Watching You: Part 3 – Chapter 20 – My Bed

I stood up and pulled her up with me.

The scene around us was a total loss.

 The kitchen was wrecked – far worse than before, considering I’d apparently swept a few more glasses off the table mid-act without either of us noticing. 

My pajama pants lay crumpled on the tile. Her shorts, her panties, her tank top were scattered like we’d lived through a storm.

Her knees were raw and bloody where she’d knelt in the glass. My own feet were cut, too, red streaks smearing against the sweat-drenched floor. 

A complete, unmitigated mess, both of us standing in the middle of the wreckage.

She started laughing. 

I don’t know what triggered it – catharsis, relief, or just the sheer, absurd violence of the room around us – but the sound caught, and I found myself laughing too. 

Neither of us had any intention of stopping.

“We need to eat,” she gasped out, breathless against my chest.

“Shower first.”

“Fair.”

I scooped her up into my arms – she had cuts on her feet, and I had no interest in letting her walk through any more sharp edges – and carried her straight to the bathroom.

I kicked the door open and turned the water on. It was too cold for her, though it felt fine to me, so I dialed the temperature up until my own skin felt like it was boiling, just to keep her warm.

I reached for my body wash, slicking my hands with the heavy, dark scent of my gel, and started washing her.

 I wanted my scent worked deep into her skin. I slid my soap-covered hands over her shoulders, down the curve of her back, pinning her gently against the wet tile. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in until the heat in my gut flared right back up.

Twice in thirty minutes, I was ready for her again. Completely.

I pressed myself against her from behind, letting her feel my length hardening against the wet curve of her thigh.

 She let out a soft, helpless moan – welcoming it, yielding to it. 

Sweet. 

A lucky bastard, that’s what I was.

 I reached around her waist, my thumb tracing the swell of her hip, ready to turn her around and take her right there against the shower wall –

The doorbell rang.

Fuck.

I’d forgotten. Before we’d even made it to the washroom, I’d sent a quick text to the condo manager to send someone up to clear the glass.

Mia looked back at me over her shoulder, the question clear in her wide, darkening-blue eyes.

“Cleaner,” I muttered, my hands lingering on her hips, reluctant to pull away.

There was a brief standoff in her expression. 

I could have ignored the door, locked us in here, and let the mess sit, but I wasn’t about to let Mia clean up that bloody kitchen – and I knew her well enough to know she wouldn’t let me do it alone either.

I grabbed a towel, wrapped it tightly around my waist, and handed her a bathrobe.

“Take your time,” I said, leaning in to bite gently at the tender skin near her ear before stepping out.

My frustration was written all over my face. 

She actually laughed at me as I left.

The cleaner finished right as Mia emerged from the bathroom. Her hair was damp, her skin flushed, smelling heavily of my soap. She carried my scent without realizing it.

The doorbell chimed a second time just as the cleaner walked out.

“Delivery,” I answered before she could even ask.

I set the box on the counter. 

Croissants filled with rich cocoa – the exact same ones from the bakery near our old high school, the ones she used to stare at in the display case and never buy. And a coffee with milk, no sugar.

She smiled, a rare, completely careless look on her face. 

She pulled one apart, chocolate smearing across her fingers.

Before she could wipe it away, I stepped into her space, took her hand, and licked her fingers clean, one by one, holding her gaze the entire time.

She giggled, pulling back slightly, complaining that it tickled.

A perfect start to a perfect weekend.

The rest blurred together.

Not because I don’t remember it.

Because nothing interrupted it.

We spent the rest of the afternoon tangled together on the couch, Netflix playing quietly in the background – more as white noise than anything either of us was paying attention to.
My hands stayed on her, tracing lines over her skin, keeping her close.

Later that night, we ended up tangled in her bed. She thought that was where it ended – a soft goodnight kiss, falling asleep in her own room, standard routine.

She was wrong. 

I had zero intention of letting her sleep apart from me. 

I pulled her out of her sheets, hoisted her up, and carried her straight to my bedroom, tossing her onto my mattress.

I prefer waking up in my own bed – with her locked beneath me.

Sunday played out much the same way. No shattered glass on the floor this time, though I found myself idly considering swapping out all my kitchenware for plastic or metal just to save us the trouble.

Mia told me the idea was completely ridiculous.

That night, when the time came, she didn’t even attempt to go back to her own room. She just crawled into my bed, fitting herself against my side without a word.

I turned the light off.

Mine.