One Night

Chapter 15, One Night

She was having the most delicious erotic dream. She was sweaty and couldn't move a muscle in her body after her most mind-blowing orgasm yet. Walker was amazing. Did that man know how to touch her, how to love her—no, fuck her, she had to remind herself.

She heard a noise and blinked, turning to the bedside clock in the darkened bedroom. It took her a moment to remember she was in Walker's bedroom, in his bed, and her body ached. She needed him again.

She heard a noise again from downstairs and smiled as she realized Walker was back. She couldn't wait to touch him, and she had plans of going down on him, taking him into her mouth. Maybe she'd have him begging her. She licked her lips in anticipation as she waited for him to start up the stairs, and still there was nothing.

"Walker," she called out.

He didn't answer, so she slid back the quilt, slipped her bare legs over the side, and stood up naked. She'd felt so naughty as she slipped into bed with nothing on. There was something about being skin to skin with nothing between her and Walker that seemed so bad and so right. Sex with Walker, on a scale of one to ten, was a two hundred. It was mind blowing, amazing, and she didn't want it to end.

She started to the top of the darkened stairs and stared down into darkness. Then she wondered for a minute about pulling on one of his t-shirts, but she smiled as she thought of greeting him with not a stitch on—maybe testing out the pool table downstairs. She started down the stairs, seeing a light coming from the kitchen. Maybe he hadn't heard her as she walked down the stairs, each step creaking as loud as the next.

"Walker," she called out again. Then she heard a rattle from the kitchen. She stopped on the last step, waiting for him to appear, but there was nothing. "What the heck?" she said, wondering why he wasn't answering.

She was shivering now, wishing she'd pulled on a shirt, something, and at the same time thinking maybe he was having second thoughts about her being there. It would be a horrible loss, and she hoped he wasn't the type. At the same time, because of all her past failures, she feared that maybe, in fact, he was. She crossed her arms over her breasts as she stepped off the last step and started into the kitchen. The light was bright in the small walk through, a couple of empty beer bottles on the counter, a soda can with them, a bag of Doritos opened with a few chips spilling out.

But no Walker.

"Walker, what's going on?" she called out louder, listening to a creak on the stairs and then footsteps going up. She stopped and walked over to the stairs, listening. Was he mad at her? Did he want her to leave? Damn prickly man. She started back up the stairs, her pride taking a hammering.

"Walker, you know what? I'm so done with guys treating me like crap. I don't know what's going on with you and what bug you've got shoved so far up your ass right now—" She stopped in the doorway of the bedroom.

The bedside light was on, but it was the steel knife held by a woman dressed in black tights and a hoodie that had her freezing for what felt like forever before she could grab a breath and scream.