His Name On My Lips

After the maid left Nila says, “I guess that went well,” and runs her hand through her hair, making it even messier.

“That was a nice performance,” I reply.

“Well, I should go to bed now,” she says. She walks toward her room but stops. “Can I borrow a shirt or something? I don’t want to sleep in this fancy dress.”

The thought of her in my clothes stirs something inside me. I imagine pulling her close and taking her to my bed. I don’t want that. This is all just business. “I’ll get you something. We’ll send someone to pick up your stuff tomorrow. Just leave your keys in the kitchen.”

After a quick shower, I put on a white t shirt that Sergio had left on the door handle. I climb into the big bed, wrapping myself in the duvet. I check the time on my phone, it's past midnight but I can’t sleep. Being in a new house is part of the problem. But the bigger issue is that she’s just a few rooms away. Thinking about her is making my mind race.

Adrian’s chest is covered with tattoos. I saw them when I unbuttoned his shirt, but I didn’t have enough time to look closely. I wish I had, though, because this feeling to understand more of his secrets is growing inside me. Adrian is a mystery, completely different from the type of guys I usually like guys who are easygoing and funny, the kind who make me laugh. I like someone lighthearted, someone who doesn’t push me to open up. Getting involved with Adrian more than I need to for this plan is not smart.

I close my eyes, and the image of Adrian holding my leg and kissing my neck comes to mind. My hand moves down my body without thinking and rests between my legs. I press my finger lightly and let out a soft moan. No, I shouldn’t be doing this while thinking of a man who’s dangerous. I quickly stop, put my hands under the pillow, and try to ignore the feeling between my legs. I’m not going to do this.

I lay there for hours, squeezing the pillow in my hands, waiting for the tension in my body to ease. It doesn’t. It only gets worse. Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I give in, letting my hand slide back down. I imagine Adrian tongue kissing my p*ssy , eating me out, my juices covering his beard and I come quickly, my face buried in the pillow with his name on my lips.

Adrian's POV 

My phone rings while I’m getting dressed, showing my uncle’s name. Leonard usually sleeps until noon on Sundays, so I know why he’s calling this early.

“What is it, Leonard?” I snap into the phone.

“I heard you brought a woman home. Is she still here?”

“This is my house. It’s none of your business.”

“Then she’s here. You never bring random wh*res home like that,” he says, making my muscles tense.

“If you call her that again, in front of me or anyone else, I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”

“What’s going on with you, Adrian?”

“Did you understand me, Leonard?”

There’s a pause on the other end, then he says, “Yes.”

“Good,” I say and end the call.

I hate him, but I can’t kick him out. Leonard knows too much, and I need him around where I can keep an eye on him.

I reach for the crutches next to the bed, slide them under my arms, and stand up. My knee is stiff in the morning, but it’s better than before. The hours of physical therapy are finally helping, but I’m still far from being able to walk without the wheelchair. I hate it, but there are days when the pain is too much, and I can’t even move my leg.

When I find the people who set that bomb off, I’ll enjoy taking them down. I was drugged at the time, but I remember hearing two people talking in my hospital room. I couldn’t understand everything they said, but I know they were involved.

One of them is probably my own family, living under my roof. I don’t have proof, but I’m almost sure Leonard is involved. The other one? I still need to figure that out.

When I leave my room, I hear someone singing off-key in the kitchen. I look over and see Nila going through the fridge. I knew she was short, but I didn’t realize just how much until now. She’s barely five feet tall. The hem of my shirt reaches her knees, and she looks a little funny in it. Barefoot, the top of her head doesn’t even reach my chest.

She’s facing away from me, so I walk up and stand behind the table a few feet away.

“Find anything good in the fridge?” I ask.

Nila jumps in surprise and quickly closes the fridge. “You scared me half to death!”

She stops talking and just stares at me, her eyes wide. I expected her to be surprised to see me out of the wheelchair, but her expression isn’t just surprise—it’s fear.

“Nila?” I take a step closer.

She jumps back and bumps into the fridge. Her breath quickens, shallow and fast, and her hands shake. She’s having a panic attack. I don’t know what set her off, but I can tell she’s scared of something, and I think it’s me. It doesn’t make sense. A few hours ago, I was holding her in my lap, and she wasn’t scared at all.

“Adrian,” she whispers, “I need you to sit down. Please.”

I don’t get why she wants me to sit, but I walk over to the table, pull out a chair, and sit down. Nila doesn’t move but at least her breathing slows down.

I suddenly remember something she said earlier when we got here. I don’t like the way it sounds now. “You said something last night. I need to know what you meant by that.”

She blinks and shakes her head. “What are you talking about?”

Her voice is almost normal now, but she’s still standing there, pressed against the fridge as if she wants to disappear into it.

I keep my eyes on her, watching carefully. “What did you mean by ‘I’m not a fan of large things"?.