Neighbor’s Obsession: Side Story

This is a side story about how Caden and Ava met, NOT a continuation of the current story. It's not intended to be particularly "spicy," I just wrote it for fun!

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Caden first met Ava at one of the handful of bars in town. She seemed anxious sitting there on the back patio, sipping her drink quickly, fidgeting with her ponytail, pulling her dress down over her knees, and checking her phone often while a local who was well known for his wandering hands scooted closer to her. She didn't know about Andrew Dowers's reputation. She was new. She was fresh meat. She was easy.

Caden only glanced at her from his table, the same way he glanced at people who walked by or moved around a lot: seeing but not acknowledging.

When Ava finished her drink, she stood up, grabbed her empty glass, and headed inside. Andrew followed her, and Caden didn't think about her again--she was about to be just one more notch in the jackass's belt. He reluctantly did a couple of shots with his friends to congratulate one of them on his new job, and after some time went back inside and headed up the hallway to buy the next obligatory round.

He was a bit surprised to see Andrew--alone and angry--stumble past him down the hall towards the patio again, holding a hand over one side of his mouth. He watched him burst through the door into the chilly night air, and when it slammed shut, the door to the ladies' room in the hall cracked open.

Ava peeked out, eyes wide in a fearful expression he would see aimed at himself a couple years later.

"Are you alright?" Caden asked, removing his baseball cap to run a hand through his hair. When she shook her head, he glanced at the patio door and nodded to her. "I think you're in the clear," he said. "He went out back again."

She timidly opened the door and swayed a little. "I don't like that guy," she said, slurred.

He gave her a half smile. "Yeah, he's pretty terrible." His smile disappeared as quickly as it came when she stepped out into the hallway. From what he remembered, she hadn't been stumbling when she walked inside, but now she was struggling to keep her balance. It wasn't that long ago that she had left the patio, was it? He wouldn't put it past Andrew to slip something in a girl's drink.

She crossed the hall and leaned against the wall beside him.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

Before she could answer, the back door flew open again. Andrew stood in the doorway, turning back to yell at someone laughing outside.

Ava grabbed the front of Caden's shirt, suddenly alert. "Help me," she whispered. Her blue eyes shined with a curious mix of desperation and demand. "Don't let that fucking creep see me."

Caden shouldn't have done what he did next. He should have handled it differently. He should have taken her straight to the front of the bar, told the bartender, maybe even called the police. He should have listened to the little voice warning him in the back of his mind. But he did none of those things; he just made a split second decision. She wouldn't remember the next few seconds, but from then on out they would play over and over in his head every time he saw her.

He brought his arm up and rested his elbow on the wall next to her, shielding most of her face with his upper arm and shoulder, closing her in between the wall and his body. With his other hand, he reached around her head to her ponytail and quickly but gently slid the tie away so that her hair fell around her shoulders.

She stiffened, suddenly aware of the potential dangers of a total stranger looming over her so intimately, but she didn't move away.

"It's alright," he said warmly. "I won't do anything." He placed his baseball cap on her head and wiggled it down over her hair.

Andrew turned back into the hallway and stumbled past them, muttering to himself. At the end of the hall he stopped and looked back at them.

Caden slid his hand over Ava's cheek and tilted her head towards him, hiding the other side of her face.

Her eyes widened and her hands jerked up to his chest to push him away. "Don't," she said firmly, despite her drunkenness.

He brushed her cheek with his thumb. He wasn't used to hearing that word from women, and something about it excited a small, dark part of him. "I won't," he promised. He stole a glance over her head at Andrew, who stood there staring at them, squinting as he swayed back and forth, still cupping the side of his mouth.

Damn, he really is a creep. "He's watching us," Caden whispered.

Ava hesitated, then cursed under her breath. She reached up and shyly wrapped her arms around his neck. She leaned a little closer to him, turned her head a little more to him, let his hand slide down her dress to her waist to keep her steady as she rose up onto her toes to meet him. "Don't move," she warned again. "This is just for show."

The brim of his hat pushed up between them as she brought her face closer to his, close enough that their noses touched. The smell of alcohol was so strong he could almost taste it in the small space of air between them, but beneath that there was something sweet and crisp, and beneath that still, something faint and rawly feminine. The dark part of him stirred. Just for show, he repeated in his mind as she pulled her fingers lightly through his hair. Who the hell was this woman?

Fortunately, Dowers was drunk enough not to recognize her, or maybe he just didn't care anymore. He disappeared around the corner, but Caden waited a few seconds--just to be sure, that's all--before he pushed away from the wall. He supported her as she dropped down from her toes. "The tiptoes were a nice touch," he said, letting her hold on to his fingers as she stumbled back just a little. "Very cute."

And she was cute. At first glance he could have passed her off as plain among all of the made up faces and perfectly curled hair, but there truly was a natural sort of radiance about her. No wonder Dowers was pursuing her so persistently.

"Thank you," she said with a proud, cute grin, and then promptly bent over and threw up on the floor between them.

She insisted she felt fine after that and could manage on her own, but he walked her to the front of the bar anyway. He helped her close her tab, gave her a cup of water, told the bartender that Dowers had thrown up in the back, and then walked her outside.

"Thanks for the awkward save," she said, her words slurring together. She plopped down on the curb, spilling her water but holding his hat to her head. "That guy wouldn't leave me alone--he put my hand right on his crotch! Who does that? I'll tell you who: that guy. And you know who punches a guy in the face for that kind of stuff? This girl." She nodded, satisfied with her solo conversation, and pulled out her phone.

Caden sat beside her, unsure of what to say at first. "Did he..." he paused. "How many drinks have you had?"

She shrugged. "Just one, I think. I'm a lightweight tonight, I guess, but at least it was free." She glanced up at him. "That's why I only punched him once."

One drink... How long had she been there, sobering up? Lightweight or not, she shouldn't be feeling so drunk--she seemed drunker than just a few minutes ago, in fact. Andrew Dowers had fucking roofied her.

The dark part of him flickered again, but he cleared it from his mind. He was the good guy. He had to be the good guy. "You should call a friend," he said.

"They all live really far away, like two hours." She turned to him in sudden anger. "What kind of hick town is this?" she demanded, holding up her phone. "You don't even have Uber here?" She put her phone away and sighed. "Guess I'm gonna walk home."

He stood up and helped her to her feet. Christ, she could barely stand on her own. "I'll walk with you," he said. "Where do you live?"

She pointed to the right, frowned, then pointed to the left. "That way. Princeton Road."

He let out a surprised laugh. "You're going to walk ten miles, out in the middle of nowhere, by yourself, in the middle of the night?" He shook his head and wrapped an arm around her waist. "That's not happening," he said lightly, grabbing her hand to loop her arm around his neck.

He walked her back inside, sent another round of shots to his friends on the patio, and then they left the bar. The bartender didn't question Caden's intentions. He knew he was a good guy. He had to be a good guy.

Caden should have taken her to the police, or perhaps the hospital. He didn't know what or how much Dowers had slipped into her drink. But he wasn't thinking about that in the moment. Instead, he walked--more like dragged--her to his truck. He easily lifted her in and helped her buckle herself.

"I feel like a noodle," she said randomly. She threw a hand up, pointing at nothing in particular. "A cooked one."

He raised an eyebrow at her, then awkwardly pulled down the dress that had hiked up her smooth thighs. He was the good guy.

She gave him horrible directions, but eventually he got her home. "Looks like we're neighbors," he said, ignoring the darkness that rose up again.

He wanted to let her walk to her door by herself, but she needed his help. He didn't want to come inside, but she couldn't get to bed on her own. He had hoped she could change her clothes herself, but she couldn't even slip out of her little white tennis shoes.

She held onto his broad shoulders as he bent down and removed her shoes for her. He wrinkled his nose a bit at the stain on them from when she threw up, then noticed the stain on her dress.

Well fuck. He looked up at her as he lifted the bottom of her dress, but she didn't seem to notice what he was doing. His hands brushed her hips as he pulled the dress up, and he paused when his fingers ran over the lace against her skin. He ran his thumbs along the bottom of the fabric, then he took a deep breath and continued removing the dress.

"Can you lift your arms for me?" he asked, standing up. She did, and he carefully pulled the dress up and over her head. She slipped out and fell back onto her bed, clutching his hat to her head again. Christ, lace bra, lace panties. Had she actually been out looking for something tonight? Did she just like the feeling of lace? Did she wear them just to feel sexy for herself?

She closed her eyes. She was sleepy but not unconscious, but he still couldn't do anything. What if she remembered? What if she reported him?

He blinked. No, he couldn't do anything because he was the good guy. That was the reason. He was about to leave when her hand slid over her bra, down her stomach, and disappeared under the black lace between her legs. What was she thinking about? Who was she thinking about?

He took a step back towards the door. Leave, leave! Don't be like Dowers. Be the good guy.

Her legs twitched and she spread them so lethargically, so weakly. Smooth, curvy legs. She was small but not particularly skinny. Wide hips, hidden full breasts, hourglass waist... Her body was like a beacon of fertility, of soft femininity.

She arched her back a little and Caden abruptly turned around and left the room. The dark part of him tore at him from deep within, urging him back to her, to help her with what nature intended her to do: to receive, to be filled. She was weak, barely able to move. Surely she couldn't get herself off, not in a way that would satisfy her the most. He could give that to her. She wouldn't remember. He could do all of the work, make it good for her, make sure she crossed the finish line, make her sleep well.

A soft, faint moan followed him down the hallway to the front door, where he stopped, hand on the doorknob, heartbeat throbbing in his ears and other places in his body. Would he really be the bad guy if he gave her what she so clearly wanted?

In movies, the bad guy was rough and selfish and the girl was always unconscious or saying no. This was different. Her eyes had been closed but he could hear that she wasn't unconscious. And he wasn't like those other guys--like Dowers, all grabby and just looking for a quick pump and dump. He would be gentle, read her body language, learn about her and find the places that made her gasp.

Fuck, fuck, fuck...

He turned the doorknob and stepped outside, closing the door on another quiet sigh from her bedroom. The chilly air hit him, bringing forth a burst of clarity. He did the right thing. He was a good guy. He wasn't like Dowers. He did the right thing. So why didn't he feel good about it?

He stood on her patio for a long time, weighing his options, before finally pulling himself one heavy footstep at a time back to his truck. Everything played over in his mind--her demanding eyes, her dark hair spilling down, her electric fingers in his hair, the scent of her skin, the tingle he felt in his lips when hers were so close...

He opened the door to his truck and climbed in. He wondered how she touched herself, and the dark part of him cursed him for not staying to find out. He could have just watched--there was no harm in that, right?

He put the keys in the ignition. He thought about what her lips might feel like, how her tongue tasted. And how did she taste down there, where her fingers were? She had willingly opened her own legs; what would have been the harm in tracing a finger over her spread lips, just to taste? Or better yet, maybe just a quick lick?

He turned the keys and started his truck. That didn't necessarily have to be penetrative, and that was what women worried about, right? He understood why a woman wouldn't want someone to force himself inside of her, but was it really so bad to get eaten out? All pleasure, no need to worry.

He grabbed the gearshift. Just go home. Don't be a creep. He backed out of the driveway along the side of her house, then stopped.

He had forgotten to turn the light off in her bedroom, and in the darkness he could see her so clearly through the window. She still touched herself under her panties, but it was clear that she was on the verge of sleep.

He stayed frozen like that for a moment, then parked his truck. His hand dropped to his zipper. This was fine, right? He could indulge a little of the darkness without letting it go too far. He shifted his jeans and freed himself. He rubbed the tip of his hardened member lightly, slicking it with precum. How would her breasts feel in his hands? What would they feel like in his mouth? Did she like for them to be sucked?

His fingers went down his length and up again. What would she feel like inside? How long would it take to make her arch her back and convulse around him? What would it sound like? How many times could he make her do it?

He rubbed up and down faster, lubricating himself lightly with his own bit of fluid. The darkness told him to go back inside, to give her what he knew she wanted. A body like that shouldn't be wasted. She looked to be in her mid to late twenties. No kids, no husband, nothing to care for and no one to care for her. She should have those things by now--he could give her those things.

He shifted his hips as he pumped himself. He could make her like it, he knew he could. He could make her breathless, make her legs shake, make her want more. He could make her want to be filled, and he could gladly fill her.

The darkness told him to go back inside, to pleasure her, to fill her and give her body purpose. It almost took hold of him, but then her hand came out from beneath the lace and she rolled over heavily, facing away from him.

Another moment of clarity washed over him, but not before he took in the sight of her accentuated curves from behind--her hips pushed up to the side, a small crease in her waist, her shoulders stretching her smooth back, those round cheeks...

He cupped his free hand over the tip of his member and tried to stop himself, but he couldn't help it. His hips jerked and he burst upward into his palm with a strained sigh, releasing a mess of milky fluid that coated his palm and ran down his length and fingers. He stroked himself delicately a couple more times and then tore his eyes away from her.

Shit. He had nothing to clean himself with. He wiped as much as he could from his hands on the inside of his shirt, blushing furiously, and did the same for his drained member on his boxers. He immediately drove home, trying to shove the darkness down. He had indulged it, now it would go away. It had to; he couldn't let this go any further.

This didn't make him a bad guy. He could have done a lot worse but he didn't. Dowers would have undoubtedly taken full advantage of her, so he had saved her from that. Plus, a lot of guys needed visuals when they were pleasuring themselves, so how was this any different? This was probably better than porn--there was no need for degradation or roughness or fake moaning. This was more wholesome.

His stomach churned at that last thought. No, there was nothing wholesome about what he had done, but it was okay. It didn't affect her, and he would keep it secret as if it had never happened. It was just a little crush. Not even a crush, just a small attraction. It would pass. He would be a good guy, a good neighbor, someone to look out for her from a distance and help her when she needed it. Nothing more.

He pulled into his own driveway, went inside and showered, and then went to bed, and all the while the night played over and over uncontrollably in his head. He had to rub himself again in order to go to sleep, but eventually he did drift off.

It would all be okay, and he would get over it soon enough. The darkness would eventually pass--it had to, because he was the good guy. He couldn't--he wouldn't--let this go any further.