I nod. “Do you want something to eat?”
“No, thank you.”
Turning, I begin to fix Calla’s coffee order, all the while able to feel the heat of her eyes searing into my bare back. I clench my jaw, pouring in the boiling water, wafting away the billowing steam, unsure of what to do next.
Do I catch her gaze? Do I—
Calla decides my next step for me.
I hear the soft movement of her bare feet on my tiled kitchen floor moving further away, the tired exhale of my well-worn sofa as she sits down upon the leather cushions, the slight tapping of her nails against the pixilated screen of her mobile phone.
For a heartbeat, I mentally berate myself for missing my chance with her and then catch myself.
What chance? There is no chance.
It’s a one-night stand, for God’s sakes.
I don’t see Calla making any sort of move to show she’d like to get to know me any further than sleeping together for a night, and believe me, I think if she wanted to make that clear to me, she would.
It’s pretty obvious after last night, when Calla let me know exactly how she wanted to be touched, that she isn’t afraid of speaking her mind. She isn’t someone who just sits and lets an opportunity she wants pass her by. She goes for it. All in.
So, why should this morning be any different?
“Here you go.” Gathering our mugs, I round the back of the sofa, dropping down beside Calla. Our fingertips brush together for a heartbeat as she takes her mug from me, but then she’s pulling back, placing a wedge of space between us.
I take a sip, watching Calla blow across the scalding liquid, from my peripheral vision.
The shirt she’s wearing –my shirt– rides higher on her thighs now she’s sitting, silky legs folded beneath herself. I try not to let myself stare, but I fail within seconds, eyes fixing on the soft skin of her upper thighs. I bet I could mark them a pretty shade of red with my teeth, working upwards until I could tongue fuck her tight pussy. I just know she’d taste as sweet as the rest of her; addictive and downright sinful.
As if she can read my mind, the sight of Calla’s smirk swims into my vision.
I meet her eyes, holding her gaze as I take a gulp of coffee and bring a knee up, foot resting on the edge of the sofa, to hide the tenting of my crotch.
After getting what she wanted last night, Calla certainly isn’t jumping on me again and I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable because of my body’s natural reaction.
Inhaling, stomach and ribcage expanding, I desperately try to ignore the sweet scent of Calla beside me. She still smells of the perfume she wears, the aromatic scent less dominant than it had been before, but still there, nevertheless. But now it’s intermingled with the familiar scent of mylaundry detergent embedded into the fibres of the thin shirt she wears.
I clear my throat into the rim of my coffee cup, scratching at the nape of my neck. The skin there prickles with heat. In fact, my whole body feels alight; skin stretched tight across my bones.
“How did you sleep?”
Unsurprisingly, Calla is the one to break the silence between the two of us, rubbing her thumb along the square outline of the photograph printed onto the side of her coffee cup. It was a gag gift from my younger brother, Grey, a couple of years back, showcasing all four of us Millen brothers. I can’t remember what we’re celebrating in the photograph, but it’s something, what with the grins we’re wearing, and the bottles of beer clutched in our respective hands. Noah’s stag do, perhaps?
I watch Calla’s gaze flick over the grainy faces staring back at her before she turns her attention back to me.
“You sleep like a starfish, limbs spread out all over the place.”
Calla squawks. “I do not!”
“Mhm. Yeah, you do.” I nod my head. “You cuddle in your sleep, too.”
“Shut up,” she grumbles, but it’s hard not to miss the playful twinkle in her eyes. “Next you’ll be telling me I talk in my sleep too.”
I pop my shoulders. “I wouldn’t know. If it’s any consolation, you didn’t last night.”
“And you’re never going to know, seeing as how this was a one-night thing. Right?”
“Right,” I answer Calla without a single hesitation. It’s obvious that’s what she wants; confirmation, practicallywritten in stone, that last night was a one-time deal and it won’t be happening again.
