The Room Next Door
It started with the sound.
Not moaning, not quite—not yet. Just… muffled movement. A creak of a bed frame, a rhythmic thump against the wall that separated Emma’s hotel room from the one next door. She was barely out of the shower, towel clinging to her damp skin, hair wet and dripping onto her collarbone.
She froze, ears pricking.
Thump. Thump. Pause. Then again—faster this time.
The walls of this boutique hotel were thinner than she realized. She stood there, towel gripped in both hands, heartbeat already rising in her chest, as if her body knew what was coming before her mind caught up.
Then, the voice.
Low. Male. Growling. “That’s it, baby… louder.”
And then—her. A sharp gasp, followed by a breathy moan that seemed to slide right under Emma’s skin. The sound of skin slapping on skin followed. Wet. Heated. Fast.
Emma should’ve moved. Turned on the TV. Dried her hair. Anything but what she actually did.
She tiptoed to the bed and sat down, towel slipping to her waist. One hand still held it loosely, more as an excuse than a cover. Her other hand was already trailing slowly down her stomach, as the woman next door let out another long, aching whimper.
The man’s voice rumbled again, lower now. “You like that cock? Say it.”
“I love it,” came the breathless reply. “God—I love it…”
Emma bit her lip. Her fingers drifted lower.
The next morning, Emma met him.
It was in the hotel lobby. He stood by the espresso machine, tall, scruff on his jaw, hair messy like it hadn’t seen a brush in 12 hours—which, if her guess was right, it hadn’t. His eyes were the first thing she noticed: that hungry kind of blue that made your stomach flip.
And he noticed her, too. The pause, the slight tilt of his head, the once-over. There was recognition there, but not the usual kind. More like... animal instinct.
“Good morning,” he said with a lazy grin.
Emma smiled back. “Hi.”
He held out a hand. “Luke.”
“Emma.”
A pause. A beat too long.
He leaned in just a little, voice quiet. “Did you sleep well?”
Her eyes locked onto his. She couldn’t help it—her mind went right back to the sounds from the night before. The way his voice now matched that growl. It was him. It had to be.
“Eventually,” she said.
That grin widened. “Same.”
That night, she didn’t put on the TV. Or music. Or anything.
She lay on the bed in the dark. One lamp on. Waiting.
And when it started again—later this time, after midnight—she was ready. This time, the moaning was louder. His voice rougher. Her cries desperate.
“Take it all.”
“I want more.”
“Get on your knees.”
It didn’t take long. Emma came hard with her fingers buried between her thighs, her other hand clutching the sheets, biting the pillow to keep quiet. And afterward, she just lay there, flushed and dazed, panting into the stillness.
That’s when she heard it.
A knock.
Her door.
She froze.
Another knock—soft, slow. Then his voice.
“Emma?”
She sat up in bed, heart hammering. “How—”
“You left your card in the lobby,” he said. “Reception gave me your room number. I... figured you might be awake.”
Silence.
She stood. Walked to the door. Looked through the peephole.
It was him.
T-shirt. Jeans. No shoes.
She opened the door slowly, and for a long moment, they just stared at each other.
He held up her key card. “You dropped this.”
“Thanks.”
She didn’t take it. He didn’t hand it over.
His eyes dipped lower. She realized then she was wearing nothing but a long, oversized shirt—and panties.
His voice dropped. “You heard us, didn’t you.”
Emma’s breath caught. “What?”
Luke stepped forward. Just enough to be inside the doorway. His hand brushed her hip, fingers just touching the edge of her shirt.
“I heard you, too,” he murmured. “Moaning into your pillow.”
Her knees nearly gave out.
“I was gonna leave,” he continued, voice deep now, seductive. “But then I realized I don’t want to fuck her again. I want to fuck you.”
Emma didn’t answer. She just pulled him inside.
They didn’t make it to the bed right away.
He pressed her up against the door, lips crashing onto hers, hand yanking her thigh up around his hip. She tasted like toothpaste and wine. He tasted like sin. She moaned into his mouth as he ground against her, the hardness in his jeans leaving no room for misunderstanding.
“God, you’re soaked,” he said when his hand slid under her panties.
“You made me like this,” she gasped.
“Yeah,” he growled. “I fucking know.”
He dropped to his knees. Pulled her panties down and off. Lifted her leg onto his shoulder.
Then he went down on her.
Right there. Against the door.
Emma nearly blacked out.
His tongue moved like it had a mind of its own—slow swirls, hard flicks, teasing circles around her clit. He sucked just enough to make her cry out, then slowed again, edging her.
“Don’t stop—please,” she whispered.
“I won’t,” he murmured. “Not till you come on my tongue.”
And she did. Loudly. Shamelessly.
The bed was chaos. Sheets everywhere. Her shirt gone. Him naked above her, finally inside her—thick, hard, stretching her until she gasped.
He didn’t start slow.
Luke grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Drove into her like he had something to prove. His abs flexed with every thrust, sweat beading on his chest. Emma cried out with every slap of skin, her thighs trembling, her nails clawing at the mattress.
“Harder—fuck, harder!”
“You like being fucked like this?” he growled in her ear.
“Yes! Don’t stop!”
He flipped her onto her stomach, pulled her ass up. Slammed into her from behind.
The sound of it echoed. Slap after slap after slap.
“Let them hear you this time,” he said.
“I don’t care—let them hear everything!”
Her orgasm ripped through her like a wave.
And when he came, it was with a guttural sound, grabbing her hips so tight she knew she'd bruise. He collapsed next to her, both of them soaked in sweat and breathless.
Later, tangled in sheets, he whispered, “Tomorrow night. My room. We make them listen.”
Emma smiled wickedly.
“Deal.”
by Julian