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two
Addy
I lay in the dark and ponder the night's strange occurrences.
The man I saw standing on the balcony. His dark hair and startling green eyes that remind me of grassy fields or the forest. They were so green and full of life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, standing there all alone and staring right at me.
How long has it been since anyone saw me? Really saw me?
He was staring into my eyes so intensely it took my breath away. I haven't had eye contact like that in so long—if ever.
His eyes…they looked like freedom.
And he was beautiful. I couldn't do anything but stare back at him, feeling more alive than I’ve ever felt.
My skin vibrated and flushed. There was a sudden pulse between my thighs, an ache that confused me but had me biting my lip.
I wanted to reach out and touch him, lose myself in the forest of his eyes.
But then I heard the lock turn, snapping my focus from the beautiful man on the balcony to the door behind me.
Dad rarely visits me, so I was surprised to see his tall frame filling the doorway. His eyes swept over me with disdain before he barked at me to "put some clothes on, for Christ's sake."
In my defense, no one ever comes up here except Cook, and that’s only to provide meals. Still, I hated hearing that tone from my father and couldn't help the slump of my shoulders. Nothing I do has ever made him happy.
And why would it?A little voice inside my head whispered to me. You killed his wife. He told you so himself.
I stood there nervously, waiting to see what he wanted. He never visits me without reason.
I was shocked when he didn't say another word to me. He just walked over to my closet and began rifling through my hangers, muttering to himself. I watched him warily, wondering at his strange behavior. If I was hoping for an explanation, I was sadly disappointed when he finally turned on his heel and headed out the door without another word or glance.
I turned off the light and went straight to bed, but I can't sleep. All I can do is wonder at my father's strange actions while my mind keeps pulling me back to the man next door.
My skin heats again as I remember the way the wind tousled his dark hair. I feel the incessant throbbing between my legs and tentatively move my fingers down there. I've read some romance novels that were probably my mother's. Any time I asked for books, Dad had a bunch sent up from the library. I'm sure he didn't select them himself. Cook probably grabbed a box and lugged them up here without checking what he was giving me. So, I know the semantics of sex. I know what a man and woman are supposed to do, and I know that a woman can get pleasure from climaxing.
I just don't know how to do it.
I've tried touching myself before like the heroines in some of the books do, but I can't ever seem to reach that pinnacle they talk about.
I try now, stroking my fingers across my pearly nub. I feel snaps of pleasure shooting up from that bundle of nerves. I think of the beautiful man next door, imagining him as one of the heroes from the romance novels, and I feel myself becoming wetter.
There’s something just beyond my reach. I keep climbing and climbing, but I can’t reach that summit.
I huff in frustration, and just like all the other times, I finally give up.
And lay there with that ache still in between my legs until I finally drift off.
The last thing I see in my mind before I succumb to sleep are piercing green eyes.
And I dream of flying through the forest.
Far away from here and this house.
* * *
Alec
Addison Jameson.
