A week later, Aiah wasn't doing well.
Correction: she was doing very well. Physically.
Emotionally? She was an addict. And her addiction came in the form of a smug, smirking neighbor who now knew exactly how to drag a moan out of her with nothing more than a whisper and her magic hands.
For someone who had sworn off her neighbor, someone who had banged on her wall and declared war, Aiah was now... banging something else entirely. Often. Willingly.
And Mikha?
She was terrible at leaving her alone.
Worse at being decent about it.
She was always around. In her bed. On her couch. In her kitchen. And now—
Now she was in her shower.
⸻
Aiah's back hit the cold tiles with a soft gasp, steam curling around their bodies as the hot water poured down. Her legs were wrapped tightly around Mikha's waist, bare thighs clenching at the feeling of skin against skin, warm and slick from the water.
"Mikha—" she whimpered, voice cracking as Mikha's worked her up, slow but unrelenting.
"Hmm?" Mikha murmured, mouth dragging along the curve of Aiah's neck, her breath hot and teasing against her wet skin. "You were saying something?"
Aiah could barely think.
Her arms clung to Mikha's shoulders, nails dragging faint lines down her back as Mikha rocked her gently against the shower wall and with maddening precision.
"I—fuck—don't even remember," she breathed out, her head falling back against the tile with a thud.
Mikha laughed softly, that deep, smug sound that vibrated in Aiah's chest as much as it did in her throat. Her free hand braced Aiah's thigh, keeping her steady and controlled.
"You said you weren't gonna do this again," Mikha whispered, licking a drop of water from the shell of her ear.
"I lied," Aiah groaned, rolling her hips down to meet each slow, deliberate thrust. "I hate you."
"You say that a lot when we're in a compromised position."
"Because you smile like that when I say it."
Mikha's moved faster.
Aiah gasped—sharp, high, delicious—and her forehead pressed to Mikha's as her whole body started to tighten around the rhythm.
"Jesus, Mikha..."
"Nope," Mikha said, biting at her jaw, "just me."
"please—" Aiah's voice cracked, her thighs trembling around her, body locking down on Mikha's hand as her peak approached like a storm about to break.
Mikha pressed their foreheads together, her eyes locked onto Aiah's.
"Let go for me, baby," she whispered. "Let me feel you."
Aiah shattered.
It ripped through her with a cry, body jolting forward, thighs squeezing, hips stuttering, and Mikha caught her—held her—let her ride it out with soft kisses pressed to her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, even as Aiah whimpered from the intensity of it all.
When she finally went still, her head dropped to Mikha's shoulder, body limp and twitching slightly in the aftermath.
"Holy shit," she breathed, "that was... that was illegal."
Mikha chuckled, supporting her by the waist as her legs slowly unwrapped.
"I have a license," Mikha said smugly, brushing her lips over Aiah's wet, flushed cheek.
