Where the Stars Fall

14 | One of a kind

THOUGH PALLID, the morning light illuminates the room and spills across my face. My half-conscious brain registers the discomfort and I roll over in bed.

Struggling against the haze, I crack open one eye and squint at the clock on the nightstand. Almost ten and, damn, my head is swimming, every muscle hurts.

With last night's events flooding my mind, I sink back into my pillow willing my mind to shut down and let me go back to sleep.

But then it reaches me: the music coming from the living room, along with the smell of coffee.

Olivia.

A hard rush of adrenaline propels me out of bed, and I hurry for the door. I'd almost forgotten I'm not alone.

Dear Lord, please, make it like in the films! Let her be wearing nothing but some old see-thru t-shirt of mine, swinging her backside to the music.

Wait, the shower's running.

Then let her come out with just a tiny towel around her, that'll do just fine too!

Get a grip, mate.

All right.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit down, drumming my fingers impatiently on the armrest, listening to the soulful, crooning voice drifting through the house.

Nice.

I turn the music louder with the remote, loud enough to make her aware I'm already here, waiting for her. Scrubbing my face with both hands, I spin slowly on the swivel couch. My knee is bouncing up and down in tiny jumps, a damned nervous twitch that makes me even wonkier. I make it stop, but my hand resumes its drumming.

This flutter in my gut is unbearable, I need to find meaning in all that's happening. Last night. My feelings. Her feelings. What the hell really happened to us back then. What her version of our story is.

Take your eyes off the goddamn bathroom door!

I also need a distraction.

The sketchbook with the drawing I did last night. It's still lying on the side table. I turn it over and study her face, trace my fingers along her hair cascading in waves over her shoulders.

Damn, she's so beautiful...

A few seconds later, my eyes are glued again to that door. I keep imagining the moment she gets out, wrapped up in a towel, a few rivulets of water still running down her neck, her shapely legs finally revealed.

No, she doesn't get out. I'm getting in. I'm in the shower with her, hot water streaming over her delicate skin and my gaze scanning each inch of her body.

Sliding my arms around her waist, I pull her closer and bury my face in her neck, nibbling her skin, sucking gently. And she gasps in between kisses, moaning my name until the moment my lips close over hers with the same passion that I kissed her last night.

Backing her hot body against the cold tiles, I let my fingers play between her legs, my kisses trailing down her neck, to her collarbone, her breasts. And then to her belly. A moan escapes her as I continue further down, my tongue teasing and stroking the tender flesh, her body twisting and aching for me inside her.

I pick her up.

With her legs wrapped around me, she pulls me tight to her, to whisper I can do anything I want to her. Because she's mine. All mine.

And between her breathless gasps and sighs, I let myself go and murmur to her the actual truth, that deep down I've never stopped loving–

The sound of the doorknob turning brings me back from my wild inner digression. It's her, finally, humming to the music and drying her hair.