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Apartment 333.

That's where she lived.

She, as in the Y/N L/N.

The woman across the hall that can make me squirm in sexual frustration with one mention of my name.

That intense look in those gray eyes, contrasting beautifully with her skin.

Those kissable, plump, pink lips that I want all over me.

Every morning, she'd greet me with a warm smile. The sexiest smile I've ever seen with such little effort.

My body would heat up when she speaks to me while we get our mail.

I never really have any, but I know she gets hers every Tuesday and Saturday before and after work.

It'll be a normal conversation, asking each other how our day's been and other forms of small talk.

Her silky smooth voice creates electricity all through my body.

I constantly have to refrain myself from licking my lips as she talks. I'd feel the pooling from my core and I'd subtly press my thighs together.

When she's not making me a hot and bothered mess, she's standing in from of 37, mixed levels, interested in literature.

My eyes would never leave her as she talks about Iliad.

That's only on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Her Wednesdays goes as following: a 6:32am breakfast at this small coffee shop, Monet's.

She'd get an iced hazelnut creamed coffee, almost perfectly matching her skin tone, with three sugars, whipped cream and caramel drizzle with a chocolate chip muffin.

She always wear a long sleeved dark shirt, with blue jeans and comfortable shoes.

Her short, dark, curly hair hidden under a baseball cap, turned backwards occasionally.

My bottom lip would be held prisoner by my teeth as I look from afar.

Her profile lined yellow from the morning sun. Her eyes and long eyelashes making me even more entranced.

Though, I like it better when we meet up in the hall of our complex.

Coming out the door with her blazer over her left forearm and her briefcase in her right hand. I'd secretly check her out.

That body. Oh, fuck that godlike body. Covered by tight fitting dress shirts and slacks with her slender necktie still undone.

I remember I caught her working out at home. I had went over, just because I haven't seen her that morning.

She answers the door and I almost pounced on her. Her toned and exposed arms and abdomen glistened with sweat.

I noticeably bit my lip at my professor. It seemed as is she didn't notice, but I know she did.

I looked down and smirked back up at her when I saw what I've been wanting to see since I've known about it.

At night, she would infiltrate my dreams. In her glory on top of me. Inside of me.

Making me feel waves of pleasure my hand alone can't mimic. Oh, god, it'll feel so good.

So lucid.

When I woke up, drenched in sweat and arousal. I'd finish myself off before going back to sleep. Dreaming about the sex goddess across from me.

Seeing her like that never left my mind. It was all I could think about.

Though, after that encounter, she's been avoiding me. I still see her at Monet's, she never spots me.

In class, she almost never picks on me to answer questions I know the answer to.

At our apartment, she stopped checking her mail and leaves earlier than usual. This doesn't deter me, no. She can't ignore me forever.

She will acknowledge me again.

Started: Dec 19, 2017

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