WHEN WE f**k

 “Yesss… right there, daddy…” Crash. I jerked up in bed, heart thumping. One of my picture frames had fallen clean off the damn wall. “Don’t stop, please, baby—s**t!” I rolled my eyes, snatched my robe from the foot of my bed, and threw it on. Slipped into my Chanel slides, tied the robe tight across my chest, and stormed out the apartment. It was 3:12 AM and the walls were damn near moaning with her. I banged on his door like I had a warrant, not giving a single f**k if the whole floor woke up. The door flew open, and there he was—Khalil, standing there shirtless, bare chest glistening, eyes low like I’d just pulled him straight out the middle of the stroke. His jaw flexed once. Then he smirked. “Damn, Rayne. You coulda just knocked softer,” he said, eyes dropping straight to my chest. I looked down. My robe had come loose. n*****s poking right through my cami. I tied it tighter, scowling. “No need to cover up on my account,” he teased, licking those sinful lips. “I’ve seen ‘em bounce under that blouse when you argue in the office.” “It’s three in the morning, Khalil,” I snapped. “Can you and your lil groupie keep it the f**k down? Some of us got s**t to do.” He ran a hand over his beard, unbothered. “You off tomorrow.” “And?” I shot back. “You don’t be doin’ s**t anyway. Be in there watchin' 'Love & Lockup' and ignoring texts.” He wasn’t lying, but that wasn’t the damn point. “Look, just keep it down.” He stared for a beat, smirk deepening. “You more than welcome to join us…” “Boy, bye.” I scoffed. “I got no problem with women loving women, but I’m not about to let one touch me.” He tilted his head. “Oh, but you’ll let me touch you though?” I paused. “What?” “You said no to her. But you ain’t say s**t about me.” I blinked. This cocky ass— “Keep dreaming. Ain’t no way I’m lettin' a community d**k nigga like you touch me.” He leaned against the doorframe, d**k print bold in those sweats, arms folded like he knew he was trouble. “Come find out then,” he said low. I flipped him off and turned back toward my door, hips swinging hard on purpose. “Bet her ass ain’t even screaming for you, probably just tryna prove somethin’,” I called out. “Keep it down. I know that d**k ain’t that damn good.” His laugh chased me all the way inside. But five minutes later? Boom. Boom. Boom. “Harder, daddy! Yesss—right there!” I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. This nigga was petty. Knew I was listening. Knew the damn walls were thin. Only two condos on the whole floor—mine and his. Penthouse life, but still cheap ass drywall. And since he owned the building, he really didn’t give a damn. I tossed my robe off and fell into bed. Sleep? Gone. Might as well not even try. I dug through my sheets, grabbed the remote, flipped on my TV… tried to zone out. But that moan came again. Then a grunt. A deep one. The one I’d heard once, years ago, at a college party when some girl had him pressed up in the bathroom. My thighs clenched. “f**k,” I muttered. I reached into my nightstand. Pulled out my purple friend. At this point? Might as well match the damn energy.