party tonight, remember?” She narrows her eyes at my comment. It’s not like she isn’t invited–everyone’s invited.
My shower takes a little longer than usual, and when I return, she has reset her place on the small table. She has put me at the far end and has even got a small vase with a single pink rose. Where the fuck did she steal that from? The food has been served, and she has even put a plate over my dish to keep it warm. She nibbles on her toast and frowns when I pull my chair and place setting directly beside her. I nod toward the flower. “I little early for light fingers?” I quip.
“I didn’t steal it, arse-hat. Burt, in the next building, gave it to me over the balcony.” She snaps and points in the direction of my elderly neighbour with the adjoining overhang. Burt really shouldn’t be living on the fourth floor when it takes him so long to climb the stairs. I might have to suggest putting in a lift just for that stubborn old bugger.
“You’ve met my neighbour already. You’ll be doing bake sales and selling homemade lemonade next?” I laugh, because this whole scene feels comfortingly domesticated. Her lips turn down into a thin line and she drifts away, but only for an instant and then she’s back, all indignant energy.
“That’s me, domestic Goddess without a domicile just waiting to serve you.” She pulls her fringe in mock servitude, but her humour is wholly misplaced and she knows it when she regards my face. I am just about to sweep the breakfast feast onto the floor and take her on the table, when she fills her mouth with a huge serving of bread and beans, moaning with distracted gratification. My mouth drops and damn it I’m hard again. “Look, I will clean your place for the party, and I’ll do some more washing–if you want to risk it–but only because I pay my debts. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone and that includes you.” She waves her fork at me, but quickly gets back to devouring her meal like a starved woman.
“That was you on the beach earlier, wasn’t it?” She slows her chewing and sips her coffee. Her expression is guarded and I find I’m intrigued to know so much more than she clearly wants to share. My voice is softly coaxing. “I saw you on the beach. It was pretty early. Did you have a late night and get locked out?” I sniff out a laugh and shrug like we’ve all been there.
She swallows, and now that her plate is empty, she carefully places her cutlery neatly down the centre, and dabs her mouth gently with a napkin. Who knew I had napkins? “Something like that.” Her voice is barely a whisper and she leans into my hand when I tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Her eyes meet mine and she looks startled, delicate, fragile, and I want to grab all that uncertainty out of her.
“Okay.” She exhales, and my smile starts to spread across my face with an unbridled sense of achievement. Buddy can suck it. I have earned that privilege and all it took was some bacon and a fried egg. “How about I go and get a brush and some bands, and we can braid each other’s hair at the same time.” Her fingertips clip my jaw shut. I would be pissed, if her smile hadn’t just hit me like a sucker punch. She’s so fucking beautiful when she smiles playfully but fine…let’s play. She stands and takes both our plates. I knock them from her hand and send the dishes crashing to the wooden floor. Her gasp of surprise and the worry that flits across her face is perfectly placed. She should be worried. She attempts to retreat, but with each slow step I advance with a much wider gait toward her. The gap closes; the heat builds.
“Ethan!” Her tone is a warning, but I don’t head it. “Ethan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you; to be rude.” She places her hand on my bare chest. Her fingers are so soft and firm, the pressure goes straight to my balls.
“No?” I tilt my head with disbelief.
“Well, I did,
My shower takes a little longer than usual, and when I return, she has reset her place on the small table. She has put me at the far end and has even got a small vase with a single pink rose. Where the fuck did she steal that from? The food has been served, and she has even put a plate over my dish to keep it warm. She nibbles on her toast and frowns when I pull my chair and place setting directly beside her. I nod toward the flower. “I little early for light fingers?” I quip.
“I didn’t steal it, arse-hat. Burt, in the next building, gave it to me over the balcony.” She snaps and points in the direction of my elderly neighbour with the adjoining overhang. Burt really shouldn’t be living on the fourth floor when it takes him so long to climb the stairs. I might have to suggest putting in a lift just for that stubborn old bugger.
“You’ve met my neighbour already. You’ll be doing bake sales and selling homemade lemonade next?” I laugh, because this whole scene feels comfortingly domesticated. Her lips turn down into a thin line and she drifts away, but only for an instant and then she’s back, all indignant energy.
“That’s me, domestic Goddess without a domicile just waiting to serve you.” She pulls her fringe in mock servitude, but her humour is wholly misplaced and she knows it when she regards my face. I am just about to sweep the breakfast feast onto the floor and take her on the table, when she fills her mouth with a huge serving of bread and beans, moaning with distracted gratification. My mouth drops and damn it I’m hard again. “Look, I will clean your place for the party, and I’ll do some more washing–if you want to risk it–but only because I pay my debts. I don’t want to be beholden to anyone and that includes you.” She waves her fork at me, but quickly gets back to devouring her meal like a starved woman.
“That was you on the beach earlier, wasn’t it?” She slows her chewing and sips her coffee. Her expression is guarded and I find I’m intrigued to know so much more than she clearly wants to share. My voice is softly coaxing. “I saw you on the beach. It was pretty early. Did you have a late night and get locked out?” I sniff out a laugh and shrug like we’ve all been there.
She swallows, and now that her plate is empty, she carefully places her cutlery neatly down the centre, and dabs her mouth gently with a napkin. Who knew I had napkins? “Something like that.” Her voice is barely a whisper and she leans into my hand when I tuck her hair behind her ear.
“Why don’t you tell me about it?” Her eyes meet mine and she looks startled, delicate, fragile, and I want to grab all that uncertainty out of her.
“Okay.” She exhales, and my smile starts to spread across my face with an unbridled sense of achievement. Buddy can suck it. I have earned that privilege and all it took was some bacon and a fried egg. “How about I go and get a brush and some bands, and we can braid each other’s hair at the same time.” Her fingertips clip my jaw shut. I would be pissed, if her smile hadn’t just hit me like a sucker punch. She’s so fucking beautiful when she smiles playfully but fine…let’s play. She stands and takes both our plates. I knock them from her hand and send the dishes crashing to the wooden floor. Her gasp of surprise and the worry that flits across her face is perfectly placed. She should be worried. She attempts to retreat, but with each slow step I advance with a much wider gait toward her. The gap closes; the heat builds.
“Ethan!” Her tone is a warning, but I don’t head it. “Ethan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you; to be rude.” She places her hand on my bare chest. Her fingers are so soft and firm, the pressure goes straight to my balls.
“No?” I tilt my head with disbelief.
“Well, I did,
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