The bass from the old reggae track pulsed through the walls of the Miami beach house like a heartbeat on steroids, rattling the half-empty bottles on the glass coffee table. The air was thick, heavy with salt from the ocean breeze sneaking through the open sliding doors, mixed with the sharp bite of spilled tequila, weed smoke, and that unmistakable musk of bodies pressed too close for too long. Knop sprawled on the white leather sectional, legs wide, a tumbler of dark rum dangling from his fingers. Ice clinked softly every time he shifted, the cold glass a tease against his overheated palm. His pulse thrummed low and insistent between his legs—he knew this dream by heart now, but tonight it felt sharper, hungrier.
Across from him lounged Madame Teelh on the matching ottoman, legs crossed high, one stiletto dangling off her painted toes like it was begging to drop. The red dress she wore was criminal—silk so thin it molded to her full breasts, the neckline plunging deep enough to show the inner swell and the shadow between them. Every breath she took made the fabric shift, nipples stiff and visible, dark points straining against the material. She held a slim cigarette between glossy red nails, exhaling slow, watching the smoke curl toward the ceiling fan that spun lazy circles overhead.
"Hey, Madame Teelh," Knop said, voice rough from the rum and the ache building in his gut. "What's good? You look bored as hell."
She tilted her head, lips curving into that slow, dangerous smile that always made his cock twitch. "And you, Mr. Knop? Why the fuck are you grinning like you already came in your pants tonight?" Her eyes flicked down deliberately, lingering on the obvious bulge in his jeans, then back up to meet his gaze. "Or are you just happy to see me?"
Knop took a long swallow of rum, the burn sliding down his throat like liquid fire, spreading straight to his groin. He set the glass down with a deliberate *clink*, leaning forward, elbows on knees so his shirt rode up and showed the hard lines of his abs. "Nah, nothing special. Just saying hi." He paused, letting his stare drop to her cleavage, then lower, to where her thighs pressed together under the short hem. "Then I'm gonna fuck you until neither of us can walk straight."
The music dipped for a second, leaving only the wet sound of her inhale and the soft hiss of the ocean outside. Madame Teelh laughed—low, throaty, the kind of laugh that vibrated in his balls. She uncrossed her legs slowly, deliberately, letting them part just enough for him to catch a glimpse of black lace stretched tight over her mound, already darkened with wetness.
"Damn, boy," she purred, voice dripping honey and sin. "You really talk to women like that? Straight to the point, no foreplay?"
Knop rose in one fluid motion, stepping between her open thighs. He towered over her now, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. His hand came down, fingers trailing from her knee up the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate. Her skin was fever-hot, smooth as sin. When he reached the edge of her panties, he hooked a finger under the lace and tugged lightly, feeling the fabric cling to her soaked folds before snapping back.
"Only when they make me this hard," he growled. His other hand cupped the back of her neck, thumb stroking the pulse hammering there. "And you've been making me hard for months, Madame. Every time I see you by the pool in that bikini, every time you bend over to pick something up and that ass is right there… I go home and stroke myself raw thinking about burying my face between your legs."
She bit her lower lip, eyes glazing with heat. Her hand shot up, palming him through his jeans, squeezing the thick length that strained against the zipper. "Fuck… you're big," she breathed, stroking him firmly, up and down, feeling him throb under her grip. "And you think you can handle this pussy? It's not some little college girl, baby. I'll ruin you."
Knop groaned, hips bucking into her hand. He leaned down, mouth crashing against hers in a messy, hungry kiss—teeth clashing, tongues sliding, tasting rum and cigarettes and pure want. His fingers pushed the lace aside, finding her clit swollen and slick. He circled it slow at first, then faster, pressing hard enough to make her hips jerk off the ottoman.
"Shit—yes," she gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to moan. Her free hand yanked his shirt up, nails raking down his chest, leaving red trails. "Right there… don't stop."
He didn't. Two fingers plunged inside her, curling, pumping, the wet *schlick-schlick* sound obscene in the humid air. She was dripping down his wrist, clenching around him like she wanted to keep him there forever. Her hand worked him faster, unzipping him fully, pulling his cock free—thick, veined, leaking at the tip. She stroked him in time with his fingers, thumb smearing precum over the head.
"You're so fucking wet for me," he rasped against her throat, biting the soft skin there, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "All that prim neighbor bullshit during the day… but at night you're dripping thinking about a kid half your age stretching you out."
She laughed breathlessly, head falling back. "Guilty. I've seen you staring from your window. Jerking off while I change with the curtains open on purpose. You think I didn't notice?" Her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pressure. "I touch myself too, baby. Fingers in my pussy, imagining it's your cock. Your tongue. Your cum dripping out of me."
Knop's control snapped. He pulled his fingers free, slick and shining, and shoved them between her lips. She sucked greedily, moaning around them, eyes locked on his. Then she pushed him back just enough to slide off the ottoman onto her knees, red dress riding up over her hips, exposing the soaked black thong clinging to her ass.
"Five minutes," she said, voice wrecked. "Upstairs bathroom. I want you to fuck my throat first, then bend me over the sink and pound me until I scream your name."
She stood, adjusting her dress like nothing happened, though her thighs glistened and her nipples were diamond-hard. Heels *clack-clack-clack* as she walked toward the stairs, ass swaying, leaving him standing there with his cock out, throbbing, precum dripping onto the floor.
He counted. One. Two. Three. Four…
Five.
He zipped up roughly, stalked through the party, up the stairs, heart hammering. The bathroom door was ajar, light spilling out, steam curling like she was already running the shower to cover the sounds.
He pushed the door—
"YO, BRO!"
Tenner's voice sliced through like a blade.
Knop jolted awake, gasping, sheets twisted around his legs, boxers sticky and ruined. The ceiling fan in his tiny Miami apartment bedroom spun overhead, clicking. His phone still leaked porn moans—forgotten again. Cock still hard, aching from the interrupted dream.
Tenner leaned in the doorway, smirking. "Still knocked out? It's past noon, man. Bac tomorrow and you're dreaming about getting your dick wet with the hot neighbor again?"
Knop dragged a hand over his face, shame and frustration burning. "Fuck off."
Tenner laughed, stepping in to kill the phone volume. "Nah, for real. You good? You've been weird as hell lately."
Knop stared at the ceiling. "It's her. Madame Teelh. Every night, bro. Tonight she was… on her knees, sucking me off in my head. I can still feel it." He swallowed. "I'm obsessed. Thought about therapy, but what do I say? 'Doc, fix me so I stop wanting to fuck the woman next door who's twice my age'?"
Tenner snorted, then full-on laughed. "You're cooked, man. Straight cooked." He headed for the door, still chuckling. "Study or jerk off, but pick one before tomorrow. And mute that shit next time!"
The door clicked shut.
Knop lay there, the dream still burning under his skin, the *clack* of her heels echoing in his skull.