12. Boundaries? Never met them.
BOUNDARIES? NEVER MET THEM.
Lor
I can’t believe Ro is in my apartment.
Of course, right as I’m recovering from the most unwelcome sex dream of my life, he has to show up on my doorstep like a godsdamned wet dream come to life. My eyes start at his feet and trail a path up his body as time slows.
High top canvas shoes, light blue jeans held together on one side of his hips with a silver chain, laced up like a shoelace. My eyes get stuck on the flash of skin beneath… Is he not wearing boxers?
I suck in a breath, my core clenching. A tight white tank bares an inch of skin above his pants and he has a loose, unbuttoned ombre rainbow tee on top.
It hangs open, framing his lean, muscular chest. His wrists are covered in leather, beaded, and silver bracelets, and he has a single silver chain dangling from his neck with a crescent moon charm hanging to the middle of his sternum.
His lip ring, the eyebrow piercing, the messy brown hair, his smoldering eyes—they all torture me.
It’s really not fair.
My skin is extra sensitive, every nerve alight so it feels like there are bees in my veins when he’s not touching me. Ever since he asked to hold my hand, all I want is his skin on mine again. My body yearns for it, like with every breath I’m being drawn closer, deeper into his orbit.
He snoops around my kitchen while I stare at him, and I find that I don’t mind it. Even if he finds the stardust, he’s seen me collecting it, so it wouldn’t be a surprise to see what he hopefully assumes is a bag of dirt sitting around.
Ro finds the mug cupboard and pokes around, not seeming to find what he wants. He eventually pulls out a chipped purple one, the most colorful and least boring mug I own, then pours some coffee before opening the fridge.
“I don’t have any creamer,” I say, assuming that’s what he’s looking for.
He shrugs, closing the fridge, but I can see the slight disappointment in his expression. I click my tongue against my teeth, then angle around him to open a drawer he hasn’t explored yet.
“Here,” I say, tossing a few sugar packets at him. “Best I can do.”
He beams at me.
I swear, a ray of sunlight shoots from his eyes, and it’s obnoxious as heck. I pinch my lips, ignoring how it warms me from the inside as he tears open the first packet and stirs it in, a pleased little smile on his lips.
I let my own tilt up, happy to have done something to make him happy, even if I still refuse to admit that to either of us.
Then he rips and dumps a second packet in.
My smile falls when he grabs a third pack of sugar. There’s no way… Yep.
“Are you for real?” I say, aghast at how sickly sweet that coffee is going to taste.
“What?”
Ro turns wide, innocent eyes on me as he pours the entire third sugar pack into his mug. He deliberately sets the empty paper on the counter, still holding eye contact.
“That’s got to be a crime,” I mutter.
Ro raises his eyebrows, briefly swirls a spoon through his mug of sugar, then looks directly at me again. He cups the mug in both palms, slowly raises it and takes a sip, then groans dramatically with pleasure.
My eyes flare wide, because that’s far too close to the sound he made in my dream. I whip around, the muscles in my lower abdomen clenched tight and a groan of my own threatening low in my throat. I refuse to let him see how hot my face is.
I will not succumb to whatever charms this demon throws my way.
Ro continues to randomly show up at my place over the next week. Always without warning, despite the fact that I caved a couple days ago and gave him my number so he would stop surprising me.
Instead, he simply texted me the next day asking what my favorite ice cream was. Then he showed up ten minutes later with a different flavor.
“Why did you ask what kind I liked if you weren’t going to get it?”
“Ah, well I was, I even grabbed some. But then my demon threw a fit, so I had to go back and snag this one instead.”
It’s not hard to read between the lines. Snag clearly means steal, and I shake my head.
“I know, I know. I’m trying to do better! At least it wasn’t anything big,” Ro says, his shoulders slumping as he shuffles his way into my kitchen and sets the carton of strawberry ice cream on the counter.
I trail after him, my eyes glued to the way his pants hug his thighs as he walks. Then he clears his throat and I jolt, darting my gaze up to his to see his teeth biting at his lip ring as he half-smirks.
“See something you like?” he asks.
“Don’t push it,” I say, pulling out two spoons from the drawer near my hip, then grabbing the ice cream and pulling the top off. I hand him one spoon, and dig in with the other.
Strawberry isn’t my favorite, but it’s not terrible.
Ro is frozen with his hand up, fingers clenched around his spoon and eyes locked on my mouth as I slip my spoon out from between my lips.
I’m starting to enjoy his attention being on me, something I never expected and will still vehemently deny if asked, but I decide to lean into it.
I swipe my tongue out, slowly licking across my bottom lip.
His throat bobs with a hard swallow, and I lean forward over the counter, dipping my chin to look up at him through my eyelashes. Ro matches my movement, leaning toward me, and I toss his own question back at him.
“See something you like?” I whisper.
Ro throws his head back with a bark of laughter. I can’t help smiling when I hear it. He’s so easy to tease, taking it all in stride and never getting offended or upset.
“Yeah,” Ro replies, lowering his voice as he meets my eyes, then lets his gaze pointedly dip down my body. “I see a lot that I like.”
He keeps turning it back on me and I grit my teeth, somehow feeling both turned on and frustrated at the same time. Every time I think I get one up on him, he comes back harder. It’s infuriating, but I can’t be upset by his quick wit.
It’s what makes him so fun to be around.
The tension builds each time he shows up, and I start to suspect he’s outside my apartment more often than he lets on. My skin will start to tingle sometimes, and I swear I’ve seen deeper shadows in the trees across the street than is normal.
I think the cat knows too, as it hasn’t been coming around quite as much as usual. I wonder if it’s a sign I should be paying attention to, until one day Ro shows up at the same time as the cat.
I let the cat in first, cracking the window and waiting an eternity for it to decide to saunter inside. Then I rush to the front door and let Ro in. His signature grin is in place as he steps through the door, but when I angle sideways to let him pass, he freezes.
“Finally,” he breathes.
I raise an eyebrow, looking between him and the cat. They seem to be having a stare-down, although Ro is doing it with excited glee, and the cat seems to be acting on reserved suspicion.
“I thought I’d never get to meet your cat,” Ro says, turning bright hazel eyes on me.
“Oh, it’s not my cat.”
“What?”
Ro turns toward me fully, confused eyes darting between me and the cat, then to the food bowl on the kitchen floor. I caved and got it recently after getting tired of the cat batting random things off the counters in search of sustenance.
I wave my hand in the air.
“It just shows up sometimes and I let it in, but it’s not mine.”
“Riiiight,” Ro says, turning back to the cat. He crouches down, carefully lowering himself to the floor and holding out one hand.
“It tends to not—” I start to warn him of the cat’s antisocial behaviors, when the traitor walks right up to Ro, takes one sniff of his hand, then bumps its head into his palm.
Ro’s smile lights up the whole room, and he immediately starts chattering to the cat.
“Oh, you’re just a little sweetie, aren’t you?” he says.
I grumble a denial, but they both ignore me.
“Yes, oh you’re so soft, and so pretty,” Ro continues. “Handsome? Pretty?”
The cat twists between his ankles and rubs its chin along Ro’s shin.
He turns to me. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
Ro frowns, then turns back to the cat.
“Well, that’s okay. It doesn’t really matter anyway. You’re purr-fect just as you are. Aren’t you?” he says.
Oh my god. I refuse to laugh out loud. That can’t even be called a joke, but inside I’m definitely chuckling.
Ro smirks at me like he knows.
“Just purrrrrr-fect,” he continues, this time rolling the R in a way that hitches my breath. It makes me wish he’d do it again, but with his tongue on certain parts of me this time.
“Do they have a name at least?” he says.
I shuffle my feet and look away from the two of them as I slip by into the kitchen. I need to get my head on straight.
“Ah, well,” I say, stalling and trying desperately to think of a good name for a cat. “I just call it… Cat?”
I can feel his flat stare burning a hole in my back and I wrinkle my nose. Since when do I care what other people think?
“Well, that’s not going to work, is it pretty kitty?” Ro coos to the cat, and to my horror the cat flops into his lap and starts purring. Belly up, claws retracted, no teeth in sight.
I stare at them, and Ro grins up at me.
“Betrayed by my own cat,” I grumble.
Unfortunately, Ro hears, and his grin turns wicked.
“I thought you said it wasn’t yours,” he says.
“Oh, fuck off.”
I stomp away to flop on my sofa, secretly pleased that they get on so easily, but a bit jealous too. Why doesn’t the cat snuggle with me like that? And why do I wish I was the one in Ro’s lap instead?
The cat finally has enough of Ro’s attention and wanders off, freeing Ro to pester me again.
“Are you pouting?” he asks, a hint of flirtatious delight in his tone.
“I don’t pout.” I bite my words off so they come out more sharp than I intended.
“Ah, of course,” Ro says, placating.
I start to bristle, but he plops onto the couch next to me. A wave of his scent washes over me, something along the lines of a wood-burning stove, but with a more dangerous undertone. Welcoming in a daring way, so cozy you risk being smothered without realizing it.
I try to resist my instinct to suck it as deep into my lungs as I can.
It’s futile, as there’s no escaping him.
Especially because it’s not a big couch, a loveseat at best, which means we’re now shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.
His warmth presses into me and I stiffen.
This is more physical contact than I’ve had in ages, considering the dry spell I’ve been going through.
Not because of him. I just haven’t found anyone I’m interested in enough to sleep with lately.
I shift, trying to put distance between us, but all it does is sink me further into his side. Ro angles his body so I’m leaning into the cushion by his shoulder, then snags my legs under the knees and throws them over his lap.
I gasp. It slips out despite my mortification, but Ro doesn’t react.
No making fun of me, no smirk, nothing. He runs his fingers lightly down my legs, from my knees to my ankles.
His eyes follow the path his hands take, and he wraps his fingers around my ankles, squeezing once before loosening and coasting his palms back up.
He brushes over my knees, leaving one hand there while the other grazes the top, then outside of my thigh.
My breaths are shallow, with every inch of my awareness focused on his lingering touch.
Ro’s fingers flex on my hip, and he slows even more as he lightens the contact. His eyes are hooded, still fixed on his hand as he touches me. He pauses for the longest second as his eyes dart up to mine.
I’m frozen. I don’t think I’m even breathing as I wait for his caress to continue.
He searches my eyes, and I stare back at him, waiting.
Waiting.
Finally, his eyes flick back down, and I follow his gaze, watching as he moves his hand up again. His palm sears into the bare skin at my waist, and tension throbs through me.
I think we both suck in a breath at the contact, but I can’t be sure; too much of my focus has narrowed in on the heat of his palm.
Our eyes fly back to each other and when our gazes collide, every thought of denial dies a sudden, scorched death at the heat in his gaze.
He is pure want, evident in the rigid lines of his body.
His neck is taut, the tendons standing out in sharp relief where they meet his shoulders.
His hands keep clenching and unclenching where they grip my calf and waist. The muscles and veins in his forearm flex with every movement, and each breath he sucks in is labored.
“Ro,” I whisper, his name leaving my lips without my permission as my eyes fix on his mouth.
He shudders, his lips parting. That damned lip ring taunts me, and in that moment, I decide it’s mine.
Mine to lick.
Mine to fiddle with.
Mine to bite and tease.
I crash my mouth to his, ignoring his surprised grunt as I throw myself at him.