Liar | Freddie Mercury

Chapter Thirty Six

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Freddie sat quietly on the floor when I finally decided to get out of the bath and wrap myself in his grey towel. He was quiet while I reached for the small pile of clothes he'd gotten from his room. He'd already chucked my clothes in the wash, ensuring they would be clean and dry by the morning, when I had to go to work.

His pair of underwear fit tightly around me. They were too small around my hips, squeezing me. His shirt reached just past my hips, and honestly, I was surprised it even fit me.

"Do you, uh..." I turned to him, "Do you have more of Mary's-"

"Oh yeah, give me a moment. I'll get another," he said and got up from his seat on the tiled floor, closing the door behind him when he stepped into the hall. He was back within seconds.

"Just come to my room when you're done," he said and placed the small white packet in the palm of my hand.

For some reason, the thought of going into his bedroom seemed like a big deal, despite the fact that he'd slept in my pink sheets the night before.

I was in the bathroom for just a few minutes before I left, quietly tiptoeing into the dark hallway. I turned to my right, seeing Freddie's bedroom light shining from under his door. I walked toward it and slowly pushed it open, seeing him at the foot of the bed as he stripped himself of the clothes he wore that day.

I glanced around, taking in the white sheets on his bed, and the art on his walls. He had a book on his nightstand, and papers stuffed under it. From where I stood, they looked like lyrics. The room was dimly lit as he unbuttoned his trousers, pushing them down his legs. He stood in nothing but a pair of boxers. How could I not stare? "Lock the door behind you," he said quietly. I did as instructed, but as soon as I turned to face the door, I noticed the hook on the back of it. From it hung a coat and a bright purple scarf I'd never seen before.

"Whose scarf is this?" I asked quietly, confused. I'd never seen Freddie wear purple before, and I immediately got the feeling that it wasn't his.

"Pasha left it here. I've been meaning to take it to back her, but I haven't really had the time," he said casually and walked toward me, taking my hand as he led me toward the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked and sat on the edge of the bed in front of me.

"A bit better. Still sore, though," I said when his hands found the sides of my thighs, caressing them gently. From the way he was looking at me, I knew what he wanted, and he knew he wasn't going to get it. At least not exactly what he wanted.

We didn't say anything for a while. His hands moved to the back of my thighs, pulling me between his legs. I automatically placed my hands on his broad shoulders, moving them down his arms and back up.

I couldn't help it as my eyes trailed from his face to his shoulders, and then his chest. I never thought I'd be the type of woman to like chest hair, but it looked so good on him. So manly when he was so feminine in so many ways. I met his eyes, and he was staring intently at me.

"What is it?" I asked quietly.

"You looked really good today," he said, "Dress or no dress. I was getting distracted in the studio thinking about all the things I wanted to do to you tonight."

I smirked when his arms twisted around me, pulling me as close to him as possible. "What kinds of things?" I asked. I wondered what he was like in bed when he didn't have to worry about hurting me. I still wanted to know what he liked, since he wouldn't tell me the night before, I figured this was my perfect opportunity.