boston {h.s.}

vingt et un.*

n. i've never written smut This wild in my life. please, pray for me. (also, hate to be that person but please comment a lot because you don't KNOW the time and effort i put into this)

EACH SECOND IS marked by the subtle ticking of the white, analog clock that sits above the fireplace in the living space at the Cape house. Alone, I'm left only with my thoughts. Consuming, accusatory. Each second moves faster than the last, the rhythm settling in with my racing heartbeat. Each second feels intentionally placed and purposeful. Every second that passes means another second closer to the time in which Harry arrives and the time in which I know that I have passed the point in which I could claim innocence. With each passing second, I move closer to the time in which I cannot return the actions that I've done; the crimes that I have committed. At the very least, I suppose, I could call them crimes of passion.

Even still, I am slightly embarrassed by the speed of which my plan was hatched: Harry on Friday, Asher on Saturday, and Plan B on Sunday. Shameful as it is to admit, there was to be a very strict calendar to be implemented and followed. Each of my romantic partners had their own designated time. Only, neither knew about the other. To some part of my brain, I suppose this became something of a game.

My throat is dry as I look at the clock—watching the minutes tick by until Harry's time of arrival. I'd told him to come at seven. I told him to eat before he comes because I don't want to confuse him into thinking that this is any more romantic than it is. Cooking for him and eating together: romantic. Tearing his clothes off the minute that he walks in the door: anything but.

I've never done anything like this before. Since Asher and I started dating, everything has been relatively straightforward. We are both the kind of people who know exactly what we want from the other, and we're compatible enough that we get that easily. At least, I'd always thought that. The longer that I find myself opposite Harry I wonder whether or not it is possible for me to get what I want exclusively from Asher at all. Subconsciously I tell myself that it isn't; that I find myself turning to Harry out of necessity not out of a lack of love for my boyfriend. I tell myself these things because it makes the betrayal go down smoother. It makes looking in the mirror easier.

The longer I sit here, waiting, the more my body begins to second guess. Excitement exists, obviously. Just thinking about him creates a wetness between my thighs that I no longer care to deny. My reaction to him is physical. Excitement exists. But on top of that, there are layers to this emotion that I can't quite make sense of. There's panic. I've ascertained that the house will be entirely our own tonight, but there is still a fear in the back of my mind that Asher will come to surprise me. Or, that Jack will forget that he promised the house to me at all. On the other hand, there are added layers of panic that remind me that this is my first time have extramarital sex. Though Asher and I aren't married—not really—that doesn't make what I am doing any less wrong.

At one minute of, I am contemplating how seriously Harry takes punctuality.

Before I even have the time to consider this train of thought, there is a knocking on the door. Automatically, I move to my feet. On their own accord, they carry me to the front door where I know Harry is waiting on the other side.

Just as I am about to reach out and open the door, my eyes catch on the mirror that is positioned right there. The designer had suggested that we put it there just for a quick touch up before we go out, but now I find myself studying my appearance before I let him in. Bangs are rather flat today, but that is unavoidable. Nothing in my teeth. Face is bare from makeup and I should look rather dull but there is a brightness to my eyes and to my cheeks that makes up for everything else. To add some sort of body and dimension to my hair, I fluff it up before opening the door.