Priscilla

S3 ⭑ Episode Five

"Got a room for me and you,
for one night only..."
♪ One Night Only • Sonder.

Chapters with filled in stars are for smut.
11:00

Virginal.

That's how I feel, sitting and waiting for Halen to come home.

I'm plagued with indifference. I've talked myself out of this and into it ten times over, the second I left that elevator. Which I have no doubt he expected. But, no matter how many times I spin it inside my head, all I'm taken back to is his kiss. Splashes of it hit my memory and skin. I can't stop the burning in my chest when the phantom feeling of his slick tongue flicking against my bottom lip comes to me like a faded dream. Or the sound of his groans and the sensation of his facial hair and sharp teeth against my neck.

It makes me hot. It makes my stomach cramp.

So, I'm here. For one night only.

I'm sweating. I'm a fidgeting mess. It took me ten times over to decide where to sit, what to wear, what to say. I finally settled at the edge of the bed with a cigarette to calm myself down. But, it doesn't do much for my nerves. Nerves that I'm not used to, I might add. It's different for me when someone else takes the lead. When someone else is bolder than me. I've never met a person like Halen.

He's not scared of me. Intimidated by me. He challenges me. The rush he incites in me, it's unlike anything I've ever felt before. And the rush I get when he provokes me to break the rules, is more addicting than any drug.

At the strike of eleven on the clock, I hear the concrete door being pushed against.

A chill zaps up my spine and I stand up, inhaling deeply through my nose.

Like before, I'm stunted in my spot. He appears in the beaming lamp light of my bedroom and it bleeds into the dark room, his shadow reflecting on the ground and slowly creeping onto my skin as he enters.

Naked.

Oh, fuck me. He's naked.

I hold my breath and my mouth falls open as my eyes latch onto his bare cock, half-hard and thick between his muscular thighs. I'm in awe at the sight of his size and his boldness and beauty without clothes. It's prettier than I could've ever imagined. He reminds me of the Greek statue Doryphoros, lean and soft, strong. His skin is smooth like that marble, only it's decorated with skilled ink that wraps around different parts of him. And his hair branches out in every direction from the tamed patch below his belly button. It spreads down sparsely to his thighs, and fades out up to his smooth chest. His body is divine. Something I wish I could study. Draw. Sculpt. He belongs in a museum. I've never wanted to touch a man, trace his every curve with my bare hands and tongue, until right now.

And fuck, if he thinks I'm going be shy about that, he's dead wrong.

The door falls shut behind him and in one hand, he holds a paper bag, a bottle of rum from my sitting room, and one glass. All that he carries toward the cabinet on the other side of the room. He doesn't greet me, he doesn't say anything.