I’ve always had a friendly relationship with my neighbor, Adam. He’s in his early 30s, attractive in a rugged way, and we’d often exchange small talk while passing in the hallway. Nothing ever crossed the line; it was innocent and casual.

Last Saturday, I was home alone after canceling plans with some friends. I decided to have a quiet night, enjoying some wine while binge-watching my favorite show. Just as I was about to settle into bed, I heard a knock on the door. It was Adam. He seemed a little tipsy and mentioned he was coming back from a party and noticed my lights were still on. He asked if I wanted to hang out for a bit.

I hesitated but figured it was harmless, so I invited him in. We started talking, and as the conversation flowed, I noticed a shift in the energy between us. Maybe it was the wine or the late hour, but the air grew thick with tension. He complimented my outfit, and before I knew it, we were standing way too close to each other. His hand brushed my arm, and I felt a spark.

Without saying a word, I leaned in, and suddenly, we were kissing. The kiss quickly turned heated, and within minutes, clothes were off, and we were on my living room couch. Adam was surprisingly dominant—grabbing my hips, pulling me close, and taking control in a way that had my heart racing.

I didn’t expect the night to unfold this way, but as he moved inside me, I realized I didn’t want it to stop. We didn’t make it to the bedroom that night, and I could barely walk straight the next morning.