Emma stared out the window of her cramped apartment, the rain pounding against the glass like it had a personal grudge against the world. It was one of those late summer storms in Seattle that turned the streets into rivers and made everyone question why they lived in a place where the sun was more myth than reality. She sighed, twisting a strand of her damp auburn hair around her finger. Work had been hell today—another endless shift at the coffee shop, dealing with entitled tech bros who couldn't pronounce "latte" without sounding like they owned the patent on caffeine. Her feet ached, her back was killing her, and all she wanted was a hot bath and maybe a glass of cheap red wine to drown out the loneliness that had been creeping in like fog off the Sound.
At 28, Emma felt like she'd missed some memo on adulting. Her friends were all pairing off, posting engagement photos on Instagram with captions like "Found my forever!" while she was still swiping left on dating apps, wondering if "forever" was just code for "settling." It wasn't that she didn't want love—or lust, for that matter. God, she craved it. The kind that made your skin tingle and your thoughts turn filthy. But the guys she'd met lately were all talk, no follow-through. Vanilla as hell.
A knock at the door jolted her out of her pity party. Who the hell would be out in this downpour? She padded over in her oversized sweater and yoga pants, peeking through the peephole. There he was—Lucas, her neighbor from across the hall. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that perpetual five-o'clock shadow that made him look like he'd just rolled out of bed after a night of sin. They'd exchanged hellos in the elevator a few times, shared a laugh over the building's crappy laundry machines breaking down again. But nothing more. He was older, maybe mid-thirties, with eyes that seemed to see right through her polite small talk.
She opened the door a crack. "Lucas? Everything okay?"
He grinned, rain dripping from his dark hair onto his soaked leather jacket. "Hey, Emma. Sorry to bother you, but my power's out. Whole side of the hall, I think. Yours too?"
She flicked the light switch—nothing. "Shit, yeah. Come in, you're drenched."
He stepped inside, bringing the scent of rain and something woodsy, like pine and musk. It hit her like a wave, stirring something low in her belly. He shrugged off his jacket, revealing a white t-shirt clinging to his chest, outlining every muscle. Jesus, he worked out. Or maybe he was just built that way—strong arms from whatever manual job he did; she'd overheard him talking about construction once.
"Thanks," he said, his voice deep and rough around the edges. "I was gonna wait it out, but it's pitch black over there. Got any candles or a flashlight?"
Emma rummaged through her junk drawer, pulling out a couple of tea lights and a lighter. As she lit them, the soft glow flickered across the room, casting shadows that danced on the walls. She felt his eyes on her, lingering a bit too long on the curve of her hips. A shiver ran down her spine—not from the cold.
"So, what do you do when the world's ending outside?" he asked, leaning against the counter, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him.
She laughed, a little nervously. "Usually curl up with a book or binge some trashy show. But no power means no Netflix. You?"
He smirked. "I improvise." His gaze dropped to her lips, and just like that, the air thickened. It was electric, charged like the storm outside.
Emma's heart pounded. What the hell was happening? One minute she's alone, the next this man is in her space, looking at her like he wanted to devour her. She turned to grab the wine from the fridge—anything to break the tension—but her hand shook, and the bottle slipped. Lucas caught it effortlessly, his fingers brushing hers. That touch—warm, calloused—sent a jolt straight between her legs.
"Whoa, careful," he murmured, his breath hot on her neck. He was right behind her now, not pulling away.
She didn't move. Couldn't. "Thanks," she whispered, her voice breathy.
He set the bottle down but stayed close, his hand sliding to her waist. "You okay? You seem... tense."
Tense? Try turned on. Her nipples hardened under her sweater, aching for attention. She turned to face him, their bodies inches apart. "It's the storm. Makes me jumpy."
"Liar," he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow circle on her hip. "I've seen you in the hall, Emma. The way you look at me sometimes... like you're imagining things."
Her cheeks flushed. "What things?"
His eyes darkened. "This." He leaned in, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was hungry, demanding—his tongue sweeping in, tasting her like he'd been starving. She moaned into it, her hands fisting in his wet shirt, pulling him closer.
Lucas backed her against the counter, his body pressing into hers. She could feel him—hard, insistent against her thigh. God, he was big. Her core throbbed, wet already just from the kiss. His hands roamed, sliding under her sweater to cup her breasts, thumbs teasing her nipples through the thin lace of her bra. She arched into him, gasping as he pinched just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through her.
"Fuck, you're responsive," he growled, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down her neck. He nipped at her collarbone, then lower, pushing her sweater up to expose her skin. His mouth closed over one nipple, sucking hard while his hand worked the other. Emma's head fell back, her fingers tangling in his hair. It had been so long since anyone touched her like this—raw, unapologetic.
"Please," she whimpered, not even sure what she was begging for.
He knew. His free hand dipped lower, slipping into her yoga pants, past her panties. His fingers found her slick folds, stroking her clit with expert precision. "So wet for me already," he murmured against her breast. "You want this, don't you? Want me to fuck you right here?"
"Yes," she breathed, grinding against his hand. He slid a finger inside her, then two, curling them to hit that spot that made her see stars. She cried out, her body clenching around him as he pumped in and out, his thumb circling her clit.
The storm raged outside, thunder rumbling like it was cheering them on. Lucas pulled his fingers free, making her whine in protest, but then he was yanking her pants down, lifting her onto the counter. He dropped to his knees, spreading her thighs wide. "Gonna taste you first," he said, his voice husky.
His tongue flicked out, lapping at her entrance, then up to her clit. Emma's hands gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles white. He ate her like a man possessed—sucking, licking, fucking her with his tongue until she was trembling, on the edge. "Lucas, I'm—oh God—"
"Come for me," he commanded, slipping his fingers back inside while his mouth worked her clit. She shattered, her orgasm crashing over her in waves, her cries echoing in the dark apartment.
He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing. "That's just the start, Emma."
She reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. "Your turn."
He helped her, shoving his jeans down. His cock sprang free—thick, veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. She wrapped her hand around him, stroking slowly, loving the way he groaned. "Fuck, that feels good."
Emma slid off the counter, dropping to her knees. She took him in her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip, tasting the saltiness of him. He threaded his fingers through her hair, guiding her but not forcing. She took him deeper, hollowing her cheeks, bobbing her head until he was hitting the back of her throat.
"Emma, shit—stop, or I'll come too soon." He pulled her up, spinning her around to face the counter. "Bend over."
She did, bracing herself as he positioned behind her. The head of his cock teased her entrance, sliding through her wetness. "You ready?"
"Yes—please, fuck me."
He thrust in, filling her completely in one stroke. They both moaned—him at her tightness, her at the stretch. He started slow, deep rolls of his hips, but soon picked up pace, pounding into her with a rhythm that had her gasping. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her back onto him. One hand snaked around to rub her clit, the other pinching her nipple.
The sounds were obscene—skin slapping, her wet heat taking him, their mingled groans. "You feel so good," he panted. "So tight, like you were made for this."
"Harder," she begged, pushing back against him.
He obliged, fucking her relentlessly until she came again, clenching around him. That sent him over the edge—he pulled out just in time, spilling hot onto her back with a guttural curse.
They collapsed against the counter, breathing heavy. The power flickered back on, bathing them in harsh light. Lucas chuckled, kissing her shoulder. "Well, that was one way to wait out the storm."
Emma turned, smiling shyly. "Yeah. Think we could do that again sometime?"
His grin was wicked. "Count on it."