I want him (1)

I want him (1)
KIRA

I stare at the letter and glance around, even though it's obvious Grisha didn't sneak into my apartment. The security is so tight that not even a fly could breach it, and besides, I only took off this coat a moment ago.

He slipped it into my pockets at some point in the day. I think back to all the places I've been today, wondering when he got the chance to get close enough to me.

No matter how hard I think about it, I can't pinpoint any suspicious moment. He is either getting better at sneaking around, or I'm becoming sloppy.

Either way, how can I account for every movement I make? There are thousands of people milling about every day. If I think too much about every stranger I cross paths with, I will drive myself nuts.

Dinner tastes like cardboard even though I warmed last night's phenomenal lasagna—if I'm going to live here, I might as well eat something better than instant noodles. Shane went to so much trouble for my comfort, after all.

Still, I can barely swallow a few bites before I want to gag. I cover up the leftovers and return them to the fridge.

I planned to spend some time watching a movie before bed, but that no longer feels like a viable option. I crawl into bed and pull the comforter over my head, but my brain can't shut down enough to sleep.

My mind is full of intrusive thoughts. He can find me no matter where I run. I already knew this, but I deluded myself into believing I was safe in Rhys’s turf.

If I keep thinking about it, I will be unable to sleep and mess up my work tomorrow. Rhys, that unpredictable asshole, might just decide to fire me for not adding enough sugar to his coffee. Luckily, I know a way to unwind that works for me better than any sleeping pill.

I don’t have the strength to get out of bed and grab my notebook, so I reach for my phone instead. I install and launch a diary app before pouring all my thoughts into it.

\[It’s a dark, stormy night. I have hated storms since I was a little girl, and this one seems like it’s going to last forever. I’m watching a movie to calm my nerves, but that does nothing to ease the fear when lightning strikes, followed by a hair-raising rumble of thunder.

The doorbell rings, making me shrink to the end of the couch, even though ghosts can’t appear in real life. That only happens in movies, and they are never polite enough to ring the doorbell. Why would they, when they can float right through the wall?

Yet the incessant doorbell continues, making me cover my head with the fleece blanket. The distant ringing of my phone brings me back to earth. When I see his name flashing on the screen, I’m filled with relief.

"Sir?" I say by way of greeting.

"Open up," comes the deep rumble of his voice. I know he is talking about the door, but there are a few other things I would like to open for him instead.

Only when he is standing in my living room do I believe that he is here. It’s unexpected, but you won’t hear me complaining about it when I have dreaded the solitude for so long. He is soaked from head to toe, his clothes dripping.

"Would you like to take a shower?" I offer, inching closer to provide some warmth. "You must be cold."

"Don’t touch me. I’ll get you all wet."

Is it just me, or is every single one of Rhys’s words sexual?

"I’m already wet," I mutter. He doesn’t hear me.

He’s in the bathroom a few minutes later when he calls for me. "Kira, could you pass me more shampoo?"

"It’s in the cabinet right outside the shower stall," I say.

"If I wanted you to tell me where it is, that’s what I would have said."

Okay, then.

When I enter the bathroom, I’m met with the sexiest view I have ever seen. The walls of the shower cubicle are translucent, but I can still make out Rhys’s silhouette. Its impact on me must be what men feel after taking two doses of viagra.

I tap on the door with the shampoo in hand, trying not to stare. The billowing of warmth lets me know Rhys has opened the door. He grabs the shampoo and then my hand, tugging me into the stall with him.

Rhys pushes me against his hard body, letting the water drench my clothes. He kisses me as water pours down our bodies, his hands roaming underneath my clothes. The rain outside is still pounding hard, the sound of water hypnotizing, but all I can focus on is his lips against mine and his magical fingers on my skin.

His warm hand delves into my pajamas, invading my panties. He rubs my clit with gentle stokes, his lips still on mine. I grip his hand, grinding against his palm in desperation.\]

I stopped writing at some point. Now, I’m just grinding against my palm with that visual stuck in my head. I tease and fondle my body, pretending my hands are Rhys’s. My fingers feel quite different from his. Rhys’s are locker and thicker and just right.

I cry out his name as my orgasm hits. Unlike other times I’ve given myself pleasure, the high doesn’t last long. I feel empty immediately after, craving the touch of the man I’ve been thinking about. Looks like I’m going to need a vibrator—if that’s even going to work. There’s no way to trick my body into thinking that a little battery-powered device is similar to the hands and dick of a man.

Not just any man. Rhys Redmond. I want him to touch every inch of my skin and tease my body. I want him on top of me and inside me before I explode.