When the small wooden table that resides between your kitchen and living room smacks against the wall hard enough to splinter the sheetrock, you think to yourself how little you care about something so trivial and cosmetic in that exact moment, if the end result is the same as it is now.

Not even a second later, any shred of thoughts you would have given said predicament is aggressively and expeditiously thrust right out of you. Literally. Skin slapping against skin, blended sounds of pleasure filling the small galley kitchen.

Your neighbor, Joel Miller, is the reason you are currently folded in half over said table, jeans and panties bunched up around your ankles, Joel’s thick cock buried so deep inside of you that you’re almost certain you can feel him somewhere around your tonsils.

His right hand rests on your hip, holding you steady in a vice grip, nails leaving jagged indentations in your flesh. The other hand is stretched forward, snaking beneath your t-shirt, cupping and kneading a breast.

You had bought the house only three months prior, and all had been well until the recent shift in weather and suddenly you couldn’t completely close your back door anymore, due to the door jamb warping from the humidity. As a single woman who lived alone, you wanted to get it fixed sooner rather than later, even in a relatively safe city like Austin.

Knowing Joel was a carpenter, you’d asked him for his assistance, and even had promises to pay him for the five minutes of work it took to realign the striker plate. He had declined the offer in favor of a beer.

One beer had turned to several, flirtatious touches and discourse turned to groping, and before you knew it, here you now were, hanging onto your table for dear life as Joel railed into you from behind with everything he had to give and then some.

You can see his reflection in the bay window, can hear him grunting and panting above you. His lips are parted in a snarl, hooked nose creased in concentration, biceps straining at the edges of his sleeves. It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever seen in your goddamn life.

“That’s it, babygirl. Such a good girl, takin’ that cock,” Joel praises in a subtle Texas drawl — although more noticeable now than usual, when he’s balls deep inside of you — giving your ass cheek a sharp, smarting slap. You moan, curving your spine to accommodate him further.

He takes his hand from your breast and brings it to his lips, wetting the first two digits on his tongue. He brings said fingers to the top of your mound to find your clit, swirling the pads of his fingers around the swollen bud in slow, deliberate patterns.

You keen, your hips involuntarily bucking in reverence at the extra attention, your walls starting to tighten and convulse as you rapidly approach orgasm. “Joel, fuck—“

“That’s it. That’s right. I got you, darlin’. Cum for me,” he says quietly, dividing his attention equally between his fingers and his rutting hips. “Cum on my cock.”

It doesn’t take much more to send you hurtling over from there. Alcohol always did make you extra horny, but it didn’t hurt that you’d been nursing a healthy crush on your neighbor from the very beginning, either. Despite the frequent advances of his younger brother, you only had eyes for Joel.

You sob his name on your tongue as you reach your peak, your pussy strangling every inch of him, sucking him deeper as your walls flutter around him. He isn’t many paces behind, his hips starting to sputter and seize, grunts evolving to guttural growls, breath hitching in his chest…

“Fuck, darlin’, wh-where d’you want it?” Joel spits in desperation, in urgency, voice deep and gravelly in his throat. You see the dire nature of his eyes reflected back at you in the pane of glass, already feeling his cock starting to tighten and twitch inside of you. His teeth bared like an animal.

“In— in me. Please, wanna feel you,” you whimper. He doesn’t give it a second thought, his movements stalling almost instantaneously, a deep roar reverberating from his lungs, and then thrusting into you hard several more times as he starts to fill you to the brim with thick ropes of seed, the table once again smacking hard against the drywall with every rough motion of his pelvis into yours.

The sensation of Joel’s warmth filling you and shooting against your G-spot further amplifies your orgasm, causing another ripple of pleasure to wash over you, your entire front half crumpling against the table, holding on to it for purchase so you do anything but fall, now boneless, to the floor.

Joel continues to thrust into you until you’ve milked him of every last drop, collapsing on top of you when he’s finally done, sucking in lungfuls of oxygen to catch his breath, forehead pressed to the back of your skull.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he whispers against the nape of your neck. “Fuck, I really needed that…”

After you’ve both caught your collective breaths, your heart rates re-normalizing after a few minutes, Joel lends you a hand to steady yourself as you pull your pants back up over your hips. When you’re done, Joel tucks himself away, zipping and fastening his jeans.

For a moment, you both grow still, Joel’s dark brown irises roving over your face, studying you. After a beat, he steps forward, arms circling your hips, pulling you into a gentle embrace, soft, plush lips finding yours.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, his voice low and velvet, his hand rested just under your jaw.

“I should be thanking you,” you tell him, a smirk playing along the edges of your lips, “but you do owe me some sheetrock…” you point out, gesturing to the shallow depression in the wall behind you.

In all honesty, you probably wouldn’t even care about such a small blemish under normal circumstances. But if it means you get to have Joel around more often, you’ll use what you can to your advantage.

Joel’s lips curl into a grin. “Shit,” he says, running his hand along the edge of his beard. “Guess I’ll have to block out some time tomorrow afternoon to take care of that for you,” he surmises, placing his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, I would hope so. I don’t want to leave the contractor who did the job a bad review or anything,” you tease, managing to get a small chuckle out of him.

“Go ahead. Heard that guy’s a real asshole,” Joel fires back, one corner of his mouth hooked upward in amusement.

You giggle, leaning against Joel as the two of you share a laugh, already looking forward to tomorrow’s events.