002

LIV

Sigh.

He didn’t come to my room.

Not last night, not this morning.

But I know he heard me, and I know it wasn’t just once.

I gave him two orgasms worth of sound. My name in the air. His name on my tongue. And I didn’t hide any of it.

He didn’t come in, but he hasn’t looked at me since, either.

Which only makes it worse.

Because men don’t ignore what they don’t want. They ignore what they can’t have.

I walked into the kitchen just after eight, barefoot and still flushed from the memory of how good I’d made myself feel.

I didn’t even try to play innocent. Tight tank top, nipples visible. The same tiny shorts, my hair, still damp from the shower — and I hadn’t bothered with a towel when I walked past his door earlier.

I saw the way the wood creaked under his foot.

I saw the hesitation, he was watching.

And now? Now he was sitting at the far end of the kitchen table like I was some minor inconvenience instead of the girl who made herself come screaming his name twelve hours ago.

He didn’t say good morning.

But Sabrina did.

“Sleep okay?”

She was already at the table, mug in hand, nails short and bare. Her face was unreadable.

I smiled. “Eventually.”

She didn’t blink, just watched me walk across the room like I was some puzzle piece she couldn’t find the box for.

Caleb stood when I reached for the fridge. He didn’t look at me, just walked to the sink, poured water from the kettle like it took every ounce of concentration he had.

I felt the tension roll off his back. His shoulders were too square, and his jaw— too tight.

He was pretending not to notice the way my ass peeked out of my shorts.

I didn’t pretend anything.

I turned to Sabrina instead. “You always get up this early?”

“Habit,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “I don’t sleep in.”

Of course she didn’t. She probably dreamed in spreadsheets. But there was something in the way she said it — like she meant more than just mornings.

She didn’t sleep in. She didn’t miss things. She didn’t miss sounds.

She didn’t miss the way Caleb watched me when he thought no one was looking either.

“You eaten yet?” I asked her, pulling out a peach.

“Coffee’s enough.”

I smiled and bent forward to wash the fruit. I knew exactly what I was doing, and I didn’t care.

I didn’t miss the quiet sound Sabrina made — the slow breath in.

I was being watched, lmao.

“Did you always live here?” I asked, straightening and looking at her.

“Since I was nine.”

There it was, that quiet heat again. That truth we weren’t naming yet.

She’d grown up here. Slept in that room. Watched him shave. Heard his voice down the hall every night of her adolescence.

He wasn’t her father, but he raised her.

I didn’t ask what that meant. I didn’t have to.

She looked at Caleb. “You’re working today?”

He didn’t turn around. “Phone meetings. Maybe the site later.”

That was the first thing he’d said all morning.

The first time I heard his voice since—

My pussy clenched, just from the sound of it.

I stepped closer to the table. Bit into the peach. The juice ran down my fingers.

Sabrina’s eyes followed it when I licked it up — slow.

She didn’t look away for some reason.

“I’ll…I’ll be in the um— garden,” she said finally, standing.

“Working?” Caleb asked without turning.

“No,” she said, and then glanced at me. “Watching the…view.”

My heart thudded once, hard.

She left without waiting for a response.

But I watched her through the glass — out back, barefoot in the grass, robe loose around her legs, arms folded like she was cold or pissed or… even both.

The patio door was cracked just an inch.

She could still hear us.

I leaned against the kitchen counter, licking the juice from my wrist like I didn’t care who watched me anymore. But I did. I wanted him to watch. I wanted him to fucking yearn for it.

And he was trying not to, yeah, I could feel it.

His back was turned, but every part of his body gave him away. He was too still, very silent. Like he was fighting not to look.

“You always this quiet?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

I smiled. “It’s not a trick question, you know.”

He finally turned. His eyes landed on my face — and only my face — like he was forcing himself to forget everything below it.

“You shouldn’t walk around like that.”

His voice was low, steady, controlled.

“Oh? Like…what?”

He didn’t respond.

I stepped closer, feeling the excitement burn in my dang clit.

“This is my house now too, right?”

His jaw twitched.

“You let me in,” I added. “You said I could stay. You said you didn’t mind, right?”

He still didn’t speak.

So I stepped right in front of him, peach still in hand. Nipples hard beneath my shirt.

I didn’t back down.

“Do…you mind now?”

“Liv.”

The way he said my name made my stomach drop.

I smiled. “You said it like you’ve been thinking it.”

His nostrils flared.

I took another bite of the peach. Let the juice run again.

He looked at my mouth, just for a second.

And then he stepped back. “Put on something decent.”

I giggled. “Why? Sabrina doesn’t seem to mind.”

“She’s different.”

That landed like a slap I wasn’t supposed to feel.

Different? how?

Because she grew up here? Because she was good? Because she didn’t walk around dripping between her thighs?

He didn’t give me time to ask.

He grabbed his coffee and walked out the back door — not toward her, not toward me. Just away.

I watched him cross the lawn.

I watched him pass her.

Watched the way she turned and followed him with her eyes.

She didn’t say a word, she just stared.

And when he was gone — far enough that only the birds and trees could hear him — she looked back through the glass. At me.

Our eyes locked.

She knew, she fucking knew lmao.

What I did last night. What I was doing right now. What I fucking wanted.

And more than that?

She knew she wanted it too.

Not just to stop me, not just to punish me.

To have it.

To taste it first.