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Following the sound on the television, or maybe just dog instinct, Boy’s nose appeared first. Snuffling his way through the door, he padded quickly across the floor and hopped straight onto the end of the bed like he’d done it a thousand times, settling beside Dudley who flipped onto his back to get closer.
His owner, however, stopped on the landing, toeing the threshold that led to my room. My breath stalled. It felt like days since I’d properly seen him. Working on the website and social media kept me busy, I’d also begun the ordeal of clearing the tasting room for the event next week. So when he lingered, I ate up the sight of him.
I suddenly wondered if he’d ever been in here over the years, if he’d been curious enough about me to snoop. The way his eyes darted over the dated wallpaper and movie posters, I knew that wasn’t the case. His attention finally drifted to the bed. To me.“This movie has you so terrified you had to call me, yet you didn’t lock the back door.”
Not what I was expecting.“I remembered but I was too scared to go down and lock it.”
“Dammit April, lock the damn door.” The words were as laboured as his breathing. Cheeks flushed. Hair tousled and slightly damp. Had he run here?
Yes.Instinct gave me the answer I knew he’d deny to the back teeth. I let the knowledge settle with a secret smile. Mal was beginning to care for me. And him grumbling about locking the door was the only way he knew to show it.“I will,” I answered him, settling further beneath the covers.“Thank you for coming.” He grunted, eyes chasing my hands as they rearranged the bedsheets.“Are you going to come in?” I asked.
“I don’t know.” The words were rough, and suddenly, I was back in the kitchen two days ago, the imprint of his cock against my lower back.
The memory was cut criminally short by a piercing scream from the television. I flinched, shoving the throw pillows back over my eyes.“No, no, no… what is wrong with these people? Just get in the car and leave! Why do they always go back?”
He huffed again, closer this time. I heard the sound of his boots being removed, then the bed dipped dramatically to one side as his big body settled. He didn’t touch me, but the skin along the right side of my body tingled and I held my breath as the sheets rustled.“I thought you were being dramatic,” he said.
I squished further into my cushion shield until all the light from the room winked out.“I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.”
“So just a little dramatic then?”
“Please…” I groaned. The sound muffled.“I need you to not be enjoying this. Can you do that?”
“You think I enjoy seeing you scared?” The bed dipped again and I felt him shift closer. My temporary temptation was stronger than my fear because I turned my face a fraction to see him. Above the covers, Mal reclined back against the pillows, looking soft and content. He gazed back at me, eyes storm-cloud grey in the low light.“I’m not smug, I promise. Just wondering why the hell you’re still watching it.”
“I told you,” I whispered.“I need to see the end so I know it’s over.”
“There’s like five sequels.”
Curling into a ball, I buried my face into the pillow again.“Why would you tell me that?” He laughed, the second I’d heard and the second I’d missed with my own eyes.“I hate you.”
“Me? I tried to warn you!”
“Warn me harder next time! Say‘April, If you watch this movie you will shit your pants’!”
“Have you?”
“No!”
His next laugh was throaty and I lifted my head fully, determined to watch. One hand pressed against his chest and his head tipped back, compressing the pillow as he smiled, eyes closed. A moment of pure release. Watching him felt intimate. Would watching him orgasm feel this gratifying?
The thought alone was enough to make my body tighten. My thighs squeezed together as my nipples shrank into tight buds, scraping against my thin top. There was something really wrong with me because sounds from the movie filtered through my lusty haze, something hard beating against flesh with a sickening squelch. I flinched back behind my makeshift cover.“What’s happening now?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes, I do. What I’m imagining is probably so much worse.”
“Then look at the screen.”
“Mal!” He didn’t get it.
“All right, all right… Jerry is being beaten to death with a hammer.”
I blew a long, steadying breath through my nose.“Why would anyone make this—No. Better question. Why would anyoneenjoythis?”
“Bad time to tell you it’s based on a true story?”
I shook. I was literally shaking.“There is never a good time to tell anyone that. Ever.”
