Tristan
An awkward atmosphere descended between Ben and me when I arrived in the morning and handed him his coffee. I didn’t know what had happened to cause it; we’d cleared the air yesterday, and when he’d arrived home from work in the evening, he’dseemedfine.
Heevencommented on how dedicated I was to getting the work done, and I swear, my heart almost beat out of my chest at the exhilarationthatran through me at his praise.
But this morning, he could barely look me in the eye, and he couldn’t leave for work fast enough. I hated the tension. I’d rather have gone back to when I was an annoying bug; at leastthen, I was getting his attention.
I didn’t understand the pull I had to him; everyone saw him as a stingy, selfish asshole, and don’t get me wrong, there wasthatside to him. But the more I was getting to know him, I was seeing another side, and I wanted to know more.
If only he would let me in.
NowthatI’d finished decorating his bedroom, I’d moved into the hallway to start painting over the red line Bella had sprayed along the length of it during her rampage. I was making excellent time on the project. I’d be finishedwaybefore the end of the month, but a little part of me knew I was dragging out the work to extend my time at the house.
My music blasted through my headphones as I concentrated on the edging, but it was interrupted by the beeping of aWhatsAppmessage. I put the paintbrush back into the pot before grabbing my phone from my pocket.
Ben:
How’s it going at the house?
My brows shot up at seeing the message from him. He’d had my number for a week now and not once had messaged. So why was he messaging now?
Me:
All good. What’s up?
Ben:
Nothing.Justwanted to see how you’re getting on?
I smelled bullshit, and I wasn’t afraid to call him on it.
Me:
You’ve had my number for a week now and not checked up on me.
Deliberating whether I should risk my sanity or embarrassment, I quickly typed out another message and hit send before I could think better of it.
Me:
Are youreallychecking up on me, or are you thinking about me, the way I’m thinking about you?
I waited with bated breath as three dots appeared, indicating he was typing a reply.
Ben:
What are you thinking about me?
A little alarm bell rang in my head, warning not to push. But I couldn’t help myself. Our encounter in the foyer a few days ago had been front and center of my mind, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want a repeat. Or maybe something more…
Fuck it.
Me:
How good your hand felt wrapped around my cock.
Me:
How much I’d love your cock stuffed down my throat.
