You Up: A Sexy Short Story

By J. Nichole

It was the way he licked his lips, for me.

Fresh out of a relationship, I didn't want another.

If I was being honest, I just wanted to f*ck.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Not The Last Page
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223587170

Book preview

Chapter 1

Whoever deemed my apartment building, luxury, must have been a sadist. I laid in my bed with my pillow pulled over my ears and imagined the builder saying, Oh, the bedroom walls of neighboring apartments should connect, then laughing as he added, And make those walls paper thin. Those were the thoughts I was plagued with at two o’clock in the morning.

But who was I kidding? I couldn’t blame the builder. My neighbor was the reason I was wide awake, tossing and turning, tangled in my sheets. Or maybe it was my ex’s fault; if we were still together I would have been at his place.

Then I heard it, the animalistic grunt that signaled the end of my neighbor’s wild night. I shook my head and sighed. I looked at the clock and counted my fingers—three—three more hours till my alarm would be blaring.

As much as I wanted to quickly fall asleep, I didn’t. I lay there thinking about my neighbor, and how he had the woman of the night moaning, and screaming, then later giggling. It wasn’t just whoever was over there now, it was all the women who he had ever had over there waking me at two o’clock in the morning. There had been many. Over the last few months I’d become a pro at identifying pitches of moans, accents in screams as they called out his name, Slim. He didn’t discriminate, from the way they sounded, he had representatives from the United Nations. There were the few who said his name with rhythmic soul, then those that had a little too much valley in their tone, and then there were those who were alternating between English and Spanish. Tonight, from the sound of ‘Ay, Papi,’ he was banging a Spanish chick.

I thought about the few boyfriends I had, and thought about how many of them had me hollering like the chicks next door and I came up empty handed. Maybe I was just quiet. Then I whispered, Naw, and laughed at the sound of my own voice. I was delirious. I needed sleep.

My eyes drifted closed and my neighbor was a distant memory until he showed up in my dreams butt ass naked, swinging his dick at the end of my bed. I woke up panting and looking around my room. Then my clock started blaring. Fuck.

I kicked my covers off and planted my feet on the ground. My outfit for the day was planned, but when I looked at the heels I had laid beside my dresser, I frowned and went back to my closet. I stood there looking at the vast colors, fabrics, blouses, dresses, and pants—being a stylist had its perks. But none of it seemed comfortable enough for the way I felt. I grabbed an ankle-cropped romper and marched into my bathroom.

Getting into work by eight would be easy if I didn’t have to have a full-on concert in the shower with a five-song minimum every morning. Singing at the top of my lungs felt like retribution for the night of moans and groans I endured. After I finished my shower I stood in front of the mirror and played with my concealer until the bags under my eyes didn’t make me look ten years older.

I tussled my hair with my hand till my kinky fro had the right amount of, ‘I tried,’ and ‘I don’t give a fuck.’ It was a look I was convinced would catch on by the end of the year.

My romper sat on my thick thighs, and the cut in the top disclosed just the right amount of cleavage. Around my office, I was known to tote the line between classy and ratchet, but nobody dared say anything to the on-staff stylist. Although my clients leaned