The Invisible Seduction

Author's Note:

First, thank you to everyone who read the first chapter--I'm honored (and honestly a little humbled) by the incredible response. I hope this next chapter in Renee and Sinjin's adventure lives up to the excitement and intimacy of the first.

Excelsior!

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Ever since the café, Sinjin stopped being just my quiet neighbor with the faded eyes. Something shifted. I couldn't go five minutes without hearing his voice in my head, low and sure and far too close. It hadn't been real--I told myself that. A fluke. A delusion. But my skin wouldn't shut up about it.

And so I started watching him.

Trash day became my excuse. Nothing suspicious about putting out a bin. If I happened to be outside at the same time he was--well. That wasn't obsession. That was scheduling.

Week one, I missed him. Week two, I waited. Still missed him. Week three, I stayed up, eyes on the curb like a damn stalker. Nothing.

His bin just appeared. No sound. No sighting.

Until Elaine caught me.

She was trimming roses, hat askew like always, smile sharper than her shears. "You watching him roll his trash out is better than anything on Netflix," she said without looking up.

I straightened, caught red-faced. "I'm not--watching anyone," I muttered.

"Mmhmm. He's got an early flight next week. Puts his bins out the night before. If you really want to bump into him, aim for around nine," she replied.

I didn't ask how she knew. Elaine knew everything. So I waited. Again.

At 9:03 p.m., I dragged my bin out with the casual grace of a woman who hadn't rehearsed the motion ten times.

And there he was. Barefoot. Hoodie unzipped. Staring down the length of the cul-de-sac like it owed him an apology.

"Hey," I said.

He turned slowly, as if he'd already heard me coming. "Evening," he said. Quiet. No smile. No warmth.

"I'm Renee. The green shutters." I gestured vaguely at my house. "That one. Across from you."

He nodded, eyes lingering on my face a moment too long. "I know. Welcome," he said.

A beat.

"I meant to stop by. Say something. Never got around to it," he added.

It wasn't rude. Just... off. Like he was speaking through cotton. Like he didn't remember how.

He nodded again, like that was all he had left, and turned back toward his door.

That was it. No spark. No charge.

I stood there until the porch light clicked off behind him.

I'd imagined everything. And with that realization came the mental facepalm of the century--like I'd scripted a romance where there was barely a footnote.

By nightfall, the ache in my chest had dulled into something heavier.

I lit candles without thinking, slid into something soft, poured the bath. Not as indulgence--more like ritual. Maybe if I scrubbed the want off my skin, I could breathe again.

The water rose slowly, fog curling up the mirror. I stepped in.

And said it. His name. Barely a breath:

"Sinjin," I whispered.

The water shifted.

Not a ripple. A presence. A warmth that curled up my spine and sank teeth into my lungs.

"You finally said my name," Sinjin said.

Not aloud. Not really. But it was him. Inside me. Around me.

I sat up, palms slipping on porcelain. "What the hell--" I gasped.

"You called me. Again," Sinjin said.

His voice wasn't in the air. It was in my ribs. My thighs. My breath.

"I made you up," I whispered. "You weren't even there tonight. You barely looked at me."

Silence.

Then, quieter:

"That was the version of me bound to sidewalks and silence. This one... this one is yours," he said.

The bath pulsed. Warmth cinched tighter around my waist.

"You think you imagined the café? That ache? The way you said my name without sound?" Sinjin asked.

"You're not real," I whispered.

"Then why do you keep calling me?"

My throat closed. I swallowed.

"I just wanted someone to see me," I said.

"I do. I always have," he replied.

I held still.

"I can feel you," I murmured. "But I need to know--if I ask you to stop, will you?"

"Yes," Sinjin said, his voice softer now. "This is yours. Not mine. I come because you call. I stay if you let me."

"I'm not saying go," I said. "But no more touches. Not tonight. Just... stay. Let me feel you here without feeling everything."

A pause, then warmth uncoiled, wrapping gently around my shoulders.

"I'll stay. As long as you want."

The bath cradled me. I let him.

Not touching, just there. Intimacy in restraint.

When I stood, the air was cool against my skin, but Sinjin stayed--his presence trailing me from bath to bedroom. I dried off slowly, careful not to disturb the spell. Every motion, every breath, he followed.

In bed, I whispered, "Still here?"

"Still here," he said.

And for the first time in too long, I fell asleep with someone beside me. Not a ghost. Not a fantasy. Just presence. And it was enough.

The next morning, I woke early, disoriented. The sheets were cool where his warmth had been.

I stepped into the shower, the tiles cold beneath my feet. Turned the dial too hot. Let it scald me.

Maybe I thought the heat would clear my head. Burn the memory off my skin.

It didn't.

The moment his name flickered through my mind, the air thickened. The water turned touchable. Almost sentient.

And I knew.

He was there.

Not in flesh--but in presence. In the way the spray curved around me, the sudden pressure at the base of my neck, like a kiss made of heat and will.

"You called me back," his voice murmured.

The spray narrowed, tightened. It didn't feel like water anymore. It felt like a mouth.

And lower--the warmth pulsed between my thighs, circling, pressing, not quite touching.

My knees buckled.

"Sinjin..." I gasped. "Please... I don't know if I can take this."

"You don't have to handle it," he whispered. "Let me handle you."

His presence wrapped tighter, cradling me like the water had been waiting to hold me.

Then I felt myself lifting.

Suspended in steam and sensation.

And then he began to devour me.

The first press of his tongue--or what felt like one--slid up between my folds. Slow. Reverent. Not rushed. Not greedy. Just perfect.

Suction against my clit made my whole body seize. I cried out, raw and loud, as his mouth sealed to me, stroking with rhythms that felt impossibly exact.

Then came the fingers.

Invisible, but there. Sliding inside, curling up against a place I'd only half-known. He stroked there while his mouth worked my clit, pressing and pulling and sucking me closer to the edge.

"Come for me, Renee," he growled. "Let it go."

And I did.

The orgasm hit like a storm--crashing, wet, endless. My body convulsed in midair... and then released.

A hot rush burst from me. Intense. Out of my control.

I had squirted.

I collapsed back down to the tile, trembling, breath ragged.

Then his voice, soft, reverent:

"You gave me everything."

His presence curled around me one last time--not arousing now, just intimate.

Protective. Like arms that knew what they'd just held.

I sat there, dazed, heart thudding. Thighs twitching. Skin tingling.

And then a groan.

"Oh god," I muttered, pressing a palm to my forehead, "...I'm so glad that happened in the shower."

The mirror stared back at me. Flushed. Wide-eyed. Still pulsing.

I'd never done that before. Never even thought I could.

And now?

Now I had to go to work.

Because even after orgasms that make you levitate, life goes on.

But nothing had stayed the same.

Sinjin... would never just be my mysterious neighbor again.....

....to be continued