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Quite the opposite. A beat of triumph pulses through me. I reluctantly pull my hand from between Lyra’s lush thighs, licking my fingers of her taste, and then I set to righting her panties. I drag them back over her hips and smirk thinking of the mess she’ll find a few hours from now.
“Good night, little lamb.”
* * *
Day breaks into the sky in a burst of golden light that chases away the night’s deep blues and purples.
I’ve spent the night in the abandoned office across the street from Lyra’s apartment. The crick in my neck has worsened and my eyes are bloodshot.
However, it’ll be worth it. I can sense it will be as I wait out what I’m hoping will happen.
Hour by hour, as the morning arrives, the street becomes alive. People bustle out of their front doors with travel mugs full of coffee and city buses pass through. The birds twitter out grating morning songs and the late-summer warmth makes itself known.
It’s half past eight by the time Lyra wakes in a state of confusion. She sits up and immediately seems to realize something’s off.
Her panties are damp.
I crack a small smirk watching the surprise on her face and her hand between her legs, feeling the crotch of her panties. Her fingers linger a second longer than they should, as though she’s deep in her mind recollecting a memory.
Then she snaps out of it, jumps off her bed, and beelines straight for the restroom.
“You remember, don’t you?” I ask no one. I peer at my phone and wait for her return. “Some part of you sensed I was there last night, didn’t you?”
A flush of the toilet and rinse of the sink later, she emerges in a bathrobe clutching the used pair of panties. I watch as she drops them in a pile of other dirty clothes before moving to collect new garments from her dresser drawer.
She seems to be getting ready for another shower.
Are you embarrassed by your wet dream, little lamb? Don’t be. It was my pleasure.
At the last second, on her walk toward the bathroom, she changes her mind. Doubling back, she goes to her nightstand instead. She picks up her phone and pauses in another silent deliberation. Her fingers gradually begin to move.
What happens next is better than I could’ve anticipated.
My phonerings.
Lyra’s name appears on the Caller ID. The same level of high-intensity adrenaline from last night floods me, and I force myself to wait a few rings before I answer.
“Hello?” I make my voice sound as preoccupied as possible.
“Hey,” she says in a breezy tone. Little does she know I’m watching her from across the street as she paces her room.
“Hey. I didn’t expect a call from you.”
“Too soon?”
“Not too soon. Just a nice surprise.”
She gives a shrug she doesn’t realize I see. “You were on my mind.”
“You mean what I told you about Fyodor Kreed?” I grin to myself at my feigned innocence.
“Not exactly,” she mutters. A breathiness develops about her voice, though she seems to catch herself a second later. “I think I had a dream about you.”
“Good dream or bad dream?”
Shesmiles. She smiles and bites down on her lip while considering how to answer. “It left me feeling like I had to call you.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, Lyra.”
