TieD Up For Christmas

The air in the stairwell was colder now. The soft glow of the Christmas lights seemed to mock her serious mission. As she climbed the stairs back to her floor, she focused on the rhythm of her feet, trying to regulate her pounding heart.

(This is fine. This is a business transaction. You are a successful woman making a very direct request to a qualified service provider. You handle high-stakes negotiations every day. You can do this.)

But this was different. Her professional confidence felt miles away, locked in her corner office. This was personal. This was primal. This was the most terrifying thing she had ever done in her entire adult life.

She reached her floor and made her way back toward her apartment, stopping short when she reached her own door. Next to hers was the door to Apartment 101.

Noah's apartment. The source of her long-term, unintentional torment.

She took three deep, calming breaths, mentally running through her opening lines. She had to be direct, confident, and leave no room for misunderstanding.

(I hope he's not nineteen. Please let him be at least twenty-five. If I can't verify his age, I'll ask if he's currently enrolled in an undergraduate program.)

She raised a trembling hand and knocked once on the solid wood of his door. It was a firm, definitive rap, the sound echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. She deliberately didn't rush it, needing to project confidence.

Silence.

She waited. Seconds stretched into an entire minute. Every nerve ending was singing. She felt ridiculous, standing here like a Girl Scout selling cookies, except she was selling access to her own body. She considered turning around. Maybe he fell asleep? Maybe the girl never left?

(No. I'm not running.)

Just as she was about to actually run, the lock clicked. The sound was sharp and echoed through the silent hall. The door opened slowly, dragging her attention to the man standing in the threshold.

Ava's rehearsed composure shattered into a million tiny, sparkling pieces.

She'd heard him, imagined him, and obsessed over the noise he made for months. But nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared her for the sight of him this up close. The sight, which was far more better than she'd gotten from just across the hallway.

He was the kind of beautiful that felt like an unfair, genetic anomaly.

He was tall, truly towering, with broad shoulders that strained the width of the doorframe.

And he was shirtless, the lean, hard lines of his chest and abdomen exposed until they ended in a very well-defined V-line that peeked out of his joggers.

Every pec of muscle seemed to be artfully carved, a landscape of male perfection under the dim hallway light. She could see the faint scarring of old injuries, a roughness that made him look even more dangerous, more real.

Below his waist, he wore a pair of dark gray cotton joggers that hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp, defined V-line where the fabric dipped into his briefs.

He's like a sculpture. A very, very sexy Russian sculpture.

His hair was brown and disheveled, as if he'd just run his hands through it, or someone else had.

And his face. He had the angular, impossibly handsome features she'd associated with models or actors, all harsh planes, high cheekbones, and an unreadable severity.

But it was his eyes that stopped Ava's breath...a piercing, startling shade of emerald green. They were fixed on her with a blank, unreadable intensity. They held no warmth, no anger, only observation.

She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. The sound was loud in the hallway. Her knees felt suddenly, alarmingly weak, threatening to buckle under the sheer magnetic force of him.

Noah didn't move. He simply studied her. Then, his green gaze dipped, briefly tracing the curve of her full lips before snapping back up to meet her eyes. The fleeting, silent appraisal sent a lightning bolt of heat straight to her core.

Maintain composure. You are a mature adult. Ask about his age.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus on the task. The age question vanished from her mind, replaced by the crushing reality of his physical presence. Good thing he didn't look like a teenager; everything about him screamed Alpha Male.

He still hadn't said a word. He was simply watching her, waiting. He folded his arms over his impressive chest, the movement flexing his biceps. He leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, his posture a picture of casual, bored invitation. Or perhaps, utter disinterest.

Ava fought against the shiver his unwavering gaze sent up her spine. This was too much. The silence. The proximity. The overwhelming, raw presence of him. The air seemed to vibrate with unspent energy.

When Noah didn't make a move to speak or even shift his weight, Ava knew she had to go for the kill. He wasn't going to make this easy.

She forced herself to speak, even though her voice came out slightly breathy.

"Uh... Hi," she began, her voice a little higher and thinner than she intended. She gestured lamely toward her door. "I'm your neighbor. Just right next door. Ava."

Noah's expression didn't change. His piercing green eyes remained fixed on her, assessing, judging, waiting for her to break.

"I know this is late," she pressed on, determined to sound like she was giving a closing argument. "And I know we haven't... formally met. But I heard the sounds. I mean, I hear the uh...girls, frequently." She winced internally.

(Too much information, Ava!)

She paused, willing him to say something. Anything. A groan, a scoff, a single syllable. Nothing. Just the slow, deliberate scrutiny.

She took a final, desperate breath. She was out of polite conversation and running out of nerve. Time for the direct approach.

"Look," she said, cutting to the chase, her lawyer brain finally kicking back into gear. "I need something. A favor, I guess. It's a very specific request, and I'm prepared to compensate you for your time. And frankly, you're... convenient. And clearly skilled."

She saw his brow arch barely perceptibly, a subtle sign that he was processing her words.

"I want you to fuck me."

There. It was out. Blunt, raw, and completely mortifying. She squeezed her eyes shut for a microsecond, bracing for the scoff, the rejection, the demand for an explanation. Her entire body felt frozen, waiting for the verdict.

She opened her eyes. Noah was still there, his arms folded, his face impassive. The silence stretched again, thick and agonizing.

But then, the corner of his lips tilted. A fraction of an inch. It wasn't a smile, not exactly, but an acknowledgement. A small, dangerous ripple across the surface of his control, like a flicker of fire deep in a cave. It seemed to say: I see your audacious proposal.

Then, without a single word, without shifting his gaze from her face, Noah pushed the door open completely, stepping aside to let her in.

The invitation was silent, heavy, and absolute.