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So why am I not grateful for this?
I don’t want to think about it. Can’t think about it. The same way, just as I told him, I can’t think about what it means that I sometimes obey him.
But even though I can’t think about it, I suddenly can’t stand that I don’t know if he’s here or not. I dig my fingernails into my palms, willing myself to stay here, in this room. Not to go looking for him because that would be absolutely insane.
But my feet move anyway.
Just one look, I tell myself. I just want to see if he’s still here.
I feel like I won’t be able to sleep until I know for sure. I can’t remain in breathless limbo. As I limp slowly to the doorway between his room and mine, I realize I don’t truly know what I want to find. If I were sane, if I were normal, I should be happy if I find he’s gone. Happy that I can relax a little, that I can breathe.
But…
Shut up, Deirdre.
I don’t allow that thought to come to fruition.
His room is dark, but not entirely. Light from my side spills in, illuminating emptiness.
He’s gone, then.
I nod jerkily, muttering, “Good,” out loud so that the word can blot out any other reaction I might have had. I turn to go back into my room when I hear it.
The sound of a shower running.
I realize that some of the light in here is coming from the doorless entryway into Elio’s bathroom. I still can’t believe he ripped off all the doors in here, including his own. The man is fucking certifiable.
But maybe I am too. Because now I’m walking towards the bathroom. Towards the sound. Towards him.
I stop when I reach the bathroom. It’s very similar to mine, but larger, and I spot Elio immediately. Even in the grand room, his presence is undeniable. A black fucking hole taking over everything.
He hasn’t heard me above the streaming of the water. He’s in a shower like mine, enclosed by glass. The glass isn’t steamed up enough yet to obstruct my view and, Jesus, what a view it is.
You know when you watch nature documentaries and you see some massive predator, a cougar or a python or a bear, just absolutely decimate its prey? And even while you’re cringing at the violence and maybe feeling sad for the cute rabbit or soft-skinned doe, a part of you can’t help but admire the perfect, savage grace of the destroyer? Can’t help but respect the millions of years of evolution that led to this moment, created this monster, as its brutal body strikes again and again and again?
That’s what looking at Elio’s naked body is like. It’s like looking into the open maw of a shark, feeling the terror of the bite to come and simultaneously thinking, my God, your fangs are beautiful.
He’s so fucking big. Colossal. He absolutely fills the large rectangular shower with his bulky frame. Every inch of him is hard and broad and covered in varying quantities and thickness of dark hair. I bite the inside of my cheek when I see the bandages on his shoulder, which I now notice he’s keeping out of the water, tipping his head to the side to soak his hair, turning it even blacker than usual. His long legs are splayed slightly, and a tumultuous wave of sensation rocks my insides when I notice the rhythmic contractions in the muscles of his thick thighs and ass.
I can’t see his right hand.
Because he’s fucking it.
I have no doubt there are countless women who’d leap into his bed if he did no more than crook one of his leather-bound fingers at them. But instead, he chose this.
Maybe all it means is that he’s tired, and sore, and doesn’t want to go anywhere or deal with anyone else right now. Or maybe he doesn’t want to let me out of his sight that easily tonight.
Or maybe it means something else entirely. Something I shouldn’t contemplate or care about.
Something that whispers, then yells when I try to shut it up. Something with words that sound a lot like he won’t fuck someone else because all he wants right now is you.
Something stupid, is what it is. And what’s even more stupid is the small but undeniable flare of sick satisfaction I get from that possibility. The possibility that I’m not the only one affected more than I want to be. I’m not the only one who’s been thrown into blood-heating turmoil. I’m not the only one whose entire world seems to have shrunk down into the shape of a single, strange, and solitary person.
What am I to you?
Mine.
I’m rooted to the spot, entranced by the quickening snap of Elio’s hips, the tightening of his ass, the tension rippling up and down his back as water beads and rolls. I’ll probably hate myself tomorrow for this bizarre urge, but I desperately want to see him come. I want to see him shudder, explode against the wall, fall apart because of how much he wants me.
