I Didn’t Knock.

I didn’t knock.

I knew your building’s code. I watched you press it every morning when your hands were still sleepy and your eyes barely open. I knew your routine. What time you leave. What time you come back. What time the light in your bedroom shuts off.

Tonight I waited until it was pitch black inside. Then I let myself in.

Your apartment was silent. I knew where everything was. You left your bedroom door cracked open, and I could see the curve of your thigh glowing under the streetlight leaking in. You always sleep in those thin tank tops. No bra. No panties. You never expect company. You should.

I stood there. Watching you sleep. Watching your chest rise and fall. One leg over the sheets, one hand resting close to where I wanted to be. You shifted once, and the fabric of your shirt slid up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach.

I stepped closer.

Kneeling beside the bed, I reached out and let my fingers hover an inch above your skin. I could feel the warmth, the soft pull of your body breathing in the dark.

You moaned. That tiny sound broke my self-control.

I slid my hand up your thigh. Slowly. The skin was hot. I didn’t rush. I didn’t need to. My fingers moved higher, brushing between your legs.

You were soaked. Absolutely soaked. I exhaled. Your body responded without hesitation. Your hips tilted toward my hand. You whimpered. Still asleep. Still unaware. But you wanted it. You needed it.

I climbed into bed beside you, slowly pressing my body along yours. You shivered. You felt me.

Then your eyes snapped open.You tried to speak. I covered your mouth gently. Not hard. Just enough to keep your moan to yourself.

I leaned close, mouth by your ear, my fingers sliding deep inside you.

“Shh. Don’t scream. You’re not scared of me. You’ve been waiting for this.”You were shaking. But your legs spread wider.

Your eyes welled up. Shame. Desire. Fear. All blending into one messy, beautiful surrender. I pumped my fingers in and out of you. Not fast. Just deep. Controlled. Intentional.

Your moan was muffled against my hand, but your body was loud. Your hips bucked. Your chest heaved. You were falling apart under my touch, and you couldn’t stop it.

“You’ve touched yourself here before. In this bed. Thinking about someone watching. Wishing someone would take control.”

Your hand gripped my wrist. Not to stop me. To keep me in place. “That someone is me. I’ve been here longer than you think.”

You were crying now. Tears down your cheeks. But your pussy was clenched tight around my fingers. Your thighs were shaking. You were so close.

I bit your neck. Just enough to make you flinch.“Come for me. Right now. Let go.”And you did.

You came so hard you shook the bed. You moaned into my hand like you didn’t care who heard anymore. Like all that existed was the release. The heat. The shame.

I kissed you. Deep. Filthy. Possessive. Then I whispered in your ear.

“You’re mine now. Not watching anymore. I’m staying. You belong to me.”