I ignore the feeling. Mr Anderson is out. I know that. I have hours to be as outrageous as I want.
A crazy cat lady usually means something else, but in this case I’m a crazy pussy girl, writhing on her boss’ bed and sticking her pussy up, dreaming of it being claimed.
Doggy style, isn’t it called? That’s what he’d do with me, his pet puppy. I giggle manically into the pillow. I’ve lost it. I’m restless and achy. I have all these new feelings whenever Mr Anderson’s big body is near me, and being in his bed is causing those same sensations to echo through me.
A lock clicks.
There’s the sweep of a door opening, and I stop, shock still.
Did I just dream that?
A soft rustle of fabric. My mind fills in Mr Anderson taking off his jacket, shrugging one strong shoulder then the other.
Oh. Shite.
No time for thirst, Lily. Get off the bed.
He’s home. How is he home? I don’t get it. He said he’d be out all evening.
I roll off Mr Anderson’s bed and look desperately around. The wardrobe. He won’t find me there. My heart is slamming against my ribs.
His footsteps echo, slow and deliberate, as he walks through the hallway.
The wardrobe opens with the silence of luxury. No squeak or clatter. Diving into his shirts, I realise a major flaw with my strategy. Wardrobes don’t have handles on the inside, and this one is a mirrored door. There’s no way for me to close it fully.
And it’s dark. Only a crack of light from the room. This never happens in movies!
I have to shut the door. Have to. There’s no way Mr Anderson won’t notice. If he comes in. If.
Casting around, before I’ve thought I draw a hanger down and I’m on my knees. The metal hook slides under the door as Mr Anderson’s footsteps draw closer. I pull it up, and drag at the door. I’m panicking.
His steps stop as the wardrobe door clicks shut.
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Sinking down, I shuffle back further, into Mr Anderson’s shirts, the soft cotton brushing my cheek.
Probably he’ll go to his lounge. It’s early. He’ll make a cup of tea, surely? Maybe he’ll have a shower and I can sneak out while he’s busy.
Even so, I hold my breath and turn my face into his shirts. They smell of him. Fresh and spicy and I can’t help breathing it in.
It’s quiet. I’m safe. I’ll just stay here with my crush’s shirts, sniffing them like a nutter. An obsessed girl.
I sit in the dark, eyes closed, having progressed to holding one of his shirts and rubbing my face into it. I’mreallynot normal.
This is not a normal thing to do.
But it’s okay. I’m going to indulge this impulse and Mr Anderson will never know. I just have to wait?—
The door swings open and I snap my head up to look into Mr Anderson’s face, towering above me.
“What the hell, Lily?” he growls as he grabs my wrists and drags me to my feet. “What are you doing with my shirts?”
11
KANE
I drag her out of my wardrobe, my brain full of static.
