25 #3
"Baby..." I began. He looked at me and lifted his brows with a smirk. "Can I kiss you?" I was fiending for his touch. He grinned, pushing the plate away and resting his elbows on the table. Well aware he was tormenting me.
"How long you been out there?"
"All night, actually." I wasn't embarrassed anymore.
"All night? No kiddin'?"
"Yep...all night. Or most of the night anyway. I got here at like 2AM."
“Why?”
“I was upset. Had a fight with someone.”
“Who?”
“An old friend. She wants to be with me.”
“Don’t they all,” he chuckled, the deep blue of his eyes glinting in the morning light.
“I dunno.”
"Get any sleep?"
"Yeah, a bit."
"Must've been mad uncomfortable though, yeah?"
"A little...but, uh, I was so beat I actually slept pretty well. Better than usual."
"Rafe, you're just like... as weird and as random as I can remember."
"That's a good thing, right?" I grinned.
"Yeah..." he laughed, full tilt. "I guess so."
"I just wanted to be around someone."
There was a long pause where he watched the table. "Yeah...well, me too."
***
Accommodating my request for a shower, he led me to his bedroom where he gave me a spare toothbrush and towel and told me I was welcome to use anything I needed.
Inside, the massive showerhead drenched me in no time flat.
The body jets assaulted me from all sides with scorching water, but I didn't wince away.
I purged myself of every trace of Violet and our awful night, making room for new memories.
I had no idea how the day would unfold, but I was positive I didn't want a speck of her to remain.
Opening his shower gel, I sniffed it and got a whiff of what I'd smelled wafting from him in the car a few moments ago. Musky, masculine, fragrant skin. The shampoo was next. It was an organic concoction, likely nabbed from some local, environmentally conscious beauty shop. It smelled like the stuff he’d used on the road, and I understood why he'd take pains to hunt down a similar scent.
It was delicious, and in combination with the body wash, resulted in sensory overload.
I hurried to get back to him, stepping out of the shower like a new man.
His towels were large and black, and I dried my hair off completely before starting on my body.
Now I was semi-hard, unable to stop relishing his scents that enveloped me from head to toe.
I was aroused even more by the thought of being nude in his private sanctum, and wished he was there to watch.
As I moved, I flopped about beneath the towel, which was loosely drawn around my hips.
Heavy and pendulous, slapping the tops of my thighs.
I considered stepping back into the shower and turning the jets on freezing to rid myself of this problem, then decided against it and met him in the master suite.
Now the bed was tidied and all things were in order.
No more crumpled sheets, as they’d been changed.
No more clothes strewn about the chairs and floor.
No more signs of the life he shared with her.
"Hey," he said as I approached, barely eyeing me.
"Sick shower."
"I know. I'm obsessed with the jets. You try 'em?"
"Oh yeahhh," I grinned. "You install 'em?"
"Nope. They were already there when I moved in, thankfully,” he chuckled, disappearing into the closet. "You hungry?"
I said no because I could tell he was ready to cook again on my behalf, and my conscience wouldn't permit it.
I had inconvenienced him enough for one day.
Walking barefoot across the cool, concrete floors, I went to grab my clothes, but they were nowhere in sight.
When he reemerged, he held out a white T-shirt in one hand and a pair of sweatpants in the other. No socks or briefs.
"Thanks, mate," I uttered, sliding the towel off in front of him without shame.
He paused in indecision, then bent to retrieve it from the floor while I dressed.
Soon he made his way back into the kitchen to clean up after breakfast. When I joined him in the lounge, he brought me a fuzzy throw and a cup of black coffee, encouraging me to choose something for us to watch.
A massive TV ascended from the entertainment center, opening to MTV.
He sat closer this time, and I reveled in his familiar warmth.
Moments after we settled, he jumped up again like he'd forgotten something, only to produce an oversized ottoman for us to prop our feet atop.
Both were bare. Mine were longer, his leaner and more tanned.
I resisted the urge to brush them together.
Now I understood perfectly well why the neighborhood cat kept returning to him, despite having a home of its own.
It wanted to fabricate an excuse to be cared for by him.
He was a gracious and accommodating host, the role undertaken with the utmost consideration for my comfort, despite me posing a major imposition to his morning routine.
And regardless of my intrusion, I was never for a second made to feel burdensome or unwelcome.