His cock is the only part of him I clearly understand. It’s less discreet in its desires. But his mind is like a fucking maze. One I have no hope of ever solving. I’ve thought about confronting him. But in this moment – feeling his hot arousal press against me, I want something else entirely.
A low rumble escapes his throat as he presses closer, his cock nestling in against my ass cheeks. Warm need dampens my panties, making them cling to my sensitive folds. He pushes his hips closer again, stealing my breath as I feel every hard ridge of him. His hand moves along my belly, inching its way upward and I hold my breath, wondering where it will land.
Wishful thinking takes hold and I angle my body toward his, wanting to feel his firm hand cup my breasts, rub against my sensitive nipples. His fingers splay open and brush the underside of my breast.
His breathing remains even and steady against the back of my neck and he’s making sleepy little noises, which only urge me on. As much as I wish I could see his face, I’m too afraid to move – too afraid it will break the spell. I consider pushing my t-shirt up out of the way to help him, craving the skin to skin contact against my breasts and nipples, but instead, I press my bottom back into his hard arousal and he releases a grunt. The sound makes all my inner muscles clench.
"Soph?" he asks, his voice sleepy and rough.
Oh god. He was still asleep, and now I’m mortified.
I roll toward him and look down between us to where his cock is straining against his boxers, trying to come out and greet me.
Just let me take care of it for goodness sake.
I place my hand over his heart and feel its steady thump.
"Sorry, it’s just morning wood," he says, noticing my fascination with what’s below his navel.
"It’s okay," I whisper. "Do you…Are you…" Spit it out, Soph. My lack of experience means I have no idea how to ask for what I want. I consider dipping my hand below his waistband, taking his firm cock in my fist and stroking him. I want him to kiss me, and pin me to the bed with his big body. Instead, he continues watching me with a little crease etched between his brows. He looks at me like I'm an amusing child that he has no idea what to do with.
"I’ll take care of it," he says, climbing from bed and leaving me wet and so turned on I could scream in frustration.
***
I’m bored as shit.
In the weeks since I moved in, I’ve developed a routine – one that bores me to tears –but at least it’s a routine. I wake mid-morning when Colton’s been gone to work for hours, have breakfast and coffee at the kitchen island while I talk to Beth – Colton’s personal chef - then I change and sit outside in the sun, curling up in one of the lounge chairs on the balcony while I read.
Later, I either go for a swim in the pool or jog on one of the treadmills in the gym. From there, my day unravels a bit. I wander the house, take a nap, text with Becca, and basically just wait around for Colton to get home. It’s a bland existence. I want to get a job – I need something to occupy my days other than thoughts of Colton and my strange new life.
The silver lining to all this is that Becca has been entered into the trial program and is receiving aggressive doses of medication that make her feel weak and sick but seem to be working. It’s much too early to tell if they’ll send her late stage cancer into remission, but we’re all hopeful. And while I don’t regret my decision, I have five more months to go, and I don’t think I can take another day of this complete mental and emotional boredom. I need more stimulation.
At six o’clock, all of the household staff is gone, and I’m showered and dressed and waiting for Colton to arrive home from work. Grabbing the little LED display remote, I tap the keypad, bringing the surround-sound speakers to life and change the music to something uplifting. A jazzy, upbeat band that I’ve never heard before fills the room. I crank it up loud, craving something different, some stimulation, then pad into the kitchen in my bare feet.
I open the door to the built-in wine cabinet that’s always a cool fifty-two degrees and pick out a bottle of white wine. The label proudly announces it’s called Naughty Girl Wine. Sounds perfect. After wrestling out the cork, I pour myself a large glass and sit down at the kitchen island to wait for my master’s arrival home.
As absent as our physical contact has been, he dominates my days and nights. My schedule revolves around his. I’m all too aware of when he wakes and prepares for his workday, showering and moving about the room in the dim light, dropping his towel and dressing in the closet so as not to wake me. When he returns at night is the happiest time of my day. To prepare for his arrival, I shower, style my hair and apply makeup and greet him like I’m seeing a long lost friend. It’s pathetic, but it’s my life.
I sit and sip my wine, hoping the combination of the alcohol and the jazz music spilling from the speakers will lift my mood. My stomach rumbles loudly. God, where is he? I glance at the clock. He’s later than usual. I pour myself another glass of wine and continue waiting. Dinner is ready and in the warming tray, as usual, and I can’t help peeking to see what Beth’s left us tonight. Its steamed fish garnished with fragrant orange slices, oven-roasted root vegetables and a side of creamy risotto. My mouth waters just looking at it and I steal a couple of vegetables off of each plate, being sure to keep the portions even, popping them into my mouth and chewing greedily like I’m breaking numerous international laws. The garlicky carrots and parsnips practically melt in my mouth and I steal another bite before replacing the covers on the two plates.
After two glasses of wine, I’m slightly buzzed and grab the remote for the sound system again. This cool jazz is giving me a headache. I flip absently through the music choices, not knowing what I’m searching for until I find it. Heart thumping, booty popping hip hop fills the room and my lips curl up in a lazy smile. I take another fortifying gulp of my wine and rise from the stool I’m slumped in, suddenly needing to move. I shimmy and shake across the kitchen, rolling my hips and lip-syncing along to the lyrics.
I dance while watching my reflection in the glass window across the room. Sticking my ass out, I give it a little shake. How could he not want this?
"What the hell are you doing?" Colton’s deep voice rumbles behind me.
Gah! My hand flies to my heart and I spin around, my spine instantly straightening. I meet his eyes, taking in his amused expression. My face flames fire-engine red and my mouth opens uselessly, then closes again, knowing I’ve been busted.