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You ever find yourself in bed with someone you don't even like?
Yeah, that's where my story starts.
Not with fireworks. Not with "the love of my life." Just me, half-naked, staring up at the ceiling while my neighbor—Sharon—arched her back on top of me, making noises loud enough for the entire block.
Don't get me wrong. She's hot in that obvious way—tight little skirts, nails too long to be practical, a voice that can cut glass. But she chews gum when she talks, laughs at her own jokes, and thinks Wi-Fi is "a government thing." Not exactly my type.
Still… her body fit against mine, soft skin, slick heat, the crop top she hadn't even bothered taking off riding higher and higher with every thrust. My hands dug into the small of her back. Her hair brushed my chest. She whispered my name like she'd been waiting her whole life to say it.
I wasn't in love. Hell, I wasn't even into her. But my body didn't care. Every roll of her hips sent jolts up my spine. Every gasp made me move faster, deeper, until my grip tightened, my teeth grazed her shoulder, and I let the moment swallow me whole.
And that's when I realized—this, all of this, was only happening because of one stupid thing.
A dare.
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It started six months before our eighteenth birthday.
Me and her. Not Sharon—the neighbor—but her. My best friend.
Jane.
The one person I wasn't supposed to think about that way.
The one who always dared me into the dumbest, craziest things.
The one who made the mistake of betting me who could seduce more strangers before we turned eighteen.
And if you're wondering how I ended up with a neighbor I barely liked moaning on top of me…
Well, blame the dare.
Because when your best friend looks you in the eye and says, "Bet you can't undress a stranger before me,"—
You don't back down.
You dive in.
Even if it gets you into trouble.
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Anyway, enough about how it started—because right now, Sharon was making sure I didn't forget where I was.
Her body pressed down harder against mine, her weight, her heat, the way she moved—it was enough to drag a raw groan out of me. I didn't like her, not really, but in that moment she was everything: hot, wet, desperate, grinding against me like she'd been starving for it.
My hands didn't stay still. They traced every inch they could reach—palming her ass, squeezing until she whimpered, then sliding back up, dragging under her skirt, fingertips skating over lace damp with heat. When I tugged the fabric aside, her breath caught, and she rocked down harder, seeking more, grinding against the hardness straining beneath me.
"Mm—yeah, right there," she gasped, tossing her head back.
I groaned, letting my hands travel up again, catching the hem of her shirt and yanking it higher until her breasts spilled free, heavy and flushed. My thumbs brushed across her nipples, teasing, rolling, then pinching lightly until she moaned and pressed herself even closer, chest to chest, skin to skin.
"Ahh, you're greedy," I muttered against her neck, my teeth grazing her skin.
"Shut up," she panted, grinding faster, "just—touch me."
So I did. One hand cupping her breast, the other slipping between us, sliding past damp lace, fingers finding her heat. She cried out, her whole body jerking against me, thighs clenching as I teased her, stroking slow circles that grew tighter, faster, until she was shaking on top of me.
Her nails dug into my shoulders, leaving little crescents in my skin as I slipped inside her with my fingers, curling, pressing, feeling her slick warmth clench around me. Her hips rolled wildly, chasing every stroke.
I flipped her then—sudden, rough, pinning her back into the mattress. Her eyes went wide, hair fanned across the pillow, lips parted in a stunned gasp that quickly melted into a grin.
"You like being on top, huh?" she teased breathlessly.
"Shut up," I said again, this time with my mouth against hers, crushing the words between kisses as my hips pressed hard against hers, grinding, lining us up.
And then I pushed in.
Her back arched, a broken cry slipping out as I filled her, stretching her until her legs locked tight around me. I buried myself deep, held there for a moment just to feel her pulse around me, and then I started to move—slow at first, dragging out every inch, every gasp, every desperate clutch of her nails on my back.
But slow didn't last. It never does. Soon my hips snapped faster, harder, the bedframe groaning as I drove into her, each thrust pulling another moan from her throat. Her breasts bounced with every movement, and I couldn't resist—cupping, squeezing, tasting, dragging my tongue across her flushed skin until she was trembling beneath me.
Her voice broke on my name, high and needy, her body tightening around me as she came, shuddering, nails clawing at me like she didn't want me to stop. And I didn't. I couldn't. I kept driving into her until I was lost, breath ragged, pleasure building, spilling, crashing through me in waves as I buried myself in her heat one last time and let it take me under.
When it was over, we collapsed into the sheets, sweat-slick and tangled, her head against my shoulder, my chest heaving.
And all I could think was:
This wasn't supposed to mean anything.
It was just the dare.
A point on the scoreboard.
But damn if it didn't feel like I was already losing.
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