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To see her, to hear her...
To feel her.
Taste her.
It takes everything I have not to grab her and take her right now. It might seem like a natural end to three torturous days of missing her, of fantasizing about her, of deciding that I was going to say 'fuck it' to all the things I think I should feel for her, but I have no idea where her feelings are.
The coldness grows into a scowl that stretches over the entirety of her face. It seems like an overreaction to scaring her.
"Oh, it's your house now?" she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought it was just somewhere you stashed your fake fiancée."
She pushes past me, her body warm through the silk robe she's wearing. My mouth waters, wondering if she's naked underneath. And arousal rushes down to my groin.
My hand grabs around her forearm, holding her in place.
"What are you talking about? Why are you mad at me, Rissie?" My voice is low as I lean in to whisper against her ear. "What did I do now?"
Her jaw tightens, her cheeks twitching with anger. Under my touch, her arm flexes, ripples. "I guess we didn't make a rule about you fucking around. I just thought you could act like a fucking human."
I feel the molten arousal ice over, temporarily held back from erupting over and consuming us both in a fiery inferno from which neither of us will emerge in one piece.
"You're going to need to be clearer; what are you implying?" My voice is tinged with an undercurrent of warning. I don't take kindly to be accused of something I haven't done. That's why I live as brutally honestly as I can. People aren't used to the truth, having been living in a fog of lies their whole lives.
That's not me. If she wants to blame me for something, she better tell me what it is she thinks I've done.
She shrugs, like she doesn't know that she's skirting dangerously close to crossing the line with me. "I'm just saying, you don't have to take the first plane to fuck knows where, if you want to have a 'guest' here. I would've happily gone somewhere else, you're the one who wanted me to move here, remember?"
"What. Guest? Spit it out, Clarissa."
She squares her shoulders and stares me down. "I'm talking about you. Fucking. Next. Door. To. Your. Fiancée's. Bedroom."
She's fucking mad.
"When do you think I did that? Because it's news to me, Clarissa."
For the first time, she stumbles. Maybe she expected me to confess to this imagined slight against her, but I'm not taking any flack for something I didn't do.
"The other night. Before you left. When I knocked on your door, you took a while to answer and when you finally did, you were panting, and you barely opened the door." Hurt taints her voice, and I want to clasp my hands over my ears. This is not how I want to hear her.
"I was naked, Rissie!" I shout.
"Thanks for making my point, asshole!"
She tries to shake me off her, but I hold her wrist more tightly and swing her around so that she's facing me dead on. But that doesn't stop her; she kicks her leg out and catches me on the shin.
"Stop fighting, would you? I'm trying to talk to you!"
"I really don't want to talk to you, except to say, 'fuck you, Matthias'. I can't believe that even you would act like this? Have you no fucking heart?"
In her flailing, I manage to grab her other hand and anchor it against me.
"Clarissa! Stop! I was in the shower jacking off over you, for fuck's sake! You interrupted me just as I was about to come while I was fantasizing about you sucking my cock!"
She instantly freezes, her eyes blinking. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me. God, you have been driving me crazy since the day we ran into each other again at Leanne's place. I don't have any time to be thinking about anyone else. Just you..."
"Matthias..." she whispers.
