Chapter 5
I woke to a dark room—it was still night—and an empty bed.
Slowly turning onto my back, I stared at the vacant spot in the spacious bed.
My troubled heart—troubled as in “needs therapy,” desperately and like, yesterday—began to sink into despair…
when I registered the sound of the shower running in the private bathroom.
I looked over and saw the strip of light beneath the door.
He’s in there right now—showering!
I started to spring out of bed to join him, then stopped myself at the last second, nearly tumbling off the mattress.
A niggling in my gut warned that it would be the wrongest thing I could do.
We were in a dance, every step in sync so far, and one misstep could throw everything off and disrupt the rhythm.
He was “leading” and doing a damn good job of it; I needed to keep following his lead… not take over.
I scooted back under the covers and tucked my arms beneath my head, then just lay there, not thinking.
All of this felt strangely right, as if I were living out a fantasy I hadn’t known I was sheltering.
Rationalizing at this point would only ruin it.
I was content in my irrational little bubble and didn’t want it to pop.
My gaze drifted to the large window. The blinds were closed—I’d left them open—blocking out the meager light from the streetlamps and casting the room in deeper shadows.
He closed them? A tingly shiver ran through me as I imagined him moving around the bedroom while I slept.
It felt almost domestic, as if this were his bedroom, too.
It is now—be honest.
The shower shut off, and my heart leaped into my throat, my pulse fluttering like a trapped bird.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Then my brain kicked in, and I gasped, taking a few deep breaths.
I’d never been this excited and flustered over anyone, not even as a horny schoolboy.
Again, I wouldn’t ruin it by trying to puzzle out this conundrum.
Just “going with it” seemed to be working so far.
I rolled onto my side again, watching the bathroom door.
I heard movement on the other side, then the light went out just before the door opened.
I closed my eyes, pretending to still be asleep.
The thick carpet muffled his footsteps as he left the bathroom.
I opened my eyes just a slit. I couldn’t resist a quick peek.
There wasn’t much to see in the dark room, but a naked shadow in the night—which I found weirdly sexier than if I saw him in full light. Was it the mystery that made it such a turn-on? Absolutely. Frolicking with a man whose face I couldn’t pick out of a lineup… that was fucking hot.
I tried to breathe normally as he walked around the bed and sat on the opposite side, our backs to each other.
It wasn’t easy with my heartbeat hammering in my throat and the fresh scent of shampoo and musk bodywash wafting off him.
I fought the urge to crawl closer and sniff him; he smelled so fucking delicious.
He had used my shampoo and bodywash, but they smelled so much better on him.
I waited for him to come back to bed—realizing just then how desperately I missed his cuddle.
He didn’t cuddle me. He just sat there, unmoving, as if… waiting. For what-
It’s my turn to shower.
I took a deep breath, swallowed hard, then quietly crawled out of bed. My legs felt rubbery and wobbly, and breathing was a conscious effort. Luckily, I made it to the bathroom without collapsing, closed the door, and turned on the light.
A light, misty steam hung in the air, heavy with the soapy scents. Droplets of condensation trickled down the mirror around a large smear where the cuddler’s hand had wiped the glass. I looked at my bleary reflection but didn’t stare too long, in case it chose to judge me.
I turned on the shower and stepped into the stall, closing the frosted doors.
I immediately began to “sizzle” with sexual energy, knowing the cuddler had stood right there just minutes before—naked, lathering his hard body…
maybe even stroking himself while thinking of me? I smiled as a shiver ran through me.
Though the sponge was rinsed clean, I could still smell the fresh scent of my body wash.
I squirted a dollop from the bottle, then shivered again as I began washing myself, knowing this very sponge had touched every inch of the cuddler’s body.
I’d never been so fucking jealous of an inanimate object in my life.
I could still feel the cuddler’s cum tacky on my back and in my crack.
Thoughts of that last “fuck” revived my erection.
My hole throbbed and flexed, making my entire groin ache with an unprecedented need to be taken and fucked senseless.
The cuddler had the equipment and the skill to do it right—he’d already proven that.
My mind wandered as I lathered my body. On the one hand, I wanted to rush back to bed… but I also needed this moment to collect myself and just breathe. I felt like I’d been holding my breath since I woke up to him cuddling me.
So I didn’t rush. Maybe he needed a moment, too.
I thought back to past Valentine’s Days.
I’d never been a fan of the holiday. I was usually alone or with someone who didn’t “do it” for me.
Mostly, I was alone. I often wondered what it would be like to spend Valentine’s Day with a hot, romantic lover.
I’d accepted that I’d probably never find out.
When I left the shower and stood before the mirror again, I met my reflection’s gaze straight on, brave and defiant. There was no judgment; he looked as bewildered as I was about this night.
Do you think he chose Valentine’s Day for this? Or was it a coincidence?
My reflection stared back, clueless… like me. It felt like a big coincidence, and my heart sank a little at the thought that maybe this wasn’t a specially chosen day. It would have seemed more romantic if it were.
Romance, my reflection gazed at me dubiously. Is that what you want from this?
I looked into the mirror and watched the realization hit, widening my eyes.
Holy shit—it is. I didn’t just want the sex—I wanted it all; the caresses, the kisses, the intimacy, the cuddles. And I didn’t want it to end after tonight. I wanted the morning after.
You have truly gone around the bend, I chided my reflection. Your cheese has done slipped off your cracker.
It must be true, since I was now conversing with my reflection as if it were another person, not me who was trippin’.
Might as well embrace the crazy—no escaping it now.
I dried off and rubbed the towel over my head, then ran my fingers through my wet strands—dark brown that looked glossy black when wet.
I was handsome-ish. I guess I could see why a hot guy might stalk me and sneak into my bed.
If not for the cuddler’s initiative, I would’ve spent another Valentine’s Day alone—lonely, horny, sex-starved—because, Lord knows, I wouldn’t have gone out and gotten a date on my own.
A date. My reflection cocked an eyebrow. Is that what this is?
I shrugged; it was as close as I would get. And with each passing minute, I was finding myself more and more okay with it.
I started to leave the bathroom, then turned back, plucked my favorite bottle of—fuck me fragrance—cologne from the shelf beside the mirror, and splashed on just a “dash”.
I reached for the door, paused to take a couple of breaths, turned off the light, and stepped into the bedroom.
The first thing I noticed was the red tea-light candle on my nightstand; the tiny flame's glow was barely strong enough to reach my side of the bed, though it made a slight dent in the heavy darkness.
The second thing that caught my eye was the bed—freshly made.
The cuddler sat in the same spot on the far side of the mattress, leaning forward, his arms resting on his thighs.
He remained little more than a shadow in the darkness, faintly silhouetted against the blinds as the streetlamps outside seeped weakly between the black slats in thin, horizontal stripes.
I stared at his back, unable to look away; it was my first time really seeing him, even though I couldn’t make out much.
Something about his silhouette, the way he sat hunched forward, almost tense…
gave off a sense of vulnerability. I’d imagined him years older than me—early to mid-thirties, maybe—but now I wasn’t so sure.
I believed he was older, but maybe not as much as I’d first thought.
Did this change my feelings about the situation? No. No, it didn’t. I preferred older men, whether just a little or a lot older than I was.
I walked to the bed, naked as a jaybird, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, the soft threads weaving between my toes, making no sound at all.
As I drew closer, my heart skipped—it was doing that a lot tonight—when I saw the single rose lying on my pillow in the shadows.
I stood and stared at it, my pulse picking up speed.
I picked up the rose and touched it to my nose, my gaze shifting to the cuddler as my heart performed a funny flip-flop it had never done before. A completely new sensation that, at once, thrilled me—and scared the fuck out of me.
Holy shit, is this what LOVE feels like? Was I falling for him?! Was he falling for…?
As crazy as this night was—as crazy as I was—it still couldn’t possibly be that crazy… right? Just because he lit a candle and left a rose on my pillow didn’t mean…
My attention was suddenly drawn to the nightstand. There, in the glow of the tea-light candle, were three tiny, pink, heart-shaped Valentine’s Day candies, with two little words stamped in red on the chalky surface of each.
Be Mine. I’m Yours. Hard Pass.
I’d never been in shock before, but I thought the feeling coming over me then was what it must feel like. I sank onto the bed, every ounce of strength leaving me, the rose pinched between my fingers as I stared at the three candy pieces.
My lips pressed tight as a small laugh tried to escape.
Hard Pass. Why did that tickle my funny bone?
I numbly reached for one of the candy hearts, and my hand shook—actually fucking shook—as I plucked it from the nightstand.
The tiny pink heart nestled in my palm, my eyes glued to the two words: I’m yours.
I sat there for what felt like much longer than it actually was, reading those two words over and over.
Across the bed from me, I felt the cuddler shift slightly and quietly let out an uneven breath.
Was he nervous? Did he think I might choose the Hard Pass?
What would he do if I did? Just get up and leave? Murder me?
Why take chances, right?
Okay, I didn’t really think he would unalive me if I rejected him. That didn’t feel like where this “relationship” was headed. It didn’t matter, anyway; I’d made my choice.
I laid the rose on the nightstand, then leaned over and set the heart-shaped candy on his pillow. I’m Yours. I sat forward again. The cuddler, almost tentatively, plucked the candy from its cottony bed and sat quietly.
I softly blew out the candle, then lay face down on the bed, arms tucked under my pillow, head turned away… and waited.