Chapter 9: Electric

Her

I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the market. Not for a second.

I felt you before I saw you, that electric pull in my chest that makes my skin prickle and my breath catch. I was holding a delicate porcelain cup, pretending to care about Esther’s wedding gift, when every nerve in my body lit up. You were there. Four stalls back. Trying (and failing) to look like you weren’t staring.

I turned just enough to catch your eyes on me, and I couldn’t help the tiny laugh that escaped. Nervous. Thrilled. Ridiculous.

I kept my back to you on purpose, letting you drink me in: the thin white blouse slipping off one shoulder, the strip of bare waist above my tight brown trousers, the way my heels made my legs look endless. I could feel your gaze like hands.

And God, when I finally stole a glance back… you in those jeans that hugged your ass perfectly, sleeves rolled up, forearms strong and tanned. My mouth went dry. My pulse thundered between my thighs. I was already soaked and you hadn’t even touched me.

We played that stupid, delicious game (circling each other through the crowd like we were in some sun-drenched Moroccan souk instead of a Saturday market). Close enough to smell you. Never close enough to speak.

I wanted to say it out loud:

Take me somewhere.

Any dark corner.

Any cheap hotel.

Just fuck me until I forget my own name.

But the words stayed trapped behind my teeth, because what if you said no? What if this fever was only on my side?

You stepped up beside me at the jewelry stall, close enough that your arm brushed mine. You asked the vendor something (your voice low, warm, a little rough) and I swear the sound alone made me throb.

I smiled at you, slow and filthy, trying to beam every dirty thought straight into your head.

You looked away first.

Then the crowd swallowed you.

I came home aching so badly I could barely walk straight. Stripped the second the door closed and stepped under the shower, hoping cold water would help.

It didn’t.

I was naked, wet, burning. I closed my eyes and saw your hands sliding over my breasts, your mouth on my throat, your tongue tracing the curve of my hip. My fingers slipped between my legs and I imagined it was you (your cock pushing into me slow and deep while you growled my name against my neck). I came so hard my knees buckled, biting my lip to keep from screaming.

You’re in my blood now. I can’t get you out.

And I don’t want to.

***

Him

That night I followed you home.

I know. I know how insane that sounds. But I watched you disappear into your building, waited until a light flicked on the second floor, and something inside me snapped. I couldn’t wait another week. Another day.

So tonight I came back.

I sat on the dark landing outside your door like some lovesick teenager, heart hammering so loud I was sure the neighbors would hear. Two hours. Two endless, perfect hours of imagining you naked, imagining spreading your thighs and tasting you for the first time (slow licks over soft, slick skin until you were shaking and begging).

Then I heard your heels on the stairs.

One set. Just you.

The hallway light caught you like a spotlight: white blouse glowing, the lace of your bra visible through the fabric, waist so tiny I could span it with my hands. You looked like sin wrapped in gold.

You slid the key into the lock.

I stood.

“Hello…”

You startled (just a little), then turned. Those green eyes locked on mine, wide and startled and so fucking beautiful I almost forgot how to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, voice soft, wary.

I took one step down, close enough now that you had to tip your head back to hold my gaze.

“Waiting for you.”

A pause. Your lips parted.

“What do you want?” you whispered.

I smiled, slow and dangerous.

“To look at you a little longer. The bus wasn’t enough. The market wasn’t enough.”

I let my gaze drag down your body and back up again. “I’m done pretending I don’t want you.”

Your breath hitched.

The key was still in your hand. The door was still closed.

I waited.

Tell me to leave, and I will.

Or open the door, baby…

…and let me show you exactly what I’ve been dying to do to you since the first time I saw you.