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She nods and yawns again.
I take out extra pillows from the cabinet and put them on her side of the bed. Staring at the place where we’ll both be sleeping soon, I wonder if at one point tonight, she’ll find herself in my arms. It’s big enough for one but with two occupants, there won’t be a lot of space between.
Perfect.
I’m convinced I should slow down. Doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying to get as close to her as possible.
I lock the door and Andrea stands by the bed. She fluffs the pillows and arranges the blankets. She settles into my king-size bed and pats the space beside her. “Come now. Don’t be shy.”
I have to laugh as I take off my shirt and sweatpants. Her eyes widen, hands clutching the sheets. I shrug and lift the blanket. “I sleep naked. This is me being modest for your sake.”
Just like that, air swooshes out of the room, leaving us both feeling hot and humid.
“Goodnight, Andrew.” She lies on her side facing the sliding door to the balcony.
“Goodnight, Andrea.” Instead of going to sleep, I lie down with my arms behind my head, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the primal need to scoot closer to her and explore every inch of her body.
Winds start picking up again outside. Its high-pitched howl mixing with the pitter-patter of rain. Something about this whole setup feels too natural like we’ve been sleeping together like this for years. I should feel uncomfortable sharing my bed with someone I just met.
Not Andrea. Never her.
She slots into place like a piece of a puzzle. How can I go back to enjoying my solitude when I already know how happy she makes me just by being here? I turn to look at her back. Her breathing becomes more regular and rhythmic, her chest rising and falling in a gentle, consistent manner.
My thoughts circle back to Paul. He was with me when my parents got divorced. When I was exhausted with med school and on the verge of throwing in the towel. I was there when he got Andrea’s mom pregnant and was forced to marry her. When his wife left them for another man. When his parents died. When he was anxious about being a single parent.
That’s why a part of me feels sick to my stomach. A 40-year-old with someone half my age? I don’t know what’s gotten into me. But it’s too late to back out now.
Andrea is going to be mine. It’s not a matter of if but when. Paul’s going to have to just deal with it.
* * *
I waketo my hands kneading something soft while my hips grind almost instinctively, trying to soothe my morning wood ache. I must still be dreaming. There’s no way this is real.
Sliding closer to another warm body, I lower my hands to her hips, pushing her against my sturdy rod and groaning at how good this feels. I’m wearing boxers. Why am I wearing something?
Doesn’t matter. I reach in front of her and cup her mound. Hearing her gasp, I smirk. With my middle finger, I slip it inside her shorts, hissing when I find there’s nothing between me and her pussy anymore. Then, I trace a line down her slit. She’s soaked and ready for me. The naughty girl one-ups me by grinding her ass to my crotch.
Oh, fuck, Andrea. I…
My eyes snap open, the last dredges of sleep immediately evaporating. Everything comes into focus and fuck, fuck, fuck. I wasn’t dreaming. I was actually dry-humping and trying to finger-fuck her. Damn it. Damn it all to hell!
I back up to my space, but she doesn’t move. I know she’s awake. The gasp and mewl I heard were real. I have no idea what time it is because it’s still dark out, but what the hell have I been doing? Yesterday, I told myself I’d take it slow. Now I wake up almost coming in my boxers.
She continues to pretend she’s asleep, so I take this chance to get up and go to the bathroom. I need to wake up fully first because right now, my mind is foggy with desire, and if I let it, I’ll be taking her right there and then.
Hands gripping the small sink, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. A day’s worth of stubble. Bloodshot eyes with dark circles. Yeah, I look like shit. I turn on the faucet and wash my face, welcoming the ice-cold water and prickling sensation. Feeling a jolt of shock seep deep into my pores.
Slowly, I open the door and exit the bathroom. She hasn’t changed position, which means she’s far from ready to talk about what just happened.
I need my coffee first. I can’t think without caffeine.
* * *
I’min the middle of a call when she finally shows up. I motion to the dining table, where I’ve prepared a simple cheese omelet, bacon, and last night’s leftover garlic bread. She helps herself with the still-hot coffee and sits down.
“Yes. I already ordered an MRI scan on him the other day. Email me the results. I might need to schedule his operation two weeks from now.”
Leaning against the fridge, I turn to find Andrea munching on the bacon while staring at me. It strikes me that we look like an old married couple having breakfast before we go off to work. The domesticity of it all is foreign… but surprisingly welcome.
