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Ishould have stopped when I heard her soft footsteps on the landing. The sound of her padding toward my room was so quiet most would think they imagined the sound, but not me. I’ve lived alone for years, and the silence is my home.
The only sounds I’m used to hearing are the tap of the keys beneath my fingers, the soft whir of my computers, and the occasional siren when the cops decide to police in the area where I live. Any other sound is foreign, and therefore it may as well be blaring, no matter how quiet it is. So as soon as my girl stepped foot out of her room, I heard every step she took. I heard the sharp intake of breath when she was in the doorway, the darkness hiding her from me, when she saw what I was doing. I heard her quiet retreat when I blew my load all over myself. Thick ropes of cum covered my stomach and hand from an orgasm made better by knowing she was watching and that she wasn’t afraid.
When she first stopped in the doorway, I held my breath, thinking she would run in the opposite direction. She had every right to do exactly that, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. But she stayed for the show. She heard me murmur her name. She watched as I choked my cock harder and harder the closer I came to my release, and she stayed through my orgasm that came with her name on my lips.
And she didn’t run when I finished, she quietly walked back to her room, and the door didn’t click shut.
For long minutes I stayed put, one arm thrown over my face and the other still covered in my cum over my stomach. Fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever come like that. Stars still dance in my vision, leaving me completely immobile.
I should go check on her, make sure she’s okay after what she saw, but I need to give her space. After all she’s been through, the last thing she needs is for me to push her when it comes to things like this. If it’s just me and my hand from here on out, I’ll be okay as long as she’s there for everything else.
I sleep better than I have in years. Which is ridiculous seeing as I’ve tugged myself off more times than I care to think about over the years and still slept like shit.
But maybe it was knowing Mia saw me that allowed my body to drift into a slumber so deep I’m pretty sure I would have slept straight through a fucking hurricane.
I throw on a pair of sweatpants and my standard black T-shirt before making my way downstairs barefoot. I like this place. A lot more than I care to admit to anyone. I’ve lived in my piece of shit apartment for years, and while it had everything I needed, it was still a piece of shit. Every other place I lived before that was almost as scummy, so this penthouse is a world away from everywhere else I’ve stayed.
I wonder if Snow would sell the place to me.
I’m not hurting for money. My fucking account is bursting at the seams, seeing as I’ve only spent money to live over the last decade, never splurging on anything other than my car.
I’ll have to ask her the next time I see her.
Usually when I come downstairs in the morning, Mia’s still sleeping, or at least pretending to sleep, but I stop in my tracks when I notice her sitting at the dining table with a cup of coffee in front of her mid-yawn.
She looks beautiful. Her hair still messy from the pillow, the sleep shirt she’s wearing crinkled from a night between the sheets, and the faint marks of the pillowcase still etched into her cheek. Fuck.
Mia hears me too late, her head popping up to meet my gaze as I approach her and a deep blush spreads across her cheeks.
I don’t bother to smother the smirk that tugs at my lips, it would only be going backward, and that’s the last thing I want right now. “Morning, sugar.”
“Good morning,” she murmurs, taking a sip of her coffee as an excuse to look away.
“Sleep well?” I make my way to the kitchen and pour my own coffee, all the while keeping my eyes on her. Something has shifted between us the last few days, and I’m certainly not the only one feeling it.
“Not really.” She yawns. Up close, I can see the dark circles under her eyes, but the haunted look from when we first saved her isn’t there. It wasn’t nightmares that kept her awake last night.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the smug smirk at bay. “I slept great. Probably the most solid sleep I’ve had in years.”
She looks up at me, her eyes searching for something I’m more than happy for her to find, but just when I think she’s going to call me out, she shoves herself up from the table. “I’m going for a shower.”
I lean back against the counter and watch her retreat. The sleep shirt she’s wearing barely covers the tops of her thighs, her perky ass appearing beneath the soft cotton T-shirt. Fuck, she’s beautiful.
I take a sip of my bitter coffee. I’ve never had cream or sugar, both luxuries I refused to give myself after all my failures. I could always add them now, but I’ve grown used to the bitterness, and I find solace in it.
There are a few things I could do now.
I could stay down here with my coffee and start work, it’s not like I’m low on shit to do and my clients are starting to get real fucking antsy.
I could go upstairs and listen to see if she’s getting herself off at the memory of my self-care session last night.
That’s where there are some other options. Listening to her pretty moans would likely be enough for me. But what’s that saying about an eye for an eye? She watched me, so I could watch her.
The thought has me discarding the steaming caffeine down the sink and striding toward the stairs before I’ve really made a decision. I want to know how much my girl enjoyed what she saw last night.
I take the steps two at a time, not wanting to miss a second of the show.
The sound of water running hits my ears as soon as I hit the top of the stairs, and I don’t bother knocking on her door before barging right in. The bathroom door is slightly ajar, and I can’t help but wonder if part of her subconsciously left it open for me to watch her just as she did me last night.
