He surprised me when he leaned in and cupped my cheeks gently. “Don’t leave.”
Hearing him say that he wanted me to stay was all the motivation I needed.
I smiled. “Okay.”
Nothing that’s worth it comes easy. But when the payoff comes, it can be spectacular.
In the weeks after my outburst, Sevin seemed more cognizant of my need for reassurance. One of the changes was that he started to cook alongside me at night. His fingers would sometimes brush along my back as he passed me in the kitchen. Even the slightest touch sent shooting tremors of sexual awareness through me. I savored every last bit of subtle contact he offered me.
Another thing was that he started to leave me little sticky notes around the house. Some were just standard thank you notes: My clothes have never smelled cleaner. I don’t know what the fuck you’re doing to them, but I can’t stop sniffing myself. It’s a problem. Others were polite suggestions about my less than gourmet meals: Maybe let’s not do Chicken Piccata again. Some were downright funny, like one I found on the bathroom mirror: Your hair sheds more than an Old English Sheepdog. I’m collecting it to make sweaters for the poor.
For several days, the notes were pretty vanilla. Then one day, I was putting some laundry away in Sevin’s room. A note on top of his chest of drawers was staring me in the face. I had to clutch my chest because this one made my heart feel like it was going to leap out.
You looked so fucking beautiful at breakfast this morning. You make it really hard to want to go to work.
We never talked about the notes. I took each one and kept them in a box in my room. He’d leave me new ones every day. While his actions toward me at night hadn’t changed much, the notes were his safe way of expressing the evolution of his feelings.
Another afternoon, I had just returned home to change my clothes when a yellow sticky taunted me from my nightstand.
That shirt you were wearing last night with no bra…wear it again.
That night at dinner, his eyes travelled down to my breasts, and he simply said, “I see you got my note.”
Flushed in the best possible way, I smiled and answered, “I did.”
That kind of innocent flirting went on for a while. It was a slow burn until one afternoon when the note on the kitchen counter was anything but innocent.
Don’t bother with dinner. The only thing I’ll be eating tonight is you.
I stood there in shock for the longest time, my heart pounding and my body buzzing with excitement. Looking over at my alarm clock, it hit me that he’d be home in a little over an hour. Stripping off my clothes, I ran to the bathroom to get myself ready for him.
Unprepared, I hadn’t shaved my legs in days. After I finished making sure I was clean and smooth, every orifice of my body was tingling from the anticipation as I closed my eyes and let the water pummel down on me.
The door suddenly burst open, causing me to jump.
He was early.
Panic quickly transformed into excitement once everything registered. Through the foggy glass, I could see him, the defined muscles of his chest and arms. He was wearing black pants. Metal clanked as he whipped his leather belt out and threw it on the floor before stepping out of his clothes.
The door slid open. The hunger in his eyes was like nothing I’d ever seen from him. His manly scent saturated the steam-filled tub.
“You ready for me?”
I nodded eagerly. “You know I am.”
He stepped in and flipped me around. “You’d better hold onto the wall.”
Those words caused a shiver to roll down my spine. As he pressed his chest to my back, his hot erection slid against my ass. I held both of my palms against the tile wall and closed my eyes. The past several weeks had been one long bout of foreplay, so I was already wet. He opened the door briefly again to get something. I turned around to see him savagely ripping the packaging of a condom with his teeth. He spread the rubber over his cock before sinking all the way into me in one slow thrust.
“Oh God,” he muttered. As he began to move inside of me, he groaned, “Holy hell…I’ve missed fucking you. I’ve dreamt about it so damn much. I’ve been dying for this.”
“Me, too,” I breathed out.
He began to fuck me harder. At one point, I winced.
“Too rough?”
“No.”
“Good. I don’t think I can do it any other way right now. You feel incredible.”
Our wet bodies slapped together as he slammed into me, my finger nails digging into the grout. His thrusts were rough and sometimes painful, but even when it hurt a little, it felt so right, so perfect. I couldn’t get enough of him.
His breathing became suddenly uneven. “I can’t…too much…I’m gonna…”