postpone our wedding. Only then does she walk out of her childhood friend's house next door, rubbing her sleepy eyes. Afraid I might overthink, she cries and apologizes to me. "There's no cure for my condition. From now on, just tie me up when I sleep, okay?" I feel sorry for her, so I just change the door lock to make sure she cannot go out. But in the middle of the night, I wake up and see her standing on the edge of the balcony. She climbs in through the window and goes into her childhood friend's house again. Soon, suggestive and intimate sounds come from inside. My blood runs cold. Her sleepwalking isn't an illness at all—it is out of love.