Shattered hearts

Chapter Twelve: "Bonding"

Violet:

As we moved through the various rooms, I shared that while I do have an address, I don't actually reside there. It feels much safer to remain in this hidden space where I can't be easily located. Our tour concluded in the armory, where I entered and enthusiastically recounted the names I had given to my creations. I mentioned that if he had any inquiries about them, we could discuss it at a later time, and he seemed to be fine with that arrangement.
After we returned to the entrance, we exchanged goodnight wishes, and I assured him that I would reach out when I was ready for him. I also encouraged him to contact me whenever he needed anything, emphasizing that he should feel free to do so at his convenience. It was a pleasant end to our evening, leaving the door open for future conversations and collaborations.
Once I closed the door to my "cave" and entered the lock code, a sense of security washed over me. I often worry about the possibility of someone trying to reach me while I sleep; you can never be too sure of people's intentions. As I changed into my oversized t-shirt, which could easily double as a dress, my thoughts drifted to Draven, pondering the complexities of our connection and what the future might hold.Lying in bed, I felt an unsettling void in the absence of this intriguing man. The day had slipped away in a delightful haze of laughter and admiration for his sharp intellect, leaving me yearning for more of his company. His voice echoed in my mind, a shadowy whisper that sent shivers down my spine, especially when he called me by the name Anya—a playful alias I had chosen for myself, yet it stirred a deeper desire within me to hear him utter my real name.
My thoughts spiraled, consumed by the memory of him, and I found my hand wandering between my thighs, lost in the fantasy of his presence. Each moment spent imagining him drew me closer to a sweet release, but it still felt insufficient. I rolled over, my hand still moving, and reached for my phone, searching for the one photograph I had of him, hoping it would bridge the gap between reality and my vivid imagination.
As I gazed at the image, the longing intensified, and I surrendered to the vision of him hovering above me, a tantalizing blend of desire and fantasy. The connection I felt was electric, igniting a fire within me that demanded to be quenched. In that moment, I found my release, a culmination of longing and imagination, as I let the fantasy envelop me completely, leaving the world outside far behind.
The following morning brought a sense of calm, and the gnawing hunger that had consumed me was finally satisfied. As I sipped my coffee and absentmindedly scrolled through my phone, I reassured myself that my previous decisions were merely a momentary lapse in judgment. It was during this relaxed state that I impulsively decided to order a new bedroom set, envisioning the spare room I had long intended to transform into a space for the henchman I had met yesterday.
The furniture I chose was a stunning deep oak, exuding an air of sophistication and masculinity that I found appealing. Yet, I couldn't help but question my assumption that Draven would even want to stay here; after all, I hardly knew him. The delivery of the bedroom set was still weeks away, which gave me ample time to get acquainted with him and understand what he might need from this arrangement.
With a newfound determination, I sent Draven a text inviting him to spend some time together outside of our usual plotting that was to come. My hope was to foster a connection that would make our collaboration smoother and more effective. As I awaited his response, I felt a mix of excitement and curiosity about what this budding relationship might bring, both personally and professionally.
The feeling of anticipation was almost overwhelming, as if it could consume me entirely. He was still likely asleep, and I confirmed this when I glanced at my phone, which read a mere seven in the morning. Yes, he had to be in dreamland. A wave of panic washed over me, and my breath quickened as a flurry of questions invaded my mind. Why was I reacting this way? In an attempt to regain my composure, I turned my focus to a new weapon design, hoping that immersing myself in creativity would help me stave off the spiraling thoughts that threatened to take over.
Just as I was lost in the strokes of my pencil, my phone chimed, jolting me from my thoughts. I hurried to check the notification, and relief washed over me when I saw Draven's message. He would be at the front door in thirty minutes. I read his words again, analyzing the tone—did he think I was demanding his presence? The anxiety bubbled up once more, and I took a moment to breathe deeply, trying to steady my racing heart. I realized I needed to freshen up; the hideout was permeated with an unmistakable scent, one that clung to me as well.
The atmosphere felt heavy, and I knew I had to act quickly. A shower was essential, and I needed to find something to mask the lingering odor that filled the space. As I moved through the hideout, I could feel the urgency of the moment pressing down on me. I was determined to regain control before Draven arrived, to present a version of myself that was calm and collected. With each step, I focused on the task at hand, hoping that the water would wash away not just the physical remnants of the night before, but also the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm me.
In the warmth of the shower, I found myself lost in thought, reflecting on the man who, when I was barefoot, stood just a few inches taller than me. My hand glided over my stomach as the scalding water cascaded down, sending shivers through my body. I chastised myself internally, grappling with the realization that I was not the kind of person who would entertain such thoughts. Yet, the image of Draven's arms and the way he might look without clothes lingered in my mind, making it difficult to focus on anything else.