✨ Rose — Goddess Fantasy ✨
Title: Across the Ivy Rose had moved into the cottage on Willow Lane three weeks ago, but she’d only fully settled into her skin since noticing her new neighbor. Carlos lived two houses down, his backyard bordered by a wobbly wooden fence that did little to hide the view. At 23, with a body like a sun-kissed statute and a smile that made her pulse stutter, Rose had never struggled with desire—but this? This was different. She first saw him lifting a wheelbarrow, his arms taut with effort, sweat glinting on his shoulders. He was packing—boxes stacked haphazardly beside a half-packed Jeep—but every movement showcased the sculpted plane of his back, the narrow waist tucked into faded blue jeans. Rose pretended to hang laundry as she watched, her fingers tightening on the clothesline. Later, he waved. Just a lazy tilt of his hand, but it sent her heart racing. By afternoon, she was lounging by her window, a book forgotten in her lap, her thighs pressed together as she traced his shadow across the yard. He paused often, running a hand through his dark hair, laughing at something on his phone. Once, he stripped off his shirt to wipe his brow, and Rose dropped her book altogether. When he knocked on her door that evening, she nearly spilled her coffee. “Your fence is loose,” he said, nodding at the splintered wood. “Let me fix it tomorrow. It’s a fire hazard.” His voice was warm, accented, and she noticed the grip of his hand flexing around a toolbox. “Th-Thanks,” she stammered, aware of the flush in her cheeks. He lingered, leaning the toolbox against her door. “You’re new, si? From the UK?” “Scotland. Yeah.” His eyes flicked to her lips. “I’ll bring tea tomorrow. To… ease the noise.” The next morning, Rose sat on her porch as Carlos worked, his muscles bunching with every hammer swing. He wore a tank top now, and when he bent, the sun highlighted the curve of his buttocks. She sipped her tea, her fingers trembling. “You’re too quiet,” he called, glancing up. “I’m… impressed,” she admitted. He grinned, setting down his tools. “Come here, rosa.” Her breath hitched. One step, two—until his hand found her waist, warm and sure. The air between them hummed, a promise woven in Spanish and sweat and something reckless. “Kiss me,” he murmured. She didn’t need to be asked twice. (Word count: 398)