Chapter 7 The Human Sexual Response
THE HUMAN SEXUAL RESPONSE
*Samantha*
Steeling myself and breathing through the bundle of nerves in my chest, I wrapped the sheets, comforter, and pillowcases into my arms, attempted to smooth my hair, and tiptoed out of Andreas’s bedroom.
He sat at the big circular table in the living room, dressed in black lounge pants and a black T-shirt, hunched over a chessboard with a mug of coffee steaming beside his left hand. His phone was set next to the chessboard and was lit up with a call.
Andreas’s eyes flicked up, pinning me in place for a long moment. His face didn’t move, but his brow creased at the sight of me emerging from his room, arms full of bedding.
“I will call you later, Elio.” Not waiting for a response, Andreas ended the call and leaned back in the chair, gaze moving down then up, giving me the sense he might be looking for injuries. “Good morning,” he said.
“Uh. Good morning.” Not recognizing the diffident quality in my own voice, I clutched the laundry tighter. “Sorry. I’m going to wash these.”
Andreas continued to stare without giving any of his thoughts away, then returned his gaze to the board. “That is not necessary.”
I didn’t want to insist out loud. Actually, I didn’t really want to talk to him at all since I felt so ashamed of myself.
Thus, I swallowed and scuttled past to the laundry room.
There, I deposited the sheets, started the load, and retreated to my own bathroom, avoiding my reflection in the mirror.
I knew I looked like a meth-addicted raccoon, okay?
I didn’t need to actually see the evidence.
After a mercifully hot shower, during which I practiced my apology over and over, I emerged from the hallway, dressed in leggings and an oversized hoodie.
Andreas was still in the same position, giving me the impression that he hadn’t moved.
But the fresh pot of pour-over coffee sitting on a tray in the center of the table along with a second mug dispelled this assumption.
In the spot next to Andreas was also a plate enclosed with a metal cover, a glass of water, utensils, and a linen napkin.
Approaching on light feet, I sat across from Andreas and folded my hands on the table’s surface, preparing my speech and starting with “I apologize for last night.” My voice emerged steady and even. Good.
Andreas took a measured sip from his mug, then glanced at me over the rim. “For which part?”
I exhaled a long breath and couldn’t help but duck my head. “You’re right. I have a lot to apologize for.”
He frowned. “I did not say that—”
“But I’m saying it.” I gave him a tight smile.
“So, here’s a list. I’m sorry for the unexpected hug, the neck kiss, for speaking to you disrespectfully in the back of the Mercedes, for getting so sloppy drunk you had to carry me up here and help me brush my teeth.
And I’m sorry—once again—for sleepwalking into your room and invading your personal space. ”
He huffed and glanced away, his jaw ticking. “Samantha—”
I lifted a hand since I wasn’t finished.
“I will not drink alcohol again during our cohabitation. And I promise not to cross any boundaries from now on, as much as it is in my power to not cross them. But, the sleepwalking . . .” I held his gaze for a moment, a sense of real helplessness building within me.
Giving into the urge, I pushed my fingers into my hair and then covered my face with my hands.
“Since this is apparently a chronic problem,” I said, voice still steady despite the volcano of frustration beneath, “maybe we should talk about—uh—changing the doorknob on that bedroom to lock from the outside?”
Andreas blinked at me, then set his mug down. “No. Locking you in your room is not safe.”
“I think it’s a better option than to keep ending up in your bed,” I said, trying to make it sound a bit like a joke even though it was serious. “What if one night I get even more creative? Sleepwalk into the downstairs neighbor’s hallway? End up in the lobby?”
He appeared to consider this, steepling his fingers. “I can lock us into the apartment at night with a code.”
I shook my head. “We both know I’d find a way around that. My subconscious is a criminal mastermind.”
He tilted his head. “What if only I had the code?”
I laughed, because I couldn’t believe we were now plotting against my unconscious brain. “You’re leaving tonight. Am I going to be locked in the apartment for two weeks?”
“It is programmable and accessible remotely, and could self-lock between certain hours, which will keep you inside the apartment at least. And I can arm or disarm it from my phone no matter where I am.”
“Then let’s put a similar lock on my bedroom door—”
He shook his head resolutely, obvious frustration making the line of his mouth flat and grim. “No. I do not want you trapped in your room, that is nonsense. What if you have to go to the bathroom?”
I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms. He had me there.
“Are you sure you cannot come with me to London?”
“There’s no way. And besides, what would that solve? Is it better for me to sleepwalk into your bed at a hotel than it is in this apartment?” Scratching at the uncomfortable heat crawling up my neck, I looked away.
We sat in silence, the only sound being the intermittent drip of the pour-over coffee.
At length, Andreas stood and grabbed the covered plate, napkin, and utensils sitting next to him. He carried them over and placed them in front of me, seeming to arrange them carefully. Once everything was neatly set, he lifted the metal cover, revealing eggs Benedict.
My mouth dropped open even as it watered. “You . . . is this for me?”
“It is supposed to be good for hangovers.” He set the metal cover to the side, then leaned over the table to grab the water glass he’d left behind.
“How did you know eggs Benedict is one of my favorites?”
He shrugged. “Is it?”
“Thank you.” I swallowed and picked up the utensils. “This is very kind of you. You didn’t need to, but I really appreciate it.”
Andreas’s movements stilled briefly, then he placed the water to the left of my plate. “No need to be so formal. I make you breakfast every day.” An edge of annoyance had entered his voice.
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying something that might irritate him further. Given my wonky behavior and everything he’d put up with since I’d moved in, the man was basically a saint.
And here I was, a world-class succubus.
Andreas poured me a cup of coffee and set that next to the water glass while I stared at the plate.
Then, with no dignity whatsoever, I dove in.
The first yolk was perfectly runny, the sauce creamy and lemony, the muffin toasted to a golden brown.
I made a small, involuntary moan-whimper of delight.
“Ah. It’s so good!” I forked and shoved another bite into my mouth.
“What time do we need to be at your friends’ place? And should I prepare anything?” Andreas’s questions sounded almost chipper.
The sudden change in his tone had me looking at him. He’d just poured himself more coffee and set down the pot. Gazing at me from across the table as he sat, the side of his mouth hitched, eyes warm.
I dabbed at my mouth with the napkin and waited to respond until I’d swallowed my bite, just barely refraining from moaning again.
“We need to arrive around eleven and I’ve already made everything.
The mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce are in the fridge.
Again, thank you for the use of your kitchen. ”
“It is your kitchen, too.”
“For the time being,” I muttered under my breath. It was mostly a reminder to myself, which stung, but was necessary. Nothing about this was permanent.
He drank from his mug, watching me with that serene, analytical stare, eventually saying, “Since you cannot come to London, what if Tara slept here while I am gone? She could lock the exterior door to keep you from wandering, if you sleepwalk again.” He made it all sound so reasonable, like we were discussing the logistics of traveling uptown rather than babysitting an adult woman while she slept.
“If Tara is up for it, then sure. I don’t want to impose, but that’s a good idea.
” Examining him, sensing that he seemed to be genuinely concerned for me, I decided to share something personal, hoping it would set his mind at ease.
“Look, I did call my therapist. I have a virtual appointment with her on Monday. So, I’m working on addressing the root cause. ”
He nodded, seeming pleased to know this information, and added, “You should sleep in the main bedroom from now on. It is larger, and you—or, at least, the you who sleepwalks—prefer it.”
I laughed, shaking my head and cutting into the second poached egg. “Sure, okay. That’s very . . . generous of you.” I wasn’t sure if I would take him up on this offer. For obvious reasons, I preferred to sleep in my own bed.
Andreas mumbled something like, “It is not generosity,” his attention on his coffee cup as he arranged it just so on the table.
I finished my breakfast while he fiddled with his chessboard.
Once I drained the last of the coffee, I sat back, feeling marginally better about the day, if not the future.
Glancing over at Andreas, I let myself watch him for a few moments, marveling at the intensity of his focused gaze, like perhaps he expected the chess pieces to shift squares if he so much as blinked.
Clearing my throat as a precursor to breaking the silence, I slowly stood and gathered my plate. “May I ask, are you playing against yourself?”
His eyes flickered to me then back to the board. “Replaying the Spassky–Fischer match.”