#EroticStory: Neighbor of the Beach House pt.1. Ever since I moved into the house near the beach, I learned that the greatest danger wasn't the rough sea, but what I saw every day through the gate. My neighbor. A kite instructor, his body toned by the sun and years of training. Broad shoulders, rock-hard abs, arms constantly tense from holding the board and the wind. It was impossible not to look. Impossible not to imagine. He walked by, sweaty, salty, and the smell of the sea clung to him as if it were part of his skin. The worst part or the best part? He lived on the same property as me. The gate would open, and within seconds, there he was... Sometimes carrying his gear, sometimes shirtless, sometimes just watching me for a moment longer than he should have. I had a boyfriend. He had a wife. That was the line that could never be crossed. And precisely because of that, desire grew. Nothing excited me more than the forbidden. Sometimes, alone in my room, I would close the window but leave the curtains ajar, as if to risk him seeing me. My hands would run over my body, and I'd just have to imagine the scene: him entering without knocking, catching me with his fingers between my legs, approaching slowly, without saying a word. The fantasy always took me to the same place: he'd grab me by the waist, push me against the wall, and, without giving me time to think, finish what I'd started. I writhed just imagining his warm mouth, his large hands, the weight of his body on mine. The pleasure came quickly, intensely, and the room would be filled with my muffled moan into the pillow. The next day, I'd feign normalcy. He'd pass by with that almost complicit look, and I'd pretend not to see. But inside, every muscle still burned with the invented memory. It was a delicious prison: never being able to touch, and precisely because of that, never stopping wanting. (This is a free sample of my first story, the sequel is already available in my FanClub🔥)