of thirst.
I pulled a mug from the cupboard and followed suit, drinking a gallon before wiping my mouth and piercing him with a glare. “So—are we going to talk about what happened tonight?”
His eyes flickered to the petri dish shaped clock above the cooker. “It’s past one a.m. Nothing happened tonight. It was yesterday, and I said we wouldn’t talk about it.”
I dragged hands through my hair, my head pounding with no warning. My nerves were too raw from this conversation. I snapped, “Fine. Be an idiot. I’m going to bed.”
* * * * *
Saturday shot me awake with a loud clap of thunder shaking the glass in my window frames. I groaned and snuggled deeper into my comforter as rain lashed and hissed against the roof.
I’d had a restless night. I couldn’t stop thinking about Noah and his stupid reason to keep whatever happened between us in a box labelled ‘can’t happen again’.
I’d had a shower at three a.m., unable to stop smelling both men on my skin. My little black dress reeked of sex and lust, and when I’d bundled it into put in the washing machine every atom in my body revved higher. Looking for more of what I’d had, desperate for the connection.
But it wasn’t the threesome I wanted again. I wanted Noah. I wanted the fire between us from last night to incinerate my world and blaze my future brighter. We were so alike—with our career path, our cleanliness and minimalistic home décor—we were even the same in culinary taste and movies. I could count how many times we’d talked since we moved in together on one hand, and yet I knew him.
I knew he didn’t sleep well. I’d often hear him in the kitchen early in the morning. I knew he watched me with a guarded look, that up till last night, I thought was disinterest or aloofness. Now I suspected it was fierce restraint. He’d admitted wanting me for months. Admitted wanking over me.
So why didn’t he take me? What was holding him back?
The water boiler started humming as the shower ran. Noah was up.
I twisted on my pillow, staring at the ceiling. I had two choices. Go and confront him about last night and make him talk to me, or pounce on him in the bathroom.
I opted for number two.
Pulling my sore and much loved body from the warm cocoon of my bed, I slipped on a satin robe and made my way across the lounge. The storm outside raged, making me doubly glad the heating was at a cosy temperature, and Noah had started the gas fire. Why couldn’t he give in to whatever he felt for me?
Our Saturday could go from dismal weather to sexy day by the fire watching movies. My skin trembled with the thought of having him naked on our white shag pile rug. I wanted to ride him like he rode me last night. I wanted to sit in his lap and stroke him.
My fingers shook as I reached to twist the bathroom door knob. It turned with no complaint, and I cracked the door. He hadn’t locked it—did that mean something? Did he want me come and get him, or did he not lock the door normally?
The black and white checkered shower curtain obscured him, but his silhouette was bowed, his forehead touching tile with water streaming over his head. His chest hunched and dejected.
My heart went out to him. Why did he look so fragile? Did he hate himself for what we did last night? What went on in his head?
Deciding I needed to understand, I unfastened my belt and let my robe fall to the floor. The satin kissed my skin, sending goosebumps over me.
I was naked in the same room as Noah. Again.
And this
I pulled a mug from the cupboard and followed suit, drinking a gallon before wiping my mouth and piercing him with a glare. “So—are we going to talk about what happened tonight?”
His eyes flickered to the petri dish shaped clock above the cooker. “It’s past one a.m. Nothing happened tonight. It was yesterday, and I said we wouldn’t talk about it.”
I dragged hands through my hair, my head pounding with no warning. My nerves were too raw from this conversation. I snapped, “Fine. Be an idiot. I’m going to bed.”
* * * * *
Saturday shot me awake with a loud clap of thunder shaking the glass in my window frames. I groaned and snuggled deeper into my comforter as rain lashed and hissed against the roof.
I’d had a restless night. I couldn’t stop thinking about Noah and his stupid reason to keep whatever happened between us in a box labelled ‘can’t happen again’.
I’d had a shower at three a.m., unable to stop smelling both men on my skin. My little black dress reeked of sex and lust, and when I’d bundled it into put in the washing machine every atom in my body revved higher. Looking for more of what I’d had, desperate for the connection.
But it wasn’t the threesome I wanted again. I wanted Noah. I wanted the fire between us from last night to incinerate my world and blaze my future brighter. We were so alike—with our career path, our cleanliness and minimalistic home décor—we were even the same in culinary taste and movies. I could count how many times we’d talked since we moved in together on one hand, and yet I knew him.
I knew he didn’t sleep well. I’d often hear him in the kitchen early in the morning. I knew he watched me with a guarded look, that up till last night, I thought was disinterest or aloofness. Now I suspected it was fierce restraint. He’d admitted wanting me for months. Admitted wanking over me.
So why didn’t he take me? What was holding him back?
The water boiler started humming as the shower ran. Noah was up.
I twisted on my pillow, staring at the ceiling. I had two choices. Go and confront him about last night and make him talk to me, or pounce on him in the bathroom.
I opted for number two.
Pulling my sore and much loved body from the warm cocoon of my bed, I slipped on a satin robe and made my way across the lounge. The storm outside raged, making me doubly glad the heating was at a cosy temperature, and Noah had started the gas fire. Why couldn’t he give in to whatever he felt for me?
Our Saturday could go from dismal weather to sexy day by the fire watching movies. My skin trembled with the thought of having him naked on our white shag pile rug. I wanted to ride him like he rode me last night. I wanted to sit in his lap and stroke him.
My fingers shook as I reached to twist the bathroom door knob. It turned with no complaint, and I cracked the door. He hadn’t locked it—did that mean something? Did he want me come and get him, or did he not lock the door normally?
The black and white checkered shower curtain obscured him, but his silhouette was bowed, his forehead touching tile with water streaming over his head. His chest hunched and dejected.
My heart went out to him. Why did he look so fragile? Did he hate himself for what we did last night? What went on in his head?
Deciding I needed to understand, I unfastened my belt and let my robe fall to the floor. The satin kissed my skin, sending goosebumps over me.
I was naked in the same room as Noah. Again.
And this
Similar Books
