New Neighbour

The silence screamed at me.

I stood in the centre of my living room, car keys still dangling from my fingers, and felt the emptiness of my house press against me like a living thing.

Friday evening, late August, and my boys were gone. Really, truly gone.

John and James. My twins. Eighteen years of scraped knees and soccer cleats and physics equations, and now they were three thousand miles away, starting their lives without me.

I should have been proud. I was proud.

But God, the house felt empty.

Ray hadn't even called. Five months in Germany, and my workaholic husband couldn't spare fifteen minutes to ask how I was handling my empty nest. The contract that was supposed to set us up for retirement had become just another excuse for him to abandon me for work.

To worsen the situation, two weeks ago, Frank and Ellen Rogers, my octogenarian neighbours, had moved to Florida, taking with them the last connection to my old life as a mother, a neighbour, and a woman who mattered.

At forty-one, I was alone for the first time since I was twenty-three. And I had no idea who I was supposed to be now.

Feeling a bit down, I crawled into bed just after ten, listening to the wind rustle through the trees in the ravine behind our house. Our two-story sat at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, backing onto wilderness that had always made me feel like I lived in a secret world. The pool Ray had insisted we put in when we bought the house had, while the boys were growing up, meant we had a home and a cottage rolled into one. The master bedroom windows, other than the one that looked at the Rogers’ house, looked out over the trees, and I'd spent eighteen years falling asleep to their whispered lullabies.

Tonight, they sang me into dreamless sleep.

—-

An aggressive beeping sound woke me at eight-thirty.

Stumbling to the window, confused and groggy, I watched a moving truck back into the Rogers' driveway. Two men and a woman jumped out and began wrestling with the cargo door.

New neighbours. Of course. Life moved on whether you were ready or not.

I should probably welcome them. Be neighbourly. Be a functioning human being instead of a woman wallowing in her empty nest.

I threw on cutoff denim shorts and a loose gingham shirt and headed over before I could talk myself out of it. They were comfortable Saturday clothes, nothing special.

"Hi there!" I called, extending my hand to the older man. "I'm Jane Viscount. Welcome to the neighbourhood."

"Kyle Henderson." His handshake was warm and grateful. "This is my wife, Sharon, and my brother, Denis."

When Denis’ hand closed around mine, something electric shot up my arm. He was tall and lean, with dark hair silvering at the temples and eyes that seemed to see straight through my casual clothes to something more interesting underneath.

"Nice to meet you," he said, his voice low and rich.

"You too." I pulled my hand back, suddenly aware of how long I'd been holding his.

"We'd love to chat," Kyle said apologetically, "but we've only got this truck until two."

"I could help," I heard myself offer. "I've got nothing else planned today."

Nothing but an empty house and too many memories.

"That would be amazing," Sharon said with obvious relief.

As we worked, I learned that Denis was renting the house for six months while he was on a local contract. Kyle and Sharon owned it but couldn't move in until the sale of their current place closed in April.

Six months. He'd be living next door for six months.

I told myself that the flutter in my stomach was just a result of exertion.

By noon, we'd emptied the truck.

Kyle said, “I have to return the truck. Would you be able to stay for some pizza and beer as a thank you?”

“Sure. I have to go to a house party at 4:00, but I’d be glad to stay until about 2:00.”

“Great! Sharon will get the pizza while I drop off the truck. We should be back in about thirty minutes.”

As Kyle and Sharon left, Denis turned to me with a smile that made my skin feel too tight and said, "Want to help me set up the bedroom before they get back?"

“Sure.”

Inside, the house still smelled of lavender and old books, reminding me of the Rogers. But it was already being invaded by cardboard and change.

We assembled a gorgeous brass bed, and I ran my fingers along the ornate scrollwork. "This is beautiful. Where did you find it?"

"Embassy auction in London, about ten years ago." He positioned the headboard against the wall, muscles flexing under his t-shirt in a way that made my mouth go dry. "Got the whole set for three hundred dollars."

"That's incredible. Right place, right time."

"Exactly." His eyes held mine a beat too long. "Sometimes the best things in life are completely unexpected."

Heat crept up my neck. Was he flirting? Or was I so starved for male attention that I was imagining things?

We moved to the living room, and I became hyperaware of every glance, every accidental brush of hands. When I bent to lift the coffee table, I looked up to ask where he wanted it and caught him staring down the front of my loose shirt.

I wasn't wearing a bra.

I should have been embarrassed. Should have adjusted my shirt, made a joke, or done something to diffuse the tension.

Instead, I felt a spark of power I'd forgotten existed.

‘Let’s see if I’m imagining things or if he really was looking.’

When we moved to the couch, I deliberately raised my arms overhead, knowing the shirt would gape open. I glanced up and caught him staring again. This time when our eyes met, he flushed and looked away, caught.

‘That’s cute. He likes what he saw but is embarrassed at being caught.’

The knowledge that I could affect him like that sent warmth pooling low in my belly. When had Ray last looked at me that way? When had anyone?

Over pizza with Kyle and Sharon, I learned Denis was a consultant who'd worked all over the world.

"Don't you get tired of moving around?" I asked. "Never putting down roots?"

"Sometimes." His gaze was steady and intense. "But maybe I've just been waiting to find the right place to stay."

"What makes a place right?" My voice came out huskier than I intended.

"The view." His eyes dropped to my mouth, then back up. "Definitely the view."

I left at two-twenty with my pulse racing and my skin flushed with more than exertion.

—-

I came home late from the potluck that evening, navigating through my dark house by moonlight out of habit. As I walked down the hall toward my bedroom, movement in my dresser mirror caught my eye.

It was Denis. In his bedroom. Taking off his shirt.

I froze in my doorway. I knew that I should look away, that I should close my door, that I should turn on a light, that I should do something.

I didn't move.

He stripped down to his underwear, stretched unselfconsciously, then slid those off too. My breath caught at the sight of his lean, muscled, beautiful body in the moonlight streaming through his window.

‘Wow! Nice body.’

He moved around the room for several minutes, unpacking, completely unaware of my eyes on him. When he left the room, I looked out at my moonlit backyard, then back at his window.

The full moon illuminated his room clearly while leaving mine in complete darkness.

He couldn't see me unless I turned on a light.

‘Now that I’ve seen him nude,’ I thought, ‘Maybe I should let him see me.’

My hand moved to the lamp before rational thought could stop it.

Soft light flooded my room. I pulled my t-shirt over my head, unhooked my bra, and let it fall. I stood there topless, heart hammering so hard that I could hear it.

I glanced at his doorway. He stood there, nude, with a towel around his shoulders, utterly still. Watching me.

The knowledge sent liquid heat flooding through my body. How long had it been since someone looked at me with desire? Since I'd felt desirable at all?

I thought, ‘Do I do this? Ray hasn’t been here for four months. What the hell, let’s do it.’

I unbuttoned my shorts and slid them down with my panties, sitting on the edge of my bed to peel them off. Then I stood, offering my forty-one-year-old, imperfect, but still mine, body to his gaze.

I stretched deliberately, rose on my toes, and bent forward slowly. When I glanced at his window again, his silhouette had changed. His hand was moving.

‘Oh God.’

The exhibition, the voyeurism, and the sheer forbidden thrill of it overwhelmed me. I lay back on my bed, one hand sliding between my legs, finding myself already wet and aching.

I watched his shadow as my fingers found their rhythm. The knowledge that he was watching me, touching himself because of me, sent pleasure spiralling through me faster than anything Ray had done in years.

When I came, it was with my eyes locked on his distant form, my body arching with a release that felt like reclaiming something I'd lost.

I turned off the light and watched through the darkness until he finished, then lay back with a smile curving my lips.

For the first time in months, maybe years, I fell asleep feeling wanted.

—-

The morning sun woke me at eight. I glanced toward the window and saw Denis in his room, back to me, putting clothes away.

I lay back down and watched through half-closed eyes until he turned.

Our gazes locked across the distance.

Emboldened by daylight and the memory of last night, I threw off the sheet, revealing my nude body. I went through a series of hip thrusts, knee curls, and leg raise stretches deliberately provocatively, performing for an audience of one.

His silhouette went utterly still, watching.

Thirty minutes later, as I was finishing my breakfast coffee, my doorbell rang.

Denis stood on my doorstep, freshly showered, looking uncertain and hopeful all at once. "I know this is forward, but I'm terrible at hanging curtains. Any chance you're free to help?"

"Give me five minutes."

I stared at my closet, heart racing. I was standing at a crossroads. Whatever I wore would determine which path I took.

I pulled on another pair of loose cutoff shorts and a midriff shirt. No bra.

The choice was made.

The curtains were heavy, the ladder rickety.

I climbed up while Denis steadied it from the front, his hands on either side of the frame, close to my thighs.

"Spread your legs a bit," he said, voice strained. "You'll be more stable."

I did, and suddenly his fingers were brushing the inside of my thighs with every movement. I knew I should adjust my position. Instead, I flexed my knees, creating more contact, more friction.

"Is this okay?" I asked, knowing damn well it was more than okay.

He cleared his throat. "It's … unh … It's fine. You're fine."

"Are you sure?" I stretched upward, knowing my shirt would ride up, knowing he could probably see my panties now. "I can move if you're uncomfortable."

"Don't move." His voice was rough gravel. "You're perfect where you are."

I came down the ladder, and we moved it over to work on the next section.

This time, when I reached the third step, I wiggled my hips some to cause his fingers to rub my upper thighs. During the hanging, I flexed my knees so that his thumbs moved against my crotch.

By the time we finished the six sections it took to hang the entire curtain in the living room, you could almost feel the sexual tension in the air.

I noticed a bulge in the front of Denis’ shorts, and, unbeknownst to him, I was really wet from his fingers rubbing my upper thighs and his thumbs touching my crotch.

By the time we moved to the dining room, I had trouble controlling my breathing so Denis wouldn’t see my panting.

On my final descent, his thumb accidentally slipped beneath my shorts, caught under the edge of my panties. He jerked away reflexively, the ladder tilted, and we both tumbled to the floor.

I landed on top of him with my thigh pressed directly against his very obvious arousal.

"Are you okay?" we said simultaneously, then laughed breathlessly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "My thumb … unh … I didn't mean to … unh."

"What makes you think I minded?" I whispered, holding his gaze.

I kissed him before courage could desert me. Soft at first, questioning, then deeper as he responded with unmistakable hunger. His hands came up to cup my face, then slid into my hair, holding me as if I might disappear.

"Jane." He broke the kiss, breathing hard. "You're married."

"My husband hasn't touched me in six months." I moved deliberately against his hardness. "Hasn't really seen me in longer than that. I'm invisible to him."

"You're not invisible." His eyes burned into mine. "Trust me, you are anything but invisible."

"Then see me." I kissed him again, deeper. "Touch me. Make me feel alive again."

"Are you sure?" His hands framed my face. "Because once we do this, there's no taking it back."

"I'm sure." I'd never been surer of anything. "The question is … unh … do you want to?"

"Want to?" He laughed, the sound strained. "I've been half-hard since you bent over that coffee table yesterday. I've thought of nothing but touching you since you stripped for me last night."

"Then stop talking," I said against his mouth, "and take me to bed."

He swept me up in his arms and carried me to the brass bed we'd assembled just yesterday. When he laid me down, his eyes roamed over me with such naked desire that I felt beautiful for the first time in years.

"I've been thinking about this," I whispered as he stretched out beside me, "since you looked down my shirt."

"I've been thinking about it since you smiled at me in the driveway." His hands slid under my shirt, finding bare skin. "God, you're so soft."

I helped him pull my shirt off, then reached for his. We undressed each other with urgent, fumbling eagerness. It was all the sexier for being unpracticed, real, and desperate.

When his mouth closed over my breast, I arched into him with a gasp. "Yes."

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against my skin. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want your hands on me." I was breathless, aching. "Everywhere."

His hand slid down my stomach, between my legs, finding me already wet and ready. "Here?"

"Yes." It came out as a moan. "Please, Denis."

"So wet for me already." His fingers explored and teased. "So ready."

"I've been ready since last night." I reached for him and wrapped my hand around his hardness. "Since I watched you watching me."

"That was the most erotic thing I've ever seen." He positioned himself over me. "Watching you touch yourself, knowing you were doing it for me."

"Then imagine how it's going to feel," I whispered, guiding him to my entrance, "when you're inside me."

He entered me with one slow, deep thrust, and I gasped at the sensation of the fullness, the friction, and the connection. It had been so long, so damn long since I'd felt anything this intense.

"Okay?" he asked, holding still, giving me time to adjust.

"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around him. "Move. Please move."

He did, finding a rhythm that had me clutching at his shoulders, gasping his name. Every thrust sent pleasure spiralling through me, building higher and higher.

"Talk to me," he said against my neck. "Tell me what you need."

"Faster." I bit his shoulder. "Harder. God, don't stop."

"Not stopping." His thrusts deepened, harder now, exactly what I needed. "Not until you come apart for me."

"Close," I gasped. "So close."

His hand slid between us, finding my clit, circling with perfect pressure. "Let me feel it. Come for me, Jane."

I shattered with a cry that was half his name, half incoherent pleasure, my body convulsing.

Denis continued to move in and out of me.

A few moments later, he whispered, “I’m close. Do you want me to pull out?”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I’m fixed. You can come inside me.”

He continued pumping until, on one inward thrust, he held. He gave two more hard thrusts before, groaning my name, he fell onto me. For the next minute, he continued pulsing inside me.

We lay tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.

"That was …" I couldn't finish the sentence.

"Yeah." He rolled onto his side, pulling me with him. "Yeah, it was."

"I should probably feel guilty."

"Do you?"

I searched my feelings honestly. "No. Should I?"

"I don't think there should be 'shoulds' in situations like this." He traced patterns on my bare shoulder. "Just what feels right. And this feels right."

"It does." I kissed him softly. "Which is why I want to do it again."

"Now?" He laughed. "Give me at least ten minutes."

"I'll make it worth the wait." I slid down his body, my intentions unmistakable.

"Jane, you don't have to."

"I want to." I looked up at him. "I want to taste you. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

His hand tangled in my hair. "Then who am I to argue?"

I took him in my mouth, and his groan of pleasure was the most gratifying sound I'd ever heard.

We spent the afternoon in bed making love, talking, and learning each other's bodies. Around three, I suggested moving to the pool.

"I have a bikini," I said, standing nude and unself-conscious in my bedroom, "but I don't think I'll bother."

"I'm certainly not complaining." His eyes roamed over me appreciatively.

We swam naked in the afternoon sun, the privacy of the ravine making us bold. Denis pulled me against him in the shallow end.

"Again?" I wrapped my legs around his waist, already aroused. "Someone's insatiable."

"Can you blame me?" He kissed me deeply. "I've got a beautiful woman naked in my arms. I'd be crazy not to take advantage."

"Then take advantage." I reached between us, guiding him inside me. "I'm not stopping you."

We made love in the water, slow and languorous, savouring every sensation. The sun warmed my shoulders while he filled me completely, and I thought this might be the most perfect moment of my entire life.

"I could get used to this," I whispered against his mouth.

"Good." He thrust deeper. "Because I'm not going anywhere for six months."

"Six months." I tightened around him deliberately. "That's a lot of afternoons."

"And mornings." He kissed my neck. "And evenings. And late nights."

"Greedy."

"For you? Absolutely."

I came with the sun on my face and his name on my lips and knew that whatever happened next, I'd never regret this.

—-

That evening, after he'd gone back to his place to maintain appearances, I stood at my window and watched him move around his bedroom.

My phone buzzed with an unknown number.

**Same time tomorrow?**

I smiled and typed back, **Your place or mine?**

**Yours. I like your bed better.**

**Just the bed?**

**I like everything about yours better.**

My pulse quickened. **Then come over now.**

**Are you sure?**

**I'm sure. The back door's unlocked.**

I set down the phone, dropped my robe, and waited.

When he appeared in my doorway three minutes later, his eyes darkened with want.

"You're going to be the death of me," he said.

"What a way to go." I held out my hand. "Come to bed, Denis."

He did, and we made love again. It was slower this time, exploring and discovering what made each other gasp, moan, and beg.

"Tell me what you want," he whispered, kissing his way down my body.

"Your mouth." I tangled my fingers in his hair, guiding him lower. "I want your mouth on me."

"Where?" He kissed my stomach, teasing. "Here?"

"Lower."

"Here?" My hipbone.

"Denis." It came out as a whimper. "Please."

"Tell me exactly what you want, Jane. I want to hear you say it."

"I want your mouth on me." My face flushed, but I said it. "Between my legs. I want your tongue on my clit. Please."

"Since you asked so nicely." He settled between my thighs. "And because I've been dying to taste you."

When his tongue found me, my back arched off the bed. "Oh God."

"Tell me what feels good," he said, looking up at me with dark, intense eyes.

"Everything." I was already trembling. "Your tongue … unh … yes, like that. Right there. Don't stop."

He didn't. He brought me to the edge again and again, backing off just before I peaked, until I was writhing and begging incoherently.

"Please, Denis. Please, I need to come."

"Not yet." His breath was hot against my sensitized flesh. "I'm not done with you."

"I can't … unh … it's too much."

"You can." He sucked my clit gently. "And you will. Come for me, sweetheart."

When he finally let me fall over the edge, the orgasm tore through me with such intensity that I saw stars. Before I'd stopped shaking, he brought me to another peak, then another, until I was sobbing his name and pushing at his head, overwhelmed.

He moved up beside me and gathered me close. "Are you okay?"

"I didn't know." My voice was rough, broken. "I didn't know it could be like that."

"Like what?"

"So all-consuming." I turned in his arms. "I feel like you've ruined me for anyone else."

"Good." He kissed my forehead tenderly. "Because you've ruined me too."

We fell asleep tangled together, and I dreamed of moonlight and windows and a future that finally felt like my own.

The next morning, I woke to find Denis watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"What are you thinking?" I asked.

"That you're beautiful. That I'm in trouble."

"Trouble?"

"I wasn't supposed to feel this way." He traced my cheekbone. "This was supposed to be simple. Physical."

"And it's not?"

"No." His eyes held mine. "It's not. Not for me."

My heart stuttered. "Denis."

"I know. You're married. You have a life. I'm only here for six months." He kissed me softly. "I'm not asking for anything you can't give. I just wanted you to know."

"I don't know what I can give," I admitted. "I don't know what happens when Ray comes home, or when the boys visit, or when your contract ends. I just know that right now, in this moment, I've never felt more alive."

"Then that's enough." He pulled me closer. "For now, that's enough."

—-

We made love again as morning light streamed through the windows. It was tender and urgent and achingly perfect.

And I knew, even as I gave myself over to pleasure, that I was in trouble too. Because this wasn't just physical anymore. This was something deeper. Something that was going to hurt when it ended.

But I'd deal with that later.

For now, there was just his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, and his body moving with mine. There was connection and desire and the exquisite pleasure of being truly seen.

After twenty-two years of being invisible, I was finally, fully visible, and gloriously alive.

And whatever the cost, it was worth it.