11. Cat
11
Cat
The Time has Come
H is editing is seamless. He enhanced the video, too. It looks more professional than my usual posts, and it makes it impossible to ignore the fact that I need to step up my game.
I’ve been stuck in a holding pattern for way too long, a comfort zone. Things have been feeling stagnant since before I went on Lions’ Den, and even knowing that trainwreck was going to air, I didn’t make any improvements to try to minimize the damage. I just waited for it to happen, going through the same old motions.
When I realized I’d plateaued, I told myself I didn’t have time to learn new skills, but I didn’t need to pay someone else to do something I could do myself. Eventually.
I hear the problem in that mentality now, but I really believed I was being logical—instead of a control freak practicing avoidance like it was her religion.
It’s time to pay an editor until I can grow my skills.
Watching the video Nash created is a great motivator for me to make the time for some technical growth. But until I can do that, I wonder if he’d be willing to be my editor.
Right. He’d probably look at me like I have six heads.
He has a job. He doesn’t need a side gig. From what I can tell, he’s in demand as a game tester. It makes sense for that to be a job, but I never would’ve thought of it. I bet he’s really good at it. He’s probably good at everything he does. I have no critical feedback for anything he did with me.
I watch the video again, and then I schedule the post so my followers can enjoy his editing skills tomorrow. They’ll never know that this is the video that nearly wasn’t. Until Nash saved it.
Sure, he’s the reason it needed to be fixed, but there’s no denying it’s better than it would’ve been without his touch. I might be better because of his touch, too.
Why’d I do this? It wasn’t hurting anything for us to sleep in the same bed. And now, I’m all alone and unable to sleep. I wonder if he’s awake. He took a shower about thirty minutes ago. I was sitting on the balcony when he went out for his run, and I stayed out there until he came back.
I just needed to know he’d returned safe. He wasn’t being dragged out by a riptide. Not drowning after being bitten by a shark. Not in his car on his way home without saying goodbye because I was too hard to live with for a whole week.
Catastrophizing like a boss? Check.
I wanted to go on his run with him, but he was already out. When he came home, I wanted to go down and ask if he had a good run. And now, I want to text him to say I changed my mind about sleeping in separate rooms. But he’s probably already asleep.
His running shoes are probably in the middle of the living room floor. If he drank water when he came in, his glass is probably in the sink. He probably ate a protein bar and left the wrapper on the counter.
Well, I’m not going to be able to sleep now. I shove my bookmark between the pages, throw the blanket off my legs, and go downstairs in a huff.
Who am I mad at? Am I even mad? Do I just need to be vindicated by confirming he did all the things I imagined?
The answer to all of those things might be yes, but I also need to know if he’s up.
His room is dark. And quiet.
I step softly into the kitchen. His glass in the sink. I move it to the dishwasher. His crumpled protein bar wrapper is on the floor. In his defense, it’s very near the trashcan, so it appears he made a partial effort.
His shoes aren’t in the living room. He must’ve worn them into his room, which means he tracked sand all the way from the front door to wherever he took them off. It’s none of my business. This isn’t my house.
I’m not even supposed to be here.
He coughs as I pass his room again, and I stop to listen, to make sure he’s okay. It was just a cough. He’s fine.
He’s not having an allergic reaction to a jellyfish sting. He’s not choking on a nut from his protein bar. He’s not dry drowning.
And he’s not trying to get your attention because he heard you moving around in the kitchen. Get over yourself and go back upstairs.
The hinges on his door creak a little as I push it open. He lies still in his bed. He’s asleep.
I take a few steps into the room. The glow from the bedside lamp he’s left on would be enough to see his face if he wasn’t lying on his side with his back to me. I step closer to the bed.
His hair looks damp. No wonder he’s coughing. He went to bed with his hair wet.
I reach to turn off his lamp, and in one swift strike, he rolls, lunges, wraps his strong arm around me, and pulls me into the bed. Like a snake who’s caught its prey unawares.
My squeal of terror activates his low ominous laugh.
“You afraid of me now?”
“I thought you were asleep.”
“I was. You woke me up.”
His erection stabs my thigh. “I think you were already up.”
He lifts the covers and hooks his leg over my hip, using it to drag me closer to him. His hand roughly squeezes my tit before it rushes down my body. “Why are you wearing panties in my bed?”
“I wasn’t planning on being in your bed.”
“Yet, here you are. All warm and soft and sweet smelling.” He nuzzles my hair as he rolls my panties down my thighs. “Take these off so I can punish you for teasing me.”
“Maybe I’m not in the mood to have my ass spanked tonight.”
“Maybe that’s not what I plan to spank. I think it’s time to fast-track the testing of your limits, beautiful. Are you going to be a good girl for me? Let me push your boundaries? Do things no one else has ever done to you?”
My breath retreats in my chest as if it’s been chased back by his perverse tone.
The lamp is still on, leaving no room for doubt that his eyes are devilish, his smile is wolfish, and my body’s reaction is shamelessly submissive. My nipples pebble, my pussy wets the sheet beneath us, and my limbs go boneless under his domineering gaze.
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl. Spread your fucking legs.”