Midnight Pleasures: 30 Shades Of Steamy Stories

I almost dropped the basket.

"You live here?" I asked, though clearly he did.

"I do now," he said calmly, stepping forward with a towel slung over his neck like it was nothing. "Didn't know I'd be seeing you again this soon."

My heart kicked against my ribs. "You, you're the tenant?"

He raised a brow. "Seems like fate wants us to spend more time together."

I swallowed. Hard. "Yeah. Funny how fate works."

He looked amused. Just the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. Not a full smile, more like a secret he wasn't ready to share yet.

"You gonna hand me the basket or keep standing there like you saw a ghost?"

I snapped out of it and shoved the basket forward. "Right. Here. Basket. Bye."

He chuckled as he took it.

I turned to leave but not before he added quietly, "Next time, knock louder."

I nearly stumbled on my way out.

Holy shit.

Professor Dean lived here. In my house. Under the same roof.

This man, who'd already taken over my thoughts without touching me, was now just a few feet away. Every night.

And he looked like that straight out of the shower?

Game. On.

_____

_____

"Are you busy?" My mum asked.

"Why?" I asked innocently, twirling a loose strand of hair between my fingers.

My mom sighed, distracted. "The water stopped running in the bathroom, and our new neighbor mentioned he's handy with plumbing stuff. I called him. He'll be here any minute."

The doorbell rang right on cue.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, already heading toward the front. "And I'll be out in the garden. Just show him to the bathroom, alright?"

I nodded, but I was already halfway up the stairs.

The moment my bedroom door shut, I peeled off my top and slipped out of my jeans, leaving only a black lace bra and a barely-there G-string.

No one said I had to greet him like that, but no one said I couldn't either.

I heard the front door open. Voices. Footsteps. Then silence.

Mom's heels clicked toward the back patio. The screen door closed behind her.

I took a breath, checked the mirror, and stepped into the hallway just as he reached the top of the stairs.

My heart stuttered.

Professor Dean.

His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. His jaw was sharper than I remembered.

"Lucy," he said slowly, like he hadn't expected this. His tone didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.

"Professor," I said with a smirk, arms folded beneath my chest. "Fancy seeing you in my house."

He didn't look away. "I didn't realize you lived here."

"You didn't ask."

He gave a tight nod, stepping past me. "Which way to the bathroom?"

I pointed, not moving.

He walked, brushed just a little too close, and I didn't flinch. I wanted him to notice the heat between us, the way the silence curled around us like a secret waiting to be exposed.

He glanced at the door, then back at me.

"I'll fix the leak," he said, already rolling his sleeves higher. "And when I'm done, we're going to pretend this never happened."

I tilted my head. "What if I don't want to pretend?"

He paused. "Then you'll learn very quickly, Lucy, that I'm not one of your games."

I grinned, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway as he entered the bathroom.

My heart was pounding.

Challenge accepted.

I waited five minutes. Maybe six. Just long enough for him to think I was done playing.

Then I padded back down the hallway, slow and deliberate, the old floorboards creaking beneath my bare feet.

I paused at the bathroom door, half open. The sound of water trickling echoed against the tiles.

He was crouched down near the base of the sink, sleeves rolled, hands busy with tools.

I leaned against the frame, arms crossed under my breast again, arching just enough to make the lace of my bra shift.

"You always make house calls in tight slacks and no tie?" I asked, voice syrupy.

He didn't look up. "You always greet guests half-dressed?"

"Only the ones who try to pretend they're not interested."

This time, he did glance up. His gaze was razor-sharp, dragging over me from head to toe, lingering at all the places I wanted him to see.

But his face remained unreadable.

"You think I'm pretending?" he asked coolly.

"I know men like you," I said, taking a step closer. "You pretend to be professional, all rules and lines and limits... until the door closes."

He stood, tall and controlled, wiping his hands on a rag. We were close now. Too close.

"I'm not one of your toys, Lucy."

"And I'm not asking you to be," I whispered, stepping in so my breath nearly touched his collar. "I'm just wondering how long you can stand there pretending you don't want to know what I taste like."

His jaw flexed. His eyes dropped just for a second to the curve of my lips.

Then a sharp breath.

"Careful," he murmured. "You don't know what you're playing with."

"Don't I?" I whispered, reaching for the edge of the door and slowly pushing it shut behind me with a soft click. "Then teach me, Professor."

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes, not anger, not confusion. Hunger. Barely leashed.

But he didn't move.

Neither did I.

My heart pounded. I could feel the heat radiating off him like a storm waiting to break.

He stepped past me, slow and firm, brushing the door open again.

"I fixed the leak," he said, voice low. "Don't call me again unless it's a real emergency."

He had just turned to leave, tugging his shirt over those chiseled abs like it was nothing, like my brain wasn't melting from the sight.

But he stopped. Patted his pockets. "Damn. Forgot my watch," he muttered, half to himself.

As he turned back, I stepped forward, fast.

"Professor Dean," I said, blocking the hallway, heart pounding.

He looked up, brows raised. "Lucy?"

"Don't leave me... like this." My voice was soft, a little breathless. "High and dry."

His eyes dropped, just a second before they flicked back up to mine.

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

I took his hand gently, placing it against the fabric of my pants, just over where the heat pulsed between my legs. "You're smart. Figure it out."

The tension coiled between us like a live wire. His hand twitched but didn't pull away. His gaze darkened.

"That's inappropriate," he said, voice tight.

But I didn't step back. I leaned in, fingers grazing the waistband of his shorts. He was already hard. My lips barely parted in a smile.

"Seems like your body disagrees."

A long silence. A stare that felt like it could peel away every excuse I had.

Then he stepped forward, just a little. Close enough that I could smell that same intoxicating scent, wood, spice, trouble.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said low.

I looked up at him, bold. "Then teach me."

He exhaled slowly, one of those breaths that feel like a fuse being lit.

He tore my bra in one swift motion, his mouth claiming my breasts with a hunger that made me cry out.

He bit and sucked, lips punishing and worshipping my nipples until I was squirming.

His hands slid down, gripping my ass possessively.

With a harsh tug, he ripped off my panties, fingers digging into my skin like he owned me.

I gasped, the sting mixing with pleasure as he squeezed harder, pulling me closer into him.

Every touch was rough, raw, like he couldn't get enough.

I was completely exposed, consumed by the way he devoured every inch of me.

I wonder if my mum wasn't anywhere near.