He places a soft kiss on top of my head. “Good night, Moon Witch.”
Another kiss on my lips, and I’m sent on my merry way inside the warmth of my house, even though his embrace held much more heat.
I grab a quick snack, make myself a cup of tea, and head upstairs. I disrobe and settle in for the evening. As I lounge on my bed, I think about relieving the pressure of the day, but I don’t. It’s tempting, but it won’t feel like the real deal I tasted this morning. Now only Jericho can scratch the itch away.
I get up to use the bathroom and something stops me when I pass the window in the hall, which is across from Jericho’s bedroom window.
His light is on, and the curtain is drawn. Jericho walks into view—damp hair, steam curling around him like mist. His skin glows golden in the lamplight. He’s got a white towel wrapped around his hips and nothing else. He looks carved from stone, large and real.
He runs a hand through his wet hair, turns, and sees me. Our eyes meet. I should turn away because that’s what a sane person would do, right?
I should look away and give him some privacy.
But I don’t. No sane or insane person would look awayfrom that—a chiseled body sculpted by gods from dreams of thirsty women.
He doesn’t move either. Instead, he steps closer to the window. Lets me watch him. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. He rolls his neck, slowly. Muscles ripple beneath skin. His hand moves across his chest like he’s wiping something away, but it’s deliberate. Measured. Taunting.
My breath hitches. He smirks.
Smirks.The teasing jerk. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Maybe he was not as tired as I thought him to be.
And then he disappears like the mist around him. Poof.Gone. Just like that. Leaving me with my mouth hanging open, not from thirst but from rage about his teasing. I sure will reciprocate at some point.
Feeling flushed, buzzing, and unsatisfied after knowing what his body can deliver, my body acts before my brain catches up. I pull a robe over my naked body, because I don’t want to give my grandmother more ammunition against me, and run downstairs. Yanking the robe off and hiding it under the jackets, I put a camel coat over my shoulders and fluffy boots over my feet before I head outside.
No second thoughts. No clothes underneath. Nothing unnecessary. Just me and the skin I was born in wrapped in a layer of nerves and my vanilla perfume. Feeling myself a little like Marilyn Monroe and holding my head high, I add a little more swerve into my steps and march straight toward his door.
When I’m raising my fist to knock, the door opens. He’s standing there. Still wet. Still in the towel. Still with the same taunting smile on his face.
“You came,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest, taunting me. The move makes his muscles pop, drawing my attention to them.
I watch without shame. “You invited.”
His gaze drops. Slowly. “Did I?”
We like this game—asking each other questions without need for an answer.
“I can always come back.” I shrug one shoulder. The movement makes the coat slip off a little.
Jericho’s hand shoots up toward my front and grabs the material. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he rasps, pulling me over the threshold.
“I wouldn’t.” My laughter is breathy.
I stand in front of him, hands on his still wet shoulders while he’s holding me close by my coat.
“You still naked under there?” His eyes dip to my front.
“Me? Naked?”
With that, I lightly push away from him and unbutton the only button holding my coat closed. Surprised with my own boldness, I trail the hem of one side with my finger, watching his eyes ignite with something raw.
“You’re not wearing anything.” His voice is raspy and low, scratching the gentle skin between my legs.
“Didn’t want to overdress.” I shrug one shoulder nonchalantly as if I walk like this every day. Which I do, if one wants to get technical, but it’s not for the purposes of seduction. More for the comfort of my own body. This playfulness is a new chapter in my life which seems to be arising only around this grumpy man.
Jericho’s watching me with flared nostrils. He doesn’t move. Neither do I. For the first time in my life, I’m truly feeling the power of my own body. And it’s because of the pure hunger in his eyes. It makes me feel like I’ve bewitched him just by standing here and breathing. No one has ever made me feel more like a woman than he is now without even touching me.
We’re standing an inch apart, him half naked, me barely wrapped in a coat that’s starting to slip off one shoulder, revealing more of me every second.
