Chapter Two
The second night she came downstairs in an old shirt.
It hung to mid-thigh. Her hair was damp, and she smelled like the shampoo I had kept for her all those years.
I was silent as I watched her pour water into a mug for tea and lean against the counter. She scrolled on her phone, and after a second, she glanced up at me. I had no doubt she’d felt me staring.
If only she knew what she was doing to me.
My hands flexed at my sides. I had jerked off twice already that day. Once in the morning after watching her stretch on the living room floor in yoga pants. And another time in the afternoon after finding the laundry basket with her used panties on top.
I was ashamed to admit I had held them to my face for a long time. The scent of her cunt was faint, but it still had my cock screaming in my head. I shoved the laundry basket aside and forced myself back into the kitchen like nothing had happened.
Mallory was already there, leaning against the counter with a glass of water. She’d changed into an old pair of sleep shorts and a loose tank top. Her hair was still damp from the shower.
She looked up when I walked in, brows drawn a little, like she’d been thinking about something and hadn’t decided whether to say it out loud.
I poured myself a glass just to have something to do with my hands.
She watched me for a few seconds, and the silence stretched until it felt heavy.
“You’ve been looking at me differently since I got back,” she said quietly. Not accusing. Just… noticing. “I keep catching it. The way you go quiet. The way your voice changes when I’m close.”
My throat tightened. I set the glass down harder than I meant to. “Mallory—”
“I’m not imagining it, am I?”
I should’ve lied, should’ve told her she was tired and reading too much into nothing. Instead I stood there and let the truth sit between us like something that had finally grown too big to hide.
“You don’t know what you’re inviting,” I said. My voice came out rougher than I wanted. “You don’t know what you do to me,” I admitted. Finally. “I watch you walk around this house and know I’m seconds from losing my control.”
She didn’t look away as her fingers tightened around the glass. Something uncertain and curious moved across her face—like she was testing the edge of a feeling she hadn’t named yet.
“Maybe I don’t want you to have control,” she said, softer this time. Almost like she was trying the words on.
That was all it took.
I moved before I could stop myself and crowded her against the counter. One hand braced beside her hip, the other fisted at my side so I wouldn’t grab. I could smell her skin. She was warm, clean, and underneath it there was a faint private scent that had been driving me crazy for days.
My cock was a heavy, aching line against the front of my jeans. “I’ve wanted you since you were nineteen,” I said, low and ugly and true. “I’ve jerked off to the thought of spreading these legs open and burying my face in your cunt more times than I can count.”
I watched her expression for cues to stop. But all I saw was forbidden need reflected back.
“I’ve fucked my fist thinking about your mouth.
About your throat. About how quiet you’d be when I finally shoved my cock in and made you take every inch.
You’re the only thing I think about… the only thing I’ve thought about for years.
And if you stay in this house looking at me like that, I’m going to take what I want.
I won’t be gentle, and I won’t stop. Do you understand me? ”
Her breath hitched, and I watched the pulse jump in her throat. Mallory didn’t push me away, but she didn’t lean in either. She just stood there, eyes wide, like the ground under her feet had shifted and she was still deciding whether to step back or step closer.
“I… understand,” she whispered.
I stepped back like she’d burned me, then turned and walked out of the kitchen with my pulse slamming in my ears and my cock so hard it hurt.
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat on the edge of my bed with the door cracked open and listened to her move around upstairs. Every shift of the sheets, every soft sigh. I listened to all of it.
I imagined her lying there, thinking about what I’d said. I was a sick fuck for imagining her fingers sliding between her legs even if she hated herself for it.
I stroked myself slow and angrily, eyes locked on the dark hallway, and came with her name bitten into my forearm so she wouldn’t hear.
Tomorrow, I told myself. Tomorrow I’d stop pretending I could keep my hands off what already belonged to me.