The Bad Boy Next Door - Short Story

When Your New Neighbor Looks Like Sin and Smirks Like He Knows It

Moving into a new place should be simple. A fresh start. A clean slate. A chance to unpack your dishes without eye contact from the guy next door.

But what happens when your new neighbor is tall, tatted, cocky—and inconveniently hot?

In The Bad Boy Next Door, Lennox West isn’t looking for trouble. She just wants to settle in quietly, wear her oversized tees, and avoid the kind of man who comes with warning labels.

But Zayne Hart? He is the warning.

One cocky smirk, one filthy promise, and suddenly avoiding him isn’t just hard—it’s impossible.

If you love:

• Forbidden tension with a side of sarcasm

• Broody men who drop to their knees for the woman they want

• Spicy, no-apologies hookups that turn into something more than expected…

You’re going to want to meet the boy next door. Just… maybe don’t knock.

The Bad Boy Next Door

The box in my arms weighs about the same as a small child, and it’s blocking most of my view as I shuffle toward the front door of my new place. I’m two steps from freedom, or a faceplant, when a voice cuts through the air.

“You planning to carry all that by yourself, or are you just into punishment?”

I flinch. Hard. The box wobbles, but I catch it in time. Peeking around the corner, I come face to chest with a wall of tattoos and sin.

My new neighbor, and he’s shirtless. Of course he is.

Dark hair. Square jaw. A smirk that should be illegal in at least three states.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I mutter, turning quickly toward the door.

He doesn’t move.

“You sure? I’m great with heavy things,” he says, gaze dragging down my body like he’s already undressing me.

God help me.

“Seriously. I’m good,” I say again, this time with more edge.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Lenny. Just trying to be neighborly.”

I blink. “It’s Lennox.”

“Well, I think Lenny’s cute.”

I narrow my eyes. “Too bad you’re not.”

That grin just gets wider. “We’ll see about that.”

---

The second time I run into Zayne Hart, I’ve locked myself out in nothing but a sleep shirt and socks.

It’s not even cute sleepwear.

Just a baggy tee that says “Introvert Mode: Activated.”

Which, honestly, couldn’t be more ironic considering what I’m about to do.

I knock and his door opens faster than it should. Like he was already standing there. Watching. “Problem, Lenny?”

I grit my teeth. “I locked myself out.”

Zayne doesn’t say a word. Just leans against the doorframe and drags his gaze from my bare thighs up to the messy bun on top of my head.

“You look cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“You also look embarrassed.”

“I was until you showed up. Now I’m just annoyed.”

He laughs, slow and deep, and steps back. “Come on in. Let’s keep the neighborhood gossip to a minimum.”

An hour later, I’m still in his kitchen.

One drink turned into two and one sarcastic comment turned into three too many stolen glances.

Zayne leans against the counter, barefoot, a glass in his hand and that stupid smirk in place like it was made just to torture me.

“You always this tense, Lenny?” He cocks his eyebrow.

“You always this cocky?” I retort.

He shrugs. “Only when I know it’s working.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s a struggle not to smile. I hate that he’s funny. Hate that he’s hot. Hate that when he laughs at one of my jokes, my stomach flips like we’re in a damn romcom.

“I should go,” I say, standing up fast.

Zayne doesn’t move, but his eyes lock on mine. “Why?”

“Because this…” I motion between us. “Is a bad idea.”

He nods slowly, but there’s nothing casual about the look he gives me. “That’s the fun kind.”

I try to squeeze past him, but he shifts just enough to block me. Just enough to make my breath catch.

His hand comes up, slow and deliberate, fingers curling around the back of my neck. The pressure is gentle, but there’s no mistaking the command in it.

He pulls me in. Closer. Until his mouth is hovering just above mine, a breath away. I can feel the heat of him, the tension crackling in the sliver of space between us.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough, deadly serious.

I don’t.

His hands then slide to my hips. His mouth brushes mine. Barely. Teasing.

“I think you want to find out what kind of bad I really am. Don’t you Lenny?”

My heart is slamming against my ribs. Every cell in my body is screaming yes, but I force out, “You’re my neighbor.”

His lips ghost over mine again. “Exactly. No excuses when you get locked out again.”

And then he kisses me. Hard. Hungry. Hands on my hips like he already owns me. By the time he pulls back, I’m not even pretending to play it cool.

Zayne’s smile is softer now, but no less dangerous. “Next time, don’t bother knocking.”

His words echo in my head. ‘Next time, don’t bother knocking’.

Shaking my head back and forth slowly, “I won’t.”

Zayne’s hand slides up my back, fingers curling into my shirt like he’s deciding whether to rip it off or take his time. My breath catches when he backs me into the counter, slow and steady, like he was ready for this.

“I told myself I’d leave the new girl alone,” he murmurs, lips dragging across my jaw. “Barely lasted two days.”

“You lasted two,” I whisper, “that’s impressive.”

His teeth graze the edge of my neck, and I swear my knees threaten to give out. “Keep talking like that and I’ll show you what else I’m good at lasting.”

My stomach flips. My thighs clench. And suddenly I’m gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Zayne’s hand finds the hem of my sleep shirt, his palm hot against my bare thigh and moving upward. “You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”

I suck in a breath as his hands skim my thighs and bite my lip at the feel of his hands on me. “Maybe I forgot.”

His laugh is low, wicked. “No, sweetheart. I think you wanted me to find out.”

Strong hands lift me onto the counter in one smooth motion, and before I can blink, he’s wedged between my legs, mouth crashing into mine like we’re past the point of teasing. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

His tongue sweeps in, hot and demanding, and I moan into his mouth when his hand slides higher, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of my ass.

“You’ve been walking around here in this shirt,” he growls, “thinking I wasn’t going to do something about it?”

“I didn’t think you’d be so… invested,” I breathe.

He grins against my skin. “I’m not your boyfriend, Lenny. I’m the guy who ruins your expectations and makes you forget their names.”

My head falls back as he dips lower, trailing kisses from my collarbone to the soft spot beneath my ear.

“And you’re mine now,” he adds, voice rough. “At least until morning.”

I don’t argue. Because right now? I want to be his. Just this once.

Or maybe… not just once.

Zayne drops to his knees like it’s the only place he wants to be. Like the space between my thighs was always meant to be his. His hands glide up my bare legs, fingers curling possessively around my thighs as he spreads me wider on the counter.

“You’re f•cking soaked,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Tell me you’ve thought about this.”

“I haven’t,” I lie, breath catching.

He grins. “You’re a terrible liar, Lenny.”

Then his mouth is on me.

I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, grabbing hold as his tongue slides between my l•ps and finds the spot that makes my back arch.

He groans like he needs this, like he’s the one unraveling.

His hands grip my thighs tighter, keeping them open as his tongue works me over with slow, devastating precision. Every flick, every swirl has me clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He sucks my cl•t into his mouth, lips locking onto me like he owns this part of me now.

“Zayne,” I gasp, fisting his hair. “Oh my God—”

“That’s right,” he growls against me, sending vibrations through my core. “C•me for me, baby. Let me taste how f•cking sweet you are.”

The pressure builds fast, almost too fast, and when he sucks me again, harder this time, my whole body tenses.

And I break.

My orga•sm slams into me like a freight train, and I cry out, head thrown back, thighs shaking around his face as he keeps going, licking every last aftershock from me like he’s starved for it.

When I finally look down, he’s watching me, mouth wet, eyes dark, smug as hell.

And then he stands, pulling a condom from somewhere I didn’t see and rolls it on.

Without warning, he grabs me by the waist, yanks me to the edge of the counter, and shoves his grey sweats down with one hand.

“I’ve been h•rd since the second I saw you,” he mutters, grasping his c•ck and dragging it through my slickness. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

He grabs my thighs and holds them open, then lines himself up, pushing in with one hard thrust that knocks the air out of me.

I cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he bottoms out. “Zayne—”

“You feel that?” he growls, snapping his hips forward. “That’s what you’ve been teasing every time you walked past my door in nothing but those little shorts and cropped tanks.”

He thrusts again. Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

And I take it.

Because I want it. Because I need it.

He f•cks me like he owns me, like he’s wanted to since the moment we met. His grip on my thighs tightens with every thrust, keeping me wide open for him as he drives into me over and over, filthy words falling from his lips like a promise.

“Look at you,” he pants. “So f•cking wet. You love this, don’t you? Love having my c•ck deep inside you, f•cking the attitude right out of that smart mouth of yours.”

I moan, eyes fluttering shut as another wave builds.

Suddenly, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, firm and commanding, forcing my gaze up to his.

“Look at me while you take my c•ck,” he orders. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

My breath hitches as my eyes lock onto his, and everything hits harder, the tension, the thrusts, the sheer dominance in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he growls, pounding into me. “That’s it. Take every inch.”

The org•sm crashes over me with terrifying force, and this time, I scream his name.

Zayne’s hips slam forward one final time as he groans against my throat, spilling into the condome with a low, guttural curse.

We’re both panting, bodies shaking, still clinging to each other when the silence finally settles.

He brushes his nose along my jaw. “Told you… I’m the kind of bad you won’t recover from.”

And somehow, I know he’s right.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: March 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix