Emma And The Neighbors

Chapter 1: The neighbours

Emma sat at her desk, the cursor blinking on a blank document she was supposed to be working on. Her university paper sat forgotten as her eyes lingered on a page of erotica—a story about an older woman gently coaxing a younger woman to undress. The scene played out vividly in her mind: the older woman's gaze lingering on the girl's bare skin, circling her, admiring the firmness of her breasts, the tension in her body, the quiet power in her touch.

Emma's hand slipped across the waistband of her shorts, her breath catching. She imagined what it would feel like—those fingers on her, warm breath at her neck. Through the window, Steph was tending to her garden next door, sunlight falling across her shoulders. Emma's thoughts shifted, the heat in her body rising, her fingers drifting lower—until a sudden knock at the door snapped her back to the present.

"Are you going to Uni today, Emma?" her mother called from the hallway.

With a sigh, Emma rose from her desk and opened the door, trying to compose herself.

Her mother's eyes dropped disapprovingly. "You should really wear a bra. I hope you don't turn up to class like that."

Emma stepped out into the front yard, letting the morning air cool her frustration. I like how it feels, she thought, the T-shirt, the breeze—no bra today, that's for sure.

Across the fence, Steph waved. "Hey, gorgeous. Feel like a coffee?"

Emma's mood lifted instantly. She skipped down the steps and met Steph at the front gate.

"Coffee sounds perfect," she said, eyes trailing over Steph's athletic figure. The yoga pants didn't hide much—and Emma didn't try too hard not to look. The story she was reading flickered back in her mind and she really wanted to reach out and run her hands over Steph's sexy bottom.

As Emma opened the front door and they stepped into the kitchen, laughter followed them in. Their banter was easy, familiar—they genuinely enjoyed each other's company.

"It's been a full-on morning," Steph said, setting her bag on the bench. "What have you been up to?"

Emma moved to the kettle, trying not to hesitate. She'd been curled up reading something far steamier than textbooks, but decided to keep that to herself.

"Just studying," she replied casually.

As Steph handed her a mug, Emma noticed her eyes linger—just briefly—on the shape of her nipples pressing through her T-shirt. Emma gave a soft smile in return. Their friendship had grown quickly. They'd started hanging out for coffee, then came movie nights, shopping trips, long talks that drifted into evening. There was something effortless between them—something warm, maybe even charged.

As they chatted, the sound of keys hitting the hallway side table signalled Mick's arrival. He strode in with easy confidence, gave Steph a warm hug, and planted a playful, lingering kiss on her lips.

"Stop it—we have a guest," Steph said, laughing as she gently pulled away.

Mick turned to Emma, who hadn't looked away. "She might enjoy the show," he teased with a wink.

Emma smiled into her coffee, the heat from the mug no match for the flicker of curiosity in her thoughts.

Conversation picked up again, the three of them slipping into a relaxed rhythm. Emma liked Mick—tall, effortlessly attractive, with a sculpted frame that didn't feel overdone. He had a mop of thick dark hair and those hands—strong, steady, the kind you noticed.

Mick kept his arm around Steph as they stood beside the bench. Together, they looked at Emma with amused affection.

"You really need to get out more," Mick said, grinning. "You're a total hottie—find yourself a man already."

Emma rolled her eyes with a smirk. "I'm a broke student trying to finish the year. Dating isn't exactly on the syllabus."

"Well," Mick said, "we're heading down South next weekend. Just a couple of days, beach, wine, lazy mornings."

Steph chimed in, eyes bright. "You should come with us, seriously. It'll be fun."

Emma hesitated, caught off guard. "No, I couldn't... it's your getaway."

Steph wasn't taking no for an answer. "Come on, it's all paid for—wine, food, a house by the beach. You'll love it."

For Emma, the weekend couldn't come fast enough. Reclining in the back seat of Mick and Steph's car, she watched the coast roll by and wondered where the next few days might lead.

The house they'd rented was stunning—expansive ocean views, a sleek kitchen, an airy lounge, and even a private pool. As they carried their bags inside, Mick wrapped an arm around Steph.

"I'm Going to catch a quick wave. You two okay here?" He didn't wait for an answer, grabbing his board and disappearing out the door with a grin.

In his absence, the girls unpacked the food and opened a chilled bottle of wine. Steph handed Emma a glass.

"Fancy a swim?" she asked, already smiling.

The water was warm, the afternoon sun lingering on their skin. It was the first time Emma had seen Steph in swimwear—her full curves held snug in a bikini top, the G-string leaving little to the imagination.

Emma, more reserved, wore a simple black one-piece she used for laps at Uni. She was a strong swimmer, slicing easily through the water as they floated and talked about everything and nothing.

After a while, they climbed out and stretched out on the loungers. Steph unclipped her top and let it fall away. "No one can see us out here," she said. "My boobs deserve some sun."

Emma laughed and peeled off her suit entirely. "They're always cold against my skin anyway."

They lay in silence for a moment, wine glasses nearby, soaking up the sun. Emma watched as Steph began to smooth sunscreen across her arms and thighs, her movements slow, almost meditative. When she reached her chest, her fingers lingered, circling her nipples with just enough pressure to make Emma's breath catch.

"Would you mind doing my back?" Steph asked softly, breaking Emma's stare.

She handed Emma the lotion and rolled onto her stomach. Emma straddled the edge of the lounger, her hands working gently across Steph's shoulders, her neck, down her spine. She paused at the small of her back—then kept going. When she reached her hips, Steph shifted, parting her legs slightly as Emma moved to her thighs.

Steph let out a quiet moan, just audible enough to arouse Emma's pussy.

Emma lay back down on the sun lounge, her skin still tingling from the heat. Her breath came shallow, her body quietly alive beneath the sun.

Then she felt Steph's hands, soft against her back.

"Can't have you getting burnt now, can we?" Steph whispered near her ear.

She moved with slow care—starting at Emma's neck, her fingers tracing the line of her shoulders, gliding down her arms, across her back. When she reached Emma's hips, she lingered, spreading the lotion with long, smooth strokes. Her hands cupped the curve of Emma's bottom before moving to her legs, steady and sure.

As she finished, Steph leaned in close. "You have a beautiful body," she said softly, almost reverently.

Emma didn't reply. The sun, the wine, and the warmth of Steph's hands had lulled her into a gentle haze. She drifted into sleep with the scent of coconut oil and sea breeze still clinging to her skin.

She woke to the distant thud of the front door and the unmistakable sound of Mick dropping his surfboard by the deck.

Startled, Emma wrapped herself in a towel and slipped quietly inside, retreating to her room with her pulse still unsteady and her thoughts spinning.

The room was cool and dim, the curtains fluttering gently with the sea breeze. Emma sat on the edge of the bed, towel still wrapped around her, her skin still damp with lotion—and memory.

She pressed her palms into her thighs, grounding herself. What just happened by the pool wasn't exactly planned, but it hadn't felt wrong either. If anything, it felt dangerously right.

She changed into a loose T-shirt and shorts, tied her hair up, and made her way back into the kitchen. The scent of roasted garlic and grilled vegetables filled the air—Mick had taken over cooking. He stood shirtless at the stove, flipping something in a pan, muscles flexing as he moved. Steph sat on the counter, barefoot, wine in hand, chatting easily with him.

"Beauty returns," Steph grinned when she saw Emma. "You missed the wine refill."

"I needed it," Emma replied, offering a smile as she slipped into a chair.

Mick turned around, his eyes flicking over her briefly—curious, maybe, or just observant. "You girls have a good afternoon?" he asked casually.

Emma glanced at Steph. There was a flicker of something unspoken between them. "Yeah," Emma said simply. "It was nice."

Dinner was served on the deck, the sky melting into soft lavender and gold. They ate and laughed, the wine flowing more freely now. The tension between the three of them was subtle but alive—humming just beneath the surface.

At one point, Steph reached across to refill Emma's glass, and her fingers brushed Emma's hand. The touch lingered a beat too long. Mick noticed. Emma saw it in the way he looked between them, an unreadable smile playing at his lips.

Dinner was fun and they chatted like old friends. Emma sensed that they had been talking about her. Steph was being very touchy with her and Emma loved it.

Later that evening, they settled in for a movie Steph had picked—something indie and slow-burning. The wine had left them loose and relaxed, limbs draped comfortably across cushions, warmth shared between them.

The film followed the story of a recently divorced woman who found herself drawn to a younger, married colleague during a business trip. As the two women undressed for bed in their hotel room, the tension built until they finally kissed—slow, hesitant at first, then with rising passion. The kiss lingered, breathy and intimate, the kind that pulled you in.

Mick let out a soft groan. "God, I love watching women kiss."

Steph chuckled. Emma, caught somewhere between tipsy and turned on, laughed too.

Mick turned his head. "Ever kissed a woman, Emma?" His tone was teasing, light, "Steph has."

Emma glanced at Steph, her pulse quickening. She didn't answer with words. Instead, she leaned in and pressed her lips to Steph's—soft, curious, a whisper of a kiss.

"Now I have," Emma said with a sly smile.

Mick grinned, "That wasn't a kiss."

Steph raised an eyebrow, then leaned in again—this time taking Emma's face gently in her hand. Their lips met with more intention. Steph's mouth was warm and sure, and when her tongue traced the seam of Emma's lips, Emma parted them instinctively.

The kiss deepened. Steph's tongue teased and explored, and Emma surprised herself by responding in kind—eager, open. She found herself sucking gently, lost in the sensation.

Mick's voice was a low murmur. "Now that's a kiss. Don't stop."

Emma barely heard Mick's words—her focus was entirely on the way Steph's lips moved against hers, how her breath hitched slightly between kisses, how natural and electric it all felt. There was a moment where the world seemed to narrow to just this: Steph's mouth, her warmth, the wine-soft haze of the room.

Then the kiss slowed. Steph pulled back slightly, her fingers still resting lightly on Emma's cheek, eyes searching hers.

Emma swallowed, her heart thudding. "Wow," she whispered, half to herself.

Steph smiled, but there was something quieter in it now—gentler. "You okay?"

Emma nodded, though her thoughts were tumbling. She'd imagined things like this, fantasised, about it. But imagining and living it were different. This was real—Steph's touch, Mick's eyes still on them, and the heavy pulse of something unfolding between all three of them.

"I'm good," Emma said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just... wasn't expecting that."

"Well, neither was she in the movie," Steph said, reaching for her wine glass with a smirk.

They all laughed—just enough to break the tension, but not erase it.

The movie played on in the background, but no one was really watching anymore. Mick shifted closer, placing a casual arm behind both women, his fingers brushing Emma's shoulder as he reached for the bowl of snacks.

"You know," he said, his voice low and even, "this trip's about relaxing. No pressure. Just... being open to whatever feels right."

Emma looked at them both—Steph with her warm, mischievous smile, and Mick with that steady gaze—and realised she wasn't scared. She was curious.

Steph and Mick had retreated to their bedroom not long after the movie ended, leaving Emma alone with her thoughts. She stood for a while on the balcony outside her room, wrapped in a light throw, watching the moonlight shimmer on the ocean. The waves rolled in with a rhythm that matched the steady hum in her chest.

She touched her lips without thinking—still tender from the kiss. It hadn't been just a kiss. It was everything beneath it. The playfulness, the spark, the way Steph had looked at her with both confidence and care. And Mick... watching, encouraging, but never pushing. Emma let out a slow breath.

She wasn't sure what surprised her more—that she kissed Steph, or how much she wanted to do it again, and maybe more. There was something thrilling about it, yes—but also something strangely grounding. She felt alive.

Lying down on the bed, Emma stared at the ceiling and let the sensation linger—the warmth of Steph's lips, the brush of her fingers, the look they'd shared afterward. Her fingers moved idly at first, tracing the curve of her hip, the dip of her stomach. She wasn't in a rush. She just wanted to feel something real, something hers—to keep the moment alive a little longer. Her body was warm, aching in a quiet, humming way. She let her hand drift lower, guided by instinct and memory. The way Steph had looked at her. The heat in Mick's voice. The way her own body had responded without hesitation. Her breath caught. She closed her eyes and let herself get lost in the feeling.

In the morning, golden light spilled through the curtains, casting warm slants across the sheets tangled around her legs. She stretched, pulling the sheets tighter for a moment, grounding herself in the quiet. The sound of gentle voices came from the kitchen—Steph and Mick, murmuring to each other between clinks of mugs and the occasional burst of laughter.

Emma slipped out of bed and pulled on an oversized shirt. Her feet padded softly across the timber floor as she made her way toward the kitchen.

Steph spotted her first. "Morning," she said with a smile, holding up a mug in offering.

Emma returned the smile, taking the coffee. "Thanks."

Mick gave her a casual nod, barefoot and shirtless, flipping eggs in the pan like it was any other morning.

"You sleep okay?" Steph asked, leaning against the counter, her eyes briefly searching Emma's.

Emma nodded. "Yeah. Really well."

By late morning, they were on the road, winding through lush green hills dotted with vines that stretched in neat, endless rows. The sky was impossibly blue, and the sunlight filtered through the trees in golden shafts as they drove, windows down, the breeze warm and filled with the scent of eucalyptus and earth.

Steph rode shotgun, music playing low, one bare foot propped on the dash, sunglasses perched in her hair. Emma sat in the back, her arm resting on the edge of the open window, letting the air whip through her fingers as she took in the view.

Mick glanced at them both in the rearview mirror, grinning. "You're going to love this place. Best shiraz in the region and their cheese board is basically life-changing."

The winery sat on a gentle rise, the cellar door housed in a rustic sandstone building with ivy creeping up its sides. Lavender bushes lined the path, buzzing with bees. It was quiet, refined, yet relaxed—like time slowed down once you stepped onto the gravel drive.

Inside, the cool stone interior offered a reprieve from the sun. They sat at a table overlooking the vineyard, the rows of grapes fading into the horizon. A young sommelier talked them through a flight of wines—crisp whites, deep reds, something floral that made Emma's cheeks flush in a way that wasn't entirely from the alcohol.

They laughed easily, the wine softening everything. Emma found herself leaning in closer to Steph, their arms brushing now and then. Each touch felt more natural than the last. At one point, Steph poured the last of her rosé into Emma's glass, her voice teasing, "Can't have you falling behind."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Not at all," Steph replied with a playful smile. "Just relaxed."

Mick watched them both with a calm kind of amusement, resting back in his chair, fingers trailing the rim of his glass. "You two are trouble," he said, but there was warmth in his tone.

They wandered the vines after lunch, barefoot, shoes in hand, the soft soil warm beneath their feet. Emma felt tipsy—not just from the wine, but from the air, the way Steph's hand occasionally found hers, the freedom of being somewhere beautiful with no expectations.

When they reached the far end of the vineyard, they paused under a gum tree, the breeze stirring Steph's hair. She turned to Emma, eyes glinting.

"Best idea ever, right?" she said.

Emma nodded, heart light. "Definitely."

And as they stood there, the vineyard behind them and the sun starting to dip toward late afternoon, Emma wasn't thinking about what it all meant—just how good it felt to be there, in that exact moment.

The car ride back was quieter.

The kind of silence that comes not from awkwardness but from contentment. The kind that follows laughter and sun and just the right amount of wine. Emma leaned her head against the window, watching the gum trees blur past as the sky shifted from gold to blush, the scent of sea salt riding the wind again as they neared the coast.

Back at the house, the horizon was aflame with the last light of day. The waves rolled in slow and rhythmic, and the air was warm with that early autumn stillness where the evening lingers, not quite ready to slip away.

Mick lit the outdoor lanterns and put on music—low and mellow. He disappeared into the kitchen to prep dinner, saying something about slow-roasted lamb and fresh herbs.

Steph took Emma's hand without a word and led her to the poolside loungers. The water mirrored the sky—violet, soft pink, dusky blue. They sat close, barefoot, shoulders touching.

Emma glanced at her, her voice low. "This feels like a dream."

Steph smiled, then tucked a loose strand of hair behind Emma's ear. "It kind of is."

They stayed like that for a while, sipping chilled water now, watching the stars emerge one by one. The quiet was different now—electric, pulsing with possibility. Every look lingered. Every brush of skin asked a question.

Dinner was served under soft lights at the outdoor table. Mick brought out the lamb, roast vegetables, and a rich red wine he'd decanted like he'd been waiting for this moment. Conversation meandered—music, places they'd travel, stories from Uni and work.

At one point, Steph reached under the table and let her fingers lightly trail along Emma's thigh. Emma didn't move away. She met Steph's gaze across the table and smiled—soft, knowing.

She turned slowly and looked at Steph. Their eyes met. There was no pressure in Steph's gaze—just warmth. Invitation. A spark of shared memory.

Emma smiled, soft and sure. Then she looked to Mick—whose smile was small, knowing, and kind.

And in that moment, Emma let go of needing to understand everything. She just wanted to feel. To explore. To let herself be wanted and to want in return.

She reached for Steph's hand and laced their fingers together. Steph leaned in and kissed her gently and stood up and led Emma down the hallway.