Number Neighbor Read online

  Number Neighbor

  KD Robichaux

  CC Monroe

  Copyright © 2019 by KD Robichaux and CC Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  To us, CC.

  We did it.

  #mombosses

  <3, Tits

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Afterword

  Also by KD Robichaux

  Also by CC Monroe

  Prologue

  Owen

  * * *

  I watch her. Like I do every night. Parked in the driveway of the once-vacant house next door, just outside her bedroom window. I bought it after I followed her home one night, months ago and realized she likes to undress with her blinds open, knowing I’d kill anyone else who discovered that fact. I don’t stay here though. No, I live in the top-floor penthouse in a downtown high-rise close to work.

  The curvature of her lithe frame, sitting at just 5’6”, is a whole foot shorter than me. Her breasts are lush and full; my entire hand could grip one and it would still overflow my palm. She must want to be watched, and that both benefits and infuriates me, because other men can lust over what I have deemed as mine—her. I will be the only man to watch, touch, and fuck her until mine is the only name she ever screams.

  She isn't ready for that yet, and that’s why I will continue to watch her from her window every night. Touch myself while she does things that shouldn't turn me on but do. Like the way she stares at her naked body in the mirror. I can tell she is being self-critical, but really she has no idea what that slightly rounded belly does to me. When she runs her fingers over it, does she see something ugly? Because all I see is where I plan to put my baby in her once I make her mine. I can see it now, her gorgeous, thick thighs tightening around my hips as she tries to subdue the pleasure that courses through her. I want to fucking taste those pouty lips that she licks randomly. Bite them until they’re swollen and red with the evidence of my ownership.

  I pull out my cock; it stands tall and ready for attention. I pretend my hand is hers and she is nervously touching it for the first time. That body in there? That innocent, sexy woman? She’s a virgin. I can practically smell it from here. I know when she touches me for the first time, my hard, angry-looking cock will frighten my woman, and I can’t wait to teach her how to ride it.

  “Fuck, turn around, baby.” I swear my mind and body is in tune with hers, so much that I’m controlling her with my words. She turns, naked, her entire body facing me, and fuck if she isn’t putting on a show for me.

  She tilts her head slightly, reaching one hand behind her to move her hair to one side, her tits swaying slightly with the motion. She bites at her lip as she bends to grab her shirt from the bed.

  I pick up speed, knowing she’s about to cover that gorgeous form. Her slight bend seems slow and deliberate, her delectable ass rounding with her ninety-degree angle. “I will bend you over that bed, baby. Fuck you raw.”

  My orgasm comes on quickly, something that was never a thing before I saw her. It usually takes a lot to get me off. Most women I’ve been with were worn out when I was done with them. I am an animal when I fuck, and I fuck hard—rigorously. The fact that just a few small movements and less than a minute can pass and she has my balls swelling with cum I want to unload in her, means this woman was made for only my pleasure.

  “Look up. Let me see those beautiful green eyes. Come on, baby. I need it. Look at me.” I know my windows are tinted and she won’t be able to see me, but I can see her and that’s all I need—a brief look to seal the deal.

  She puts her top on, and right then, something falls off the vanity behind her and she turns around to pick it up, giving me a full view of her ass and bare pussy. I come then, my orgasm so harsh I see stars as I watch her look back out the window, and walk to them to shut her blinds before going to bed. I see her look out into the darkness before she fully closes them, and that last glimpse is timed with the last spurt of my cum—the same cum I wish was filling her.

  “I love you. Good night, baby.” I take a deep breath after her figure disappears from view, and my nightly stalking coming to an end. Knowing I will be back tomorrow, doesn't stop me from being slightly aggravated that I have to leave. One day soon, I will get inside her home, inside her, and I will show her every damn bit of my obsession with her.

  I just have to find a way in.

  Chapter 1

  Ivy

  * * *

  “Did you read the Buzzfeed article I sent you?” Jenika asks as she leans her hip against my desk in the reception area of the private practice where we work. I glance up from my typing to see her scrolling on her phone, a slight smile on her face.

  I lean back in my rolling chair, pulling my glasses off to rub the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. “I haven’t had a chance yet. I’ve been redoing Dr. Sage’s appointment schedule all morning, since he wants to start closing earlier on Fridays.”

  She glances down at me. “A lot of work now, but think about how nice it’ll be to get off at noon on Friday and then not have to be back at work until 9:00 a.m. Monday morning.”

  I lift my brows. “True story. That’s like… five extra hours of weekend debauchery.” I giggle, and she winks. But at the same time, I’ll miss those extra five hours of catching secret glimpses of my handsome boss between patients.

  “Exactly, girl. Speaking of—it’s noon. Take lunch. I want you to read this shit and discuss,” she entices, and I give in, pulling the clock sign out of my desk drawer and setting it to say I’ll return at 1:00 p.m. Dr. Sage doesn’t have another appointment until then anyway.

  I grab my phone and Vera Bradley lunch kit out of the large bottom drawer of the sleek wooden desk I perch at forty hours a week, standing and wobbling on my new shiny black heels for a second.

  “Still haven’t gotten the hang of those bad boys yet?” she teases.

  I grimace. “No, and I doubt I ever will. If the good doctor didn’t pay me so freaking well, I’d tell him to shove the dress code up his fine-as-hell ass and find a new job just so I wouldn’t have to wear these damn things.” It’s a total lie. He could pay me far less and I’d still wear whatever the hell he asked me to. Anything to please Dr. Sage.

  “Yeah well, it’s his fancy shmancy practice, and he has a specific look he wants for the first person patients see when they walk in the door.” She shrugs, and I glare at her back as I follow her to the break room.

  “Easy for you to say. You get to wear comfy scrubs and old lady shoes all day.”

  She laughs, holding the door open for me, and then makes her way to the fridge as I sit at the long table centered in the room. “They’re called nursing clogs, ho. I’d say jealousy-green isn’t a good color on you, but I’d be lying. It matches your gorgeous eyes. You jerk.”

  I flip my long, dark hair I took the time to curl this morning over my shoulder and wink at her. “But who actually pays attention to what the receptionist is wearing when you come in to have your lady bits man-handled? That’s the last thing I
’m worried about at the gynecologist’s office.”

  She rolls her eyes as she comes to sit in the seat next to me. “Would you read the damn article already?”

  “Ugh, fine. Geez, don’t get your panties in a twist,” I tell her, unlocking my phone before clicking on the link I see in our message thread.

  “What panties?” she snorts, and I shake my head at her before I start to read what she sent me.

  “Number neighbor?” I ask, and take a bite of my tuna sandwich as my eyes move across the screen. When I’m done, I look up at Jenika thoughtfully. “Have you done this?”

  “No. I was waiting to see if one of my neighbors would message me first. But they haven’t,” she confesses.

  “So let me get this straight. The last four digits of my phone number are 3808. So I’d message 3807 and 3809?”

  “Yep.” She pops the P.

  I take another bite and chew while scrolling back up to read a screenshot the reporter had copied from a Twitter account.

  Person 1: Hey there, Number Neighbor! Just wanted to say hi.

  Person 2: Who is this? What’s a Number Neighbor?

  Person 1: My name is Elle. You have the next digit up from my phone number. Just a fun Twitter thing.

  Person 2: I wasn’t aware LOL

  Person 1: Anyhoo, just checking in. Sorry to message so late. Couldn’t sleep.

  Person 2: haha, that’s what neighbors are for. In yo business and always at the wrong time *laughing emoji

  I giggle at that, reading through a couple more screenshots of text messages between strangers. Some people get a little hostile and end up blocking the original texter, obviously lacking a sense of humor, while others end up having nice conversations.

  “What do you think you’d say if one messaged you?” I ask her curiously.

  She smiles wickedly. “I’d ask them if they’re hot and single.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “Of course you would.”

  She lifts one shoulder and tilts her head to the side. “I mean, why not? It’s no crazier or more dangerous than meeting someone online. This would just be way more random.” After a beat, she turns the question on me. “What about you?”

  I purse my lips before answering. “If I hadn’t read this first, I would’ve probably been hesitant and caught way too off guard to play along. But now, I think it’d be pretty cool. This one screenshot showed a conversation between a twenty-year-old college student and this lonely little grandma, and now they meet up for coffee every Sunday morning before church they realized they both attended.”

  “I guess that might be pretty common in smaller towns, since the area codes would be the same.”

  I nod. “But we live in big-ass Houston. There’s no telling who we’d end up chatting with.” I bare my teeth in a grimace, thinking of the horrible possibilities. “Yeah, I think I’ll just wait and see if mine messages me first. I don’t think drug dealers and gang bangers would take the time to play a fun little Twitter game. They’re a little too busy with their other activities.”

  She taps her chin with the tip of her finger. “True story. It’s probably just hipsters and people bored at work scrolling through their feeds.” She seems to think for a moment. “Unless some rapist happens upon the article and gets a bright idea to text their neighbor to try to catch his next victim.”

  “Aaaaand you just took it there. Way to ruin a fun fantasy,” I tell her, throwing my zip-lock bag into my lunch kit before pulling out my bag of pretzel chips.

  “Fantasy, huh?” She grins, reaching over and stealing one of my chips.

  “Well yeah! How amazing would it be if your text-door neighbor messaged you, you asked them if they were hot and single, they answered yes and sent you a selfie, and they were, in fact, hot and single? It’d be like… fate brought you together.”

  She laughs before standing and walking over to the sink to rinse out her leftover container. “See? I knew you’d dig it. Now we just gotta wait it out and see if our knights in shining armor just so happen to be one digit different from our own phone numbers.”

  She gives me a wave before returning to work while I finish up my lunch. While munching on the last few chips in the pack, I pull up my Facebook app and type out a post.

  Have y’all heard of Number Neighbors or Text-Door Neighbors? Such a cute idea. If mine is out there, feel free to message me! I promise not to threaten harassment charges. Bonus points if you’re a hottie. #singleandreadytotextminglewithastrangerwhoisntamurderer

  Chapter 2

  Owen

  * * *

  I read her post over and over again, a smirk tugging at the corner of my lips as I sit in the dark, waiting for her to get home. I knew she wanted to be watched by a neighbor. Little does she know I’m her actual neighbor. The house next door to hers that she believes is vacant gives me a perfect view into her bedroom window.

  Depending on how deep my need to be near her and watch her sleep is, I either watch her from my car sitting in the alley driveway between our houses—a different car than the one I use every day, or I do it from here, the second-floor bedroom overlooking her one-story home. It contains the only piece of furniture in the entire place—an elegant four-poster canopy bed with sheets so soft I imagine they feel like her flawless skin. I lie in that bed sometimes and envision her swaying those hips in a sultry dance for me, getting me hard and ready for her before she climbs me and takes me like a woman wild and unhinged.

  Tonight, I lie in bed and wait for her to get home from her hot yoga class. I would have taken the class like I usually do, so I could watch her from the opposite side of the packed studio, but my body is worn and torn from my strenuous workout I had this morning. My feet pounded against the cement as I ran my six miles, and when I realized that wasn't going to be enough to get my rage out after what I saw her doing just a mere eight hours before I ended up on my 3:00 a.m. run, I hit the punching bags.

  She was with another man. A date—a word I despise. Dating seems so trivial and naïve, something one does as a teenager. I’ve never been one to date, so the thought is humorous to me. That was until I saw my woman on a date with someone who wasn't me. Suddenly, dating seemed very serious and something I wished didn't exist.

  “Fuck.” I kick the sheet off me and stand. I did my best to change my train of thought today, but it was useless. Her class should have ended. Her drive is an easy eight minutes. Yeah, I fucking timed it. My woman should be at home and in bed so I can spend the night looking at her. “Naughty woman, making me wait. She’ll pay for that when I finally make her mine,” I say to the empty room, and like something straight out of a cheesy movie, her car pulls into the driveway.

  I take the few strides from the bed to the window and watch her. She's checking her phone, laughing, and I pull mine to my face, seeing the post still up on my phone. I reread the number neighbor post and dive into the comments.

  I see she just responded to Jenika’s comment.

  Jenika: I did it. Turns out my number neighbor is a fifty-five-year-old man with 17 cats—one aptly named after his dead wife. #betterluckwithyourneighbor

  Ivy: Mine hasn't found me yet, and I ain’t as desperate as you. Guess we will have to wait. #selfcontrol #youredesperate

  Jenika: Bitch

  Ivy: I love it when you talk dirty to me #hopeyouremynumberneighbor #whyyousoobsessedwithme

  Her humor is one of the many things I crave from her. I’m not a man of many words. Usually when I speak, it’s without a trace of comedy. One of the reasons I picked her to be mine is that sassy mouth.

  Just then, my phone rings and it’s my closest friend, Mena. I asked him to call me when he finished work for the day, and in his line of business, that could be late.

  “Mena, hey, man. Thank you for calling back so soon.”

  “Anytime, brother. What’s up? You said you needed a favor? Tonight’s not another guys’ night where I beat your ass in poker and go home with all your money.”

  “Fu
ck off. It was one time and you know it was only because I felt bad that you were going broke thanks to all my winnings.” I watch her with laser focus, multitasking as I pay attention to our conversation. His ball busting is not lost on me.

  “Whatever. What’s up?”

  “Listen, I need an address for a phone number. Can you get that for me?”

  He lets out a knowing scoff. “Who is she?”

  I lose sight of her as she goes into the bathroom and shuts the door—something she rarely does at home, but on some occasions, she does it absentmindedly. “None of your business. I’ll pay you a grand for the address.”

  “I’m starting to think you're only friends with me to use my line of work to chase down your conquests.” He laughs. He knows I like to research the women I find interest in, but if he only knew this woman has me doing more than just a standard background check, he wouldn't give me access to something like this.

  “Well, you keep nagging me like a bitch and it may just turn into that. Now get me an address for this number.”

  “Fine. But you owe me.” Mena is a private investigator and has many resources, so this is a small page out of the book of tricks he has up his sleeve.

  “Yeah, a thousand bucks,” I say matter-of-factly. I rattle off the number I need him to find, and he jots it down, giving me a confirmation before we end the call.

  “I got it. I will have it for you in about an hour. Poker night still on for Tuesday?” he asks.

  “Yes. Really, I don’t mind paying you the grand, because I’ll just win it all back in the game.”