We will follow a young married woman who becomes discontent with her life and feels trapped in her loveless marriage. She finds solace in the company of her charming and enigmatic neighbor, who seems to understand her in a way no one else has. They begin to fall in love as they embark on a forbidden and passionate affair.
"Meet Your Neighbor" by FlingFM: A thought-provoking and powerful novel about the passionate and danger of interspecific relationships in America loved by 500 0000 women in US and become the new North Star of the New Yorker, Forbes and the NY Times. "The book became the best selling novel in the genre".
Kellys's angle Dec 12, 2022
Best story to unwind
in post-50-Shades-Of-Grey era
in post-50-Shades-Of-Grey era
Editor’s choice
Chapter 1
For weeks I've been watching her impatiently getting out of her luxurious jeep carrying a purse striped with black velvet alongside cotton bags filled with groceries and other expenses. Her husband was a hardworking man, stern like, serious looking, and always carried a comical mainly tone to him, as if not speaking from the back of his throat wouldn't make him any less of a man than he already is. She was his voice of reason. She'd cook, clean, however he commanded. She'd take care of the entire house because the grumpy man didn't have time to do anything but work.
He was an intensely jealous man. She was never allowed to dress provocatively when she left the house to see her friends. She wasn't allowed to smirk or laugh at other men's jokes. Her eyes were set on him and him only, and she respected those conditions without any resistance. The man fell for her for how compliant she was to any restrictions one ought to give her.
She never complained. If she was in love, she'd do about anything for the one who kept her heart, even if he was a rather unstable man. I think it's fair to ask ourselves if someone can take such a beating and never retaliate, how can one lie in their misery and swim in their inability to stand up for themselves so effortlessly? The woman had, without a doubt, repressed aggression about her and a need to make people suffer at that expense. It wasn't soon enough that this need asserted itself firmly in her conscience.
It started with little gestures she'd sometimes do to the men approaching her in desperation when she was at work. She'd look down at them and treat them like they were some sort of lap dogs. Surprisingly enough, it would make them even worse. They would pathetically unravel their true intents with acceptance, shameless as they were, that surprised her, but also ignited feelings of being desired, wanted like no other worshiped. And this she rarely ever felt.
After a few times of titillating the thirst of the men around her, she began thinking about it alone. One night, while looking at herself in a mirror, she started caressing herself, thinking about what she had done, thinking about the desperation in the faces she rejected, thinking about how good she was to them and how wrong they were to put an animal like her on a pedestal. And she didn't care one bit. She'd drawn scenarios in her head about being circled by them, staring at her, enjoying herself while having them bathe her one at a time with their warm secretion. She thought about her coworker being on his knees, staring up at her, sitting on a chair while her legs were slowly opening. She'd put her foot on his chest and sometimes his shoulders to make him stare at it. The boy would have to smell the soft tenderness of the soap she had used the night before. He had to salivate at the desire of putting his pretty lips all over her, tasting the aroma of her skin with his mouth. She would continuously strain herself and moan as loud as she wanted to. She had her sex from him by wearing tight little shorts, only allowing him to stare at the beautiful outline of it.
The soft separation, though, was releasing some sort of liquid. It had a sweet but salty syrup to it. The young man could almost taste it just by looking at its stain on little shorts. The flooding lion separated two bumps, one on each side. One was overshadowing the other, allowing the boy to see it almost too clearly.
It was very easy for him to imagine the rest, struggling and begging while being pressured by her pretty foot. It felt so good, so good that she forgot she was rubbing the exterior of her little panties. A few strokes in and there was a release. She felt completely liberated, in complete harmony with the tunes her fingers were playing along. She was a musician, pressing on the chorus of her guitar very gently.
She had her orgasm in less than three minutes, not even able to hold it back like she would usually do. But, baby, she tried. It was quicker than with her husband. She never felt anything like it before. She became addicted to the feeling of being in complete control when men were around her so much that if her husband wasn't around, she would undress herself in front of them, slowly give them a peek at her sex while placing her fingers on it and spreading it very slowly, like one would open up a flower, very gently. Her pubis finally embracing daylight. The smell of the moisture and liquid slowly sliding around her puffy little lips as she spreads them apart.
The men were in complete agony. She didn't need to say a word to them. And they desperately wanted her for themselves. Yet they never dared doing anything. For one, the terrifying husband would tear them apart. But two, her nature was not compelling them to touch her. They had to watch, envy, and imagine. She had a light to her stare, some sort of magnetism in her pupils, one that would legitimately tell a man that he stood no chance against her. You would never please her well enough.
She was in love with what she acquired around those salivating dogs. Nothing could stop her. And that's when she met him for the first time.
A reclusive young man with dark brown eyes and hair. An intelligent countenance, but awkward sense of self. She had no idea about the journey she was embarking on.
“Oh, hi! No, no… No, you can come in, t's fine.
No, I've been living here for quite some time. Just don't go out much… No, ou get used to it. I don't like going out, no. I like staying in. I just hate the world outside. It's just… all of it is… stupid and disgusting. It's not for my taste. I'm too in my own head with things like that. No, I'm okay. I read. I listen to music. I drink sometimes. Not a lot. I take care of myself. I mean, it's not something I'm longing for.”
“I am, yeah, I am hurt. Very much so... Very, very much so…”
“Comfort? What do you mean? Like, you want to comfort me? I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's not a good idea. I just get lost in my own head and I don't think it's good that you want to try to be in my head with me. I don't think it's a good idea… I feel like you're messing with me. You can't be serious. I don't even know you... I've been watching you. Yeah, I'm surprised you even noticed. You're just a very beautiful woman, so… I can't help but look sometimes”.
He was an intensely jealous man. She was never allowed to dress provocatively when she left the house to see her friends. She wasn't allowed to smirk or laugh at other men's jokes. Her eyes were set on him and him only, and she respected those conditions without any resistance. The man fell for her for how compliant she was to any restrictions one ought to give her.
She never complained. If she was in love, she'd do about anything for the one who kept her heart, even if he was a rather unstable man. I think it's fair to ask ourselves if someone can take such a beating and never retaliate, how can one lie in their misery and swim in their inability to stand up for themselves so effortlessly? The woman had, without a doubt, repressed aggression about her and a need to make people suffer at that expense. It wasn't soon enough that this need asserted itself firmly in her conscience.
It started with little gestures she'd sometimes do to the men approaching her in desperation when she was at work. She'd look down at them and treat them like they were some sort of lap dogs. Surprisingly enough, it would make them even worse. They would pathetically unravel their true intents with acceptance, shameless as they were, that surprised her, but also ignited feelings of being desired, wanted like no other worshiped. And this she rarely ever felt.
After a few times of titillating the thirst of the men around her, she began thinking about it alone. One night, while looking at herself in a mirror, she started caressing herself, thinking about what she had done, thinking about the desperation in the faces she rejected, thinking about how good she was to them and how wrong they were to put an animal like her on a pedestal. And she didn't care one bit. She'd drawn scenarios in her head about being circled by them, staring at her, enjoying herself while having them bathe her one at a time with their warm secretion. She thought about her coworker being on his knees, staring up at her, sitting on a chair while her legs were slowly opening. She'd put her foot on his chest and sometimes his shoulders to make him stare at it. The boy would have to smell the soft tenderness of the soap she had used the night before. He had to salivate at the desire of putting his pretty lips all over her, tasting the aroma of her skin with his mouth. She would continuously strain herself and moan as loud as she wanted to. She had her sex from him by wearing tight little shorts, only allowing him to stare at the beautiful outline of it.
The soft separation, though, was releasing some sort of liquid. It had a sweet but salty syrup to it. The young man could almost taste it just by looking at its stain on little shorts. The flooding lion separated two bumps, one on each side. One was overshadowing the other, allowing the boy to see it almost too clearly.
It was very easy for him to imagine the rest, struggling and begging while being pressured by her pretty foot. It felt so good, so good that she forgot she was rubbing the exterior of her little panties. A few strokes in and there was a release. She felt completely liberated, in complete harmony with the tunes her fingers were playing along. She was a musician, pressing on the chorus of her guitar very gently.
She had her orgasm in less than three minutes, not even able to hold it back like she would usually do. But, baby, she tried. It was quicker than with her husband. She never felt anything like it before. She became addicted to the feeling of being in complete control when men were around her so much that if her husband wasn't around, she would undress herself in front of them, slowly give them a peek at her sex while placing her fingers on it and spreading it very slowly, like one would open up a flower, very gently. Her pubis finally embracing daylight. The smell of the moisture and liquid slowly sliding around her puffy little lips as she spreads them apart.
The men were in complete agony. She didn't need to say a word to them. And they desperately wanted her for themselves. Yet they never dared doing anything. For one, the terrifying husband would tear them apart. But two, her nature was not compelling them to touch her. They had to watch, envy, and imagine. She had a light to her stare, some sort of magnetism in her pupils, one that would legitimately tell a man that he stood no chance against her. You would never please her well enough.
She was in love with what she acquired around those salivating dogs. Nothing could stop her. And that's when she met him for the first time.
A reclusive young man with dark brown eyes and hair. An intelligent countenance, but awkward sense of self. She had no idea about the journey she was embarking on.
“Oh, hi! No, no… No, you can come in, t's fine.
No, I've been living here for quite some time. Just don't go out much… No, ou get used to it. I don't like going out, no. I like staying in. I just hate the world outside. It's just… all of it is… stupid and disgusting. It's not for my taste. I'm too in my own head with things like that. No, I'm okay. I read. I listen to music. I drink sometimes. Not a lot. I take care of myself. I mean, it's not something I'm longing for.”
“I am, yeah, I am hurt. Very much so... Very, very much so…”
“Comfort? What do you mean? Like, you want to comfort me? I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's not a good idea. I just get lost in my own head and I don't think it's good that you want to try to be in my head with me. I don't think it's a good idea… I feel like you're messing with me. You can't be serious. I don't even know you... I've been watching you. Yeah, I'm surprised you even noticed. You're just a very beautiful woman, so… I can't help but look sometimes”.
Ellie Panaski, 12.05.2022
Google Play Store
Google Play Store
I thoroughly enjoyed reading "Lunar Love: The Passionate Relationship of Michael and Ashley." The author does an excellent job of creating a love story that is both forbidden and passionate
Megan Stewart, 09.15.2022
Facebook Group
Facebook Group
I was hooked on this book from the very first chapter. The chemistry between Michael and Ashley is electric, and the fast-paced plot keeps you on the edge of your seat
Caroll Hemsworth, 11.12.2022
App Store
App Store
A must-read for anyone who loves a genre. I disappeared for three days from a real world
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