Not My Neighbor by Flora Ferrari

Chapter Eleven

Krystal

“Yeah, it’s me. Mark. See Mr. Mason?” Mark tells Blake who’s finally let him go but still stands over him like a towering oak.

“I thought it was a prowler,” Blake tells me, still panting from all the excitement. “He was looking over your fence like he was gonna climb it.

“My dad said you’d be here early to give us a quote on the yard, front and back,” I tell Mark, apologizing as best I can.

Blake doesn’t seem to think there’s a problem, but he can’t just go yanking people or pushing them around when he doesn’t get his way.

“Are you alright?” he asks me, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“I think you should ask Mark that, don’t you Blake?” I snap at him, turning on my heel and shaking my head.

Going back inside before I slam the door shut.

I can hear Blake and Mark still, low, quiet voices.

Not angry anymore, so maybe he is apologizing.

He’d better be.

Puffing my temper out through my cheeks I try to fix some coffee before I realize it’s all still next door over at Blake’s house.

I growl loudly and want to stamp my feet, throw something.

I’ve never had anyone make me swing so suddenly from crazy crush to plain crazy in a second until meeting Blake.

There’s a chime at the door, and I can’t be sure if it’s the lawn guy or Blake until I open it.

It’s Blake.

Mark looks like he’s heading away from the yard and I can’t blame him.

I block the doorway with my arm, keeping my grip on the handle, only raising my brow in question at Blake.

“Krystal. I thought he was a god damned prowler. What else was I supposed to do? His truck is down the street and he’s all covered up in that jacket and cap…”

“How would you have even seen him if you weren’t watching the place?” I ask him, suddenly aware of the fact. It’s not even seven o’clock and Mark was around the other side of the house.

“Because I was looking out the window when I saw him,” Blake explains, and I can tell he’s being truthful.

“I was just making sure...” he says, when I feel him doing it all over again.

Winning me back with a single look. Not even his words.

Just that damned look that tells me I don’t just have a crush on our new neighbor, but I’m head over heels for him.

Truly, madly and helplessly in love.

There. I said it.

“What?” he asks, smirking a little as he takes in my expression.

“You’d really beat the life out of anyone who tried to hurt me, wouldn’t you?” I ask, looking up at him. Feeling my heart melt at the thought even though I should be horrified.

“Not just that,” he says firmly. “Anyone who even looks at you the wrong way has me to answer to,” he adds with conviction. Almost daring me to doubt him before softening his gaze as it travels south to my chest.

“Forgive me?” he asks, giving his best puppy dog eyes yet. One of his huge fingers reaching out to tease my pajamas open, but I playfully bat it away.

How can I not forgive him?

“If you go next door and bring back the coffee, I’ll think about it,” I taunt him, but it’s too late.

He’s grabbed me by the waist, lifted me up, and is giving me a repeat performance of last night’s kiss.

Only way better.

No simple peck on my part this morning either.

I feel his hard body against mine, with something else equally hard and familiar stabbing me gently as our mouths open, and our tongues find one another’s.

My legs wrap around him by sheer instinct and I jerk suddenly as I moan when his rock hardness brushes fully against my now aching, and very wet center.

He kisses me until I feel like I might just forgive him after all. But he won’t set me down, not yet.

His huge arms and shoulders are taut but he has no problem holding me up.

It’s like I weigh nothing in his arms.

“I don’t just want you for a day,” he growls gently in my ear, and I feel the tickle of his stubble on my neck as he kisses it. Gnawing at it gently until I squeak.

“I want you every day,” he says with an intensity that sends a shiver from the top of my head straight down between my legs as he moves his hips while gripping my rear with one hand.

Pressing that hot fat dick harder against me in a single movement through my pajamas.

This is where I lose it completely. I know I don’t stand a chance against this sort of stimulation, because it’s what I’ve wanted him to do since the moment I laid eyes on him.

I feel his heavy step vibrate through me before he sets me down on the kitchen counter, moving away from me only long enough to draw up a kitchen chair.

“What are you—” I try to ask, but my question becomes a moan in a moment as he lifts my legs and starts to tug down my pajama bottoms.

He’s shaking his head.

Like a man who’s doing what he should’ve done a long time ago.

A man who knows what he wants and is just about to stake his claim on it.

I feel a rush of heat in my groin, way up inside me as I suddenly feel like he’s not undressing me quickly enough.

My heart’s palpitating in time with the butterflies in my belly, and I hear myself coo and moan loudly as he strips me of my panties next. The sound of the kitchen chair scraping on the floor as he draws it up closer.

His massive hands are on my thighs, running up and down them, edging closer to my already quivering center with each pass.

I should ask him again just what he thinks he’s doing, but I know exactly what he’s doing.

With a hand on each ankle, I squeak as he yanks me forward on the counter, settling my feet one at a time over each of his massive shoulders.

My head rolls back as I support myself with my arms on the counter, feeling the heat of his breath against my body as his mouth gets closer to what I know belongs to him now.

“Breakfast is served,” he announces, and in an instant I’m moaning louder than ever, thrusting and bucking my center against his mouth as he greedily takes all of me in one go.

His large, warm tongue opening my lips before flickering to greet my stiff clit which is already telling me that I’m in for the ride of my life.

His stubble scratching me down there now, not tickling. But driving me wild with arousal, I start to boil over into something I have no control over.

Blake’s settled himself into that chair pretty damned quick and from the tongue lashing he’s giving me I don’t feel like he’s gonna let up anytime soon.

“I want you to come for me, Krystal. Come in my mouth so I can taste what’s mine,” he growls, making me writhe and moan a little harder and faster against his expertise.

“Mm hmm,” I whimper, feeling his hair between my fingers now, gripping him as hard as he’s grinding his mouth into me, almost tugging at him as I press him onto my core.

Already feeling something coming loose. That mysterious element the man’s awoken in me.

Those shivers I’ve been having are just like tremors before the big one.

Before the quake hits.

I hear his growls and groans, mixed with my own moans and whimpering until there’s a new and deeper sound.

It sounds like… Like a…

Like a lawnmower.

I tense up, afraid we’ll be caught. But Blake only growls louder and harder, flicking my nub with his tongue and gently nibbling at it with his stubbled lips.

“It’s the lawn guy,” he murmurs. “You can scream as loud as you want.”

As if on cue, once he uses a pair of his large fingers to spread me wide open so he can go deeper and have more of me to himself, I do hear myself moan louder.

Not just louder but deeper, and Blake’s insistent tongue and hands on my chest sees me gasping his name in between fits of my body starting to twist and jerk.

A constant shudder starts to run through me once one of his hands works its way through my pajama top, kneading my thick stiff nipples.

“Blake… Blake…” I start to wheeze, but he only grinds harder with his mouth and more intensely between his thumb and forefinger.

The mower sounds louder. Closer.

But I’m closer still and as Blake senses what we both know is coming he growls the word “mine” deeper.

The sound unlocking the most intense and quaking climax. I can hear my own voice, almost in disbelief as wave after wave of pulsing shudders course through me.

His mouth and hands merging with my hole. My legs gripping him so tight it might choke an ordinary man. But Blake Mason is no ordinary man.

And this is no ordinary climax.

He only groans deeper with satisfaction the tighter I grip him, and I moan louder as he takes all of me, all of my essences as he draws out my climax by the clever use of his strong hands, huge tongue, and masterful technique.