The Dom Next Door

This is a long one with A LOT of dialogue, but I promise it is worth it. More to come soon (hopefully)!

Also Disclaimer: This story is listed as BDSM but there is only a little bit of spanking and rough sex near the end. Future stories will have more BDSM content, but I wanted to work up to it.

***

The scent of his cologne should have been her first warning. Warm and surprisingly sweet, it made her head spin and her knees grow weak.

The way he looked at her should have been her second. His gaze showed no restraint, freely falling over her figure.

The third came from his sharp intake of breath when she sarcastically said, "I'm sorry sir, can I help you?" in response to the loud pounding on her front door.

A brief pause followed as Jess looked into the stranger's eyes, and her fourth and final warning took the form of a warm feeling flooding her stomach.

"Yes, keeping it down would be appreciated. Not everyone needs to hear you singing along to Taylor Swift." he said in a low voice. "Your desperation is already pretty clear from how you present yourself."

Jess scowled at the stranger before looking down at her hoodie and leggings. There was a hole in the left thigh, and the hoodie was nubby, with several mysterious stains dotting the fabric. She didn't need a mirror to know her hair was greasy and falling out of the two-day-old messy bun she had wrangled it into. But who was this stranger to berate her for her appearance? She was in the comfort of her own home. And more importantly who was he to diss Taylor Swift?

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know they let just anyone join the fashion police. I thought that title was reserved for someone with actual taste, which you clearly don't have since you just disrespected one of the most innovative artists of the 21st century. So if you'll excuse me... I am gonna sing as loud as I want to whatever I want because this is my apartment and no one else lives in next door anyway!" Jess started to turn around, grabbing the handle to shut the door behind her.

"I do," he replied.

"What?" Jess asked, turning to face him.

"I just moved in. 2B," he said, smirking as Jess began to turn a deep shade of red.

"Oh, well, I'll keep it down then."

The stranger nodded and started to turn away, but she continued.

"But you should try to be nicer to your neighbors."

The man paused and let out a low chuckle.

"You should try to take your own advice."

***

It had been two days since Jess had seen the mysterious man from 2B, but their interaction remained fresh in her mind. She kept replaying the way he had looked at her, despite her rumpled appearance. And how his deep voice had sent chills running up and down her body. But it didn't matter how wet that voice made her. He clearly was bad news. Not only was he disrespectful, and a total snob, but he clearly did not understand the lyrical genius of Taylor Swift.

Jess had always been a loyal swiftie, but her breakup with Aaron had made her even more devoted. She had been listening to Red on repeat, hoping the lyrics of All Too Well would magically get her over her ex. At least she had the rest of winter break before she had to face him again. And even if she did bump into him, she only had one more semester before she graduated. Then she would be free. Free to pursue her own writing. Make her own hours. Live her own life. She was so close she could taste it.

But before she could obtain her freedom, she had to get her shit together. She'd finished her last final over a week ago, and she hadn't showered, cleaned, or done laundry since then. Hoisting herself out of bed, Jess tumbled into the shower, turning the water to the hottest setting. Letting it rush over her, 2B's voice started to ring in her ears.

"You should try to take your own advice."

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he may have been just a little bit right about that. Jess didn't mean to come off as mean, but she had always been blunt, even as a child. She didn't like how people danced around what they were trying to say, always playing a game instead of getting straight to the point. Her Abuelita had been like that. People may have said she was rough around the edges. Too brash. Too bold. But Jess had always liked that about her. And if there was anyone she wanted to emulate in life, it was her.

The water had now turned cold, the icy droplets bouncing off her skin. Jess shivered and turned off the shower before realizing she had nothing to wear. All of her comfy clothes were dirty and scattered across the floor of her apartment. She desperately searched her drawers and found that all she had left was a red bra, a white tank top, and a pair of too-tight yoga pants. That will have to do, she thought, gathering up the rest of her laundry and heading downstairs to the apartment's laundromat.

Jess groaned as she entered the small white-washed room that housed the apartment complex's washers and dryers. Of all the people who could have done laundry today, it had to be him.

2B looked much more relaxed than when they had first met. He had changed out his blazer and slacks for a simple white t-shirt and some light wash jeans, and his dark brown hair fell onto his forehead, making him look almost boyish. However, he still definitely wasn't a boy. No longer hidden beneath a suit jacket, his muscles were hard to miss. He wasn't insanely ripped, but his arms had a nice definition to them, and he obviously worked out.

Jess hoped she could leave before he noticed her, but she had lingered too long.

"Come to apologize," he asked.

"What for? I am not the one who insulted someone in their own home."

"It was actually the hallway," he said with a small smirk, causing Jess to roll her eyes into the back of her head.

"Same difference," she sighed, abandoning any hope of escape and moving towards the nearest empty washer.

"You should separate your whites from your colors, or they're going to turn red," he said, looking over her shoulder as she dumped her clothes into the machine.

"You should mind your own business, or you're going to get a foot up your ass," she replied.

He released a low chuckle before turning back to his own dryer, the top covered in an array of neatly folded boxers.

"No retort?"

"It's called being an adult. You should try it sometime."

"I think being an adult is acting your age. And excuse me sir, but you sure don't act yours."

2B stiffened and turned around to face her, his hazel eyes framed by questioning dark brows.

"And how old do you think I am, miss..." he said carefully.

"Jess, my name is Jess. And that's not important. Because you are clearly not five years old, yet you still act like a petulant child."

"And you clearly are not a spoiled toddler, but you still act like a brat."

With that, Jess turned, squaring her shoulders and stepping into 2B's personal space.

"Another sign of immaturity. Making assumptions with no factual evidence," Jess replied, her dark brown eyes locked with his.

"I have plenty of evidence," he said, taking a step closer. Though tall herself, 2B still towered over Jess by a good four inches. Not one to be intimidated, she perched on her tiptoes, so her face was only inches away from his.

"Oh, please continue. I would love to hear it."

"Exhibit A," he said slowly, his eyes growing dark as he began to stare at her lips.

"Yes," Jess weakly replied. The way he was looking at her was making her dizzy, and she felt the urge to crash her lips against his.

No, no, no, she thought to herself. I am not kissing 2B no matter how pretty his eyes are, or how sexy his voice is, or... Her thoughts trailed off as he continued.

"You display a complete lack of self-control."

His voice was almost a whisper, sending shivers down her spine.

"I can control myself," Jess replied, though, at this moment, she wasn't sure she could.

"Then how about I propose a little experiment," he offered before turning his head to whisper in her ear. "I'll touch you for five minutes, and if you don't give in and ask for more, then you win."

Jess gasped at the proposition and then shuddered as he gently nipped her ear before turning back to face her.

"Do we have a deal?"

Jess wasn't sure what made her say yes. Maybe it was because Aaron had dumped her two weeks and four days ago, and she needed a win. Maybe it was because it had been months since a man had touched her without a blow job or a quickie as the end goal. Or maybe it was just because of the way she had nearly imploded when he had nibbled her ear.

Regardless, her reply was a breathy "Yes."

"Good," and for the first time since she had met him, 2B smiled.

However, his smile quickly disappeared as he set a timer and hoisted Jess up onto the nearest washing machine. 2B placed himself in between her legs and gently took her face in his hands, brushing his thumb across her lower lip. This elicited a small gasp from Jess before he slowly pressed his lips against hers.

Jess had kissed boys before. Some had been skilled and patient, while others had been sloppy and overeager. But none of those kisses had ever been life-changing. It wasn't like this kiss was going to alter the entire course of Jess's life, but at the same time, the moment his lips touched hers, she was somehow certain things would never be the same.

The kiss quickly deepened, his hands slowly entangling themselves in her hair. Still wet from the shower, her half-formed curls coiled in his hands as his tongue slid into her mouth. She felt herself wrap her legs around his torso, pulling him closer. His hands began to move lower, gently tracing patterns on her arms and back before making their way to her chest. He gently massaged one of her tits in his hand, while sliding the other underneath the thin tank top to pinch a nipple through her bra. A loud mmm left Jess's lips and he tweaked it again, a little harder this time.

Tugging on her lower lip, he broke the kiss and moved his mouth to her neck. The kisses were soft at first, but soon became nibbles and light bites, as his other hand slipped underneath the tank top to unhook her bra. His hand slid under the lacy red fabric and was just about to rub the tender nipple between his fingers when the timer beeped, forcing the two of them apart.

Jess's face felt hot as she looked at 2B, his hair mused and his lips red and a little puffy. She thought he looked better like that. Messy and out of control.

"So, do you want me to keep going," he asked, his hand resting itself on her upper thigh.

Jess knew the easy answer would be yes. How simple it would have been to just kiss him again and let him take her. And she almost gave in. But then she saw that glimmer of victory in his eyes, and the spell was broken.

"I'll pass," she said, pushing him away and hopping off the washer.

"You'll what," he said, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, not worth it. Good try though."

And with that, Jess walked out of the laundromat, basking in the glory of her first win in a very long time.

***

Lance hated New Year's Eve more than any other nationally acknowledged holiday. You could ignore Valentine's Day and Halloween if you tried hard enough, but no one could escape New Year's. It was the focal point of every news channel and tv show network, preventing anyone from missing the dreaded countdown.

He had tried to bunker down in his apartment with enough alcohol to survive the evening, but he wasn't sure if the liquor would be enough. He looked out of his window, watching people line the streets in glittery attire, hopping between parties, hoping to find someone, anyone, to spend the night with.

Lance shook his head as he walked back into the "living room" of his tiny apartment. He had moved in three weeks ago, and he was still struggling with making the place feel like home. He had tried to warm it up with furniture, but it had only made it feel staged. He missed his apartment in Seattle. It wasn't large by any means, but at least it was cozy. At least it had felt like home.

But he was just going to have to get over it. He had made his decision, and he was going to stick with it. But just as he was just about to settle onto his stiff new sofa, he heard a bang through the wall.

"What the actual fuck," he muttered, loud music now exploding from the neighboring apartment. The girl next door had kept quiet since their encounter in the laundry room, but she seemed not to care anymore, blasting what he knew was Taylor Swift at top volume. Lance was not in the mood for another confrontation with her, but he could not stand the high pitch whining for another second.

He hopped off of the sofa, taking a swig of the nearest bottle before bursting through his front door. He reached 2A and rapped on the door, not caring if he split the wood. He was about to kick the door down when she finally opened up. She looked more put together than she had when they'd first met, wearing a loose gray tank top and a clean pair of leggings. However, her stuffy nose and watery eyes made it clear that she had been in the middle of crying.

"What do you want? Can't you tell I am busy?" she said sharply as she pulled herself together.

"I can tell that you are inconsiderate of your neighbors and their evening plans."

"Oh, someone's got company?" She wiggled her eyebrows and Lance had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

"No, but that doesn't automatically give you the right to play some angsty poor me music at top volume in the middle of the night."

"Oh, I forgot that the elderly needed their beauty sleep. Do you need me to escort you back to your apartment sir, or do you think you can make it without your walker?"

"For your information, I am 30, so you can stop with the old man jokes. They're unoriginal and not nearly as clever as you think they are."

She paused for a second and shook her head.

"Fine. I'll keep it down."

"What," he asked, shocked that she had given in so easily. From his limited interactions with her, she didn't seem like the kind of person who let someone else win.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"I'm fine," she bit back, clearly wanting the conversation to be over.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to barge over here."

"I don't need your sympathy. I am perfectly capable of pitying myself." She glanced down as she spoke, a defeated look spreading across her features.

"You are right. You don't need my pity. But maybe you would like some company?"

Are you out of your fucking mind, he asked himself. Lance was the last person on earth you would call for comfort. Friends called him cynical, strangers thought he was a total dick, and even his own mother had once told him he was cold and callous. He definitely was not the best person to comfort this girl. Yet, he felt the strange desire to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be ok.

Maybe it was because of the strong front she put up, but Lance could not stop thinking about her. He'd tried to forget about her after she'd rejected him that day in the laundry room, but he would be lying if he said he'd been successful. Her deep brown eyes haunted his dreams and he spent too much time thinking about the way she'd gasped when he had taken her nipple between his finger and thumb. She was aggravating and insufferable even in small doses, but he couldn't help but want to spend more time with her.

"Are you serious," she asked.

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

"Um...OK then."

"OK," he replied, feeling a strange urge to smile.

Lance led her back to his apartment, watching as she took in the barren living room kitchen combo.

"You're a serial killer," she laughed softly and turned around to face him. "What have I gotten myself into?"

"It's that bad?"

"Yes, very clinical. You are just missing the plastic dust covers. The ones you place over your furniture to keep your victim's blood from staining them."

"I'll make sure to pick them up for next time," he replied, feeling much more at ease talking to her than he had expected.

"Do you want a drink," he continued, holding up a bottle of tequila in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

"Whiskey. Even I'm not desperate enough to drink tequila," she said as she plopped onto the sofa.

"I happen to like it. It's one of the few times I can lose control," he said as he poured her a glass.

"That I'd like to see. Though you seemed to lose control a couple weeks ago in that laundry room," she replied with a small giggle, accepting the glass and taking a swig.

"I was completely in control. I think it was you who was having trouble containing yourself."

"It seems we have very different memories of that afternoon. However, I think only one of us offered to continue, or am I wrong about that too?"

"Well, it won't happen again. I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright," she said before muttering something under her breath.

"What was that," he asked, joining her on the stiff couch.

"Oh, I just needed a win, that's all."

"I am glad I could be of service," he said with a smile before pausing, curiosity getting the better of him.

"But, why would you need one?"

"Well, if it wasn't obvious with all of the Taylor Swift I've been playing, I'm going through a breakup."

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, and looking back at this girl, he realized that he really meant it.

"It's alright," she said, turning up to look at him. "I knew it was coming. Just... It still hurts. Especially during this time of year."

Tears started to fall from her eyes, and Lance felt the urge to pull her close but stopped himself. This girl did not need him to comfort her. She clearly was strong enough to handle herself and would definitely not appreciate being treated like another damsel in distress.

"I'm sorry," she chuckled through her tears, using the back of her hand to dry them.

"So... why Boston," she continued, trying to change the subject.

"Work. Got a position I couldn't refuse," he said, his hazel eyes now staring back into her watery brown ones.

"What about you," he asked.

"I'm a full-time student. Though I'm graduating next semester, thank god."

"How can you afford a place like this as a student," he asked, knowing that he could hardly pay the rent working full time.

"Oh, my Abuelita has owned 2A since the building was built in the '70s. I moved in with her when I was 18 to help take care of her. And then when she died earlier this year, she, um, left it to me."

Her voice broke a little as she finished, the tears reappearing in her eyes. She took another swig of her drink and got up off the couch to look out the window at the far end of the apartment.

"That's why it's so hard," she continued. "This was my first Christmas without her."

Lance got up to join her, standing at the other end of the window with his own glass of tequila.

"My mom died last spring. Grief is different for everyone, but the one thing that remains constant is that it never really goes away."

"So you get it. That emptiness. Even when you think it's fine, it's still there and no matter what you try to fill it with, it never gets any better."

"People like to tell you that it does, but they are really just trying to convince themselves that it's true."

At that she looked at him, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

"You aren't as bad as I made you up to be."

"Are you disappointed," he asked, turning away from the window to look at her. She was tall but looked small against the skyscrapers lining the streets outside. Her eyes were wide, framed by dark brows and even darker lashes, and she had an array of freckles dotting her light brown skin. Her hair was braided into two pigtails, though several black curls had escaped, framing her round face.

"No," she said slowly, stepping a couple of inches towards him. Her hand reached out toward him, gently cupping his cheek.