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Chelsea
When I woke up, it wasn’t because the alarm I never set went off or the sun was too bright. It was because the pillow I buried my face again didn’t smell like lavender—it smelled like sweat and rich cologne. My eyes flickered open, expecting to find Graham lying next to me, but instead, the bedwas empty. The cold mattress let me know it had been empty for a while.
I sat up, pulling the sheets tighter around my body to cover myself as I listened. I listened to the silence that didn’t change. There were no footsteps, no settling in the walls of the house. I didn’t hear anybody talking. Had he left?
My body ached, and when I rubbed my wrists, a rush of arousal pooled between my legs. I thought about the tight pull on my skin when I fought against them and the contrast of the soft velvet. I stretched, the kind of stretch that ends with an involuntary noise, and I paused when my thighs twinged.
Shaking my head, I climbed out of the bed. The ground creaked quietly beneath me, and I paused, thinking I had heard him coming. Butterflies woke up in my stomach at the thought, but when nobody entered the room, they sank in disappointment. I sighed, moving toward the bathroom.
It was dark when I pushed the cracked door open, but I peaked in anyways, flicking on the light. He wasn’t there, and frustration filled me. I couldn’t believe he had left me inhisbed. I looked at the shower, tempted to take advantage of the massaging showerhead. When I looked in the mirror, the first thing I noticed was the mess of hair in a barely-together bun on the top of my head. I ran my fingers into my hair, fondly remembering the way my scalp stung when he pulled it.
I planted my hands against the counter and dropped my gaze, seeing one of the cuffs on the floor between my feet. When I saw it, I saw Graham’s naked body strolling into the bathroom and dropping them on the counter before he grabbed the washcloth he’d used to clean me up. I shivered, recalling the gentle strokes of his hand when he did. I bent down, picking up the cuff. It felt heavy in my hand.
Tell me what you want.
My skin buzzed. My heart raced. The room started to spin around me. I needed to sit down, almost as badly as I needed to leave. What was I getting myself into?
Dropping the cuff onto the counter, I spun around. I didn’t know where Graham had gone or why he had left me sleeping in his bed, but I knew I couldn’t stay here. I searched for the jeans and top I had been wearing the day before, finding my jeans, the top not with them. I found my panties where he had draped them over the headboard and tugged them up my legs, snatching my bra from the ground.
Closing my eyes, I tried to remember where I had been standing when I pulled my shirt off and tossed it to the floor. I saw myself tugging at the hem, but the next image was his hands on me. Panic I didn’t expect replaced the remnants of the arousal that warmed my thighs. When I scanned the room again, still unable to find my shirt, I threw open the closet, grabbing the first sweatshirt I saw and pulling it over my head. It smelled like his pillows, and I inhaled deeply.
By the time I left his room, I had convinced myself I was angrier than turned on by the man. I had learned something new about myself, but I didn’t have to explore that with Graham. I didn’t have to explore it at all.
You know what I want.
My cheeks warmed when I made my way down the hall, stopping when I heard a loud clap in the kitchen. Then, I heard him mumble to himself. Hewashome? Instead of hurrying toward the sound and the smell of fresh coffee, I froze, equal distance between the kitchen and the front door.
Taking a deep breath, I took the last few hurried steps to the front door, quietly turning the knob and opening it. I paused when Graham started to hum, and the butterflies in my stomach protested until the door clicked behind me. I held my breath with the door in my hand, and when I heard him belting thechorus to a song I didn’t know, I knew the coast was clear. Did I really want to leave?
You have to tell me what you want if you want to have it.
Chapter 13
Graham
“Wait, wait, wait. So let me get this straight,” Wade said, setting his tools on the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “She let you tie her up?”
I looked over my shoulder at him, standing up from the tile I was installing on the kitchen floor. “Not only that—sheaskedme to.”
“And then she ditched you in the morning?” He looked far too entertained, and I threw the wedge in my hand at him.
“She’ll be back.” I smirked, rolling onto my feet to stand. I leaned against the counter, pulling my head to the side and cracking my neck.
“You seem awfully full of yourself, you cocky fuck.” Wade lifted a skeptical brow. “What makes you so sure?”
I shrugged, laughing. “I have her shirt.”
I tucked the cotton shirt that smelled like sweet floral and raspberry in my back pocket and knocked on the door. “Coming!” Her voice was muffled through the door, but it still made excitement swirl in my stomach. When she opened it her face lit up before it fell, and then she pursed her lips nervously. “What are you doing here?”
“I have your shirt.” I tugged it out of my pocket, grabbing each of the sleeves and holding it out. She was wearing my sweatshirt, the one I’d been missing after last night, and I smirked.
Chelsea took the shirt from me, twisting it and balling it up in her hands before she let it hang loose again. “Thank you for bringing it over,” she said, fidgeting.
“Don’t you have something for me?” I leaned against the door frame, crossing my arms over my chest and giving her a slowonce over, letting my gaze linger on the shirt she wore. Chelsea looked down, her eyes widening.
“Are you serious?” she asked, like she was appalled I was pointing it out. Her fingers nervously danced around the hem.
I nodded. “Absolutely. I came all the way over here for it.”
