A glass of milk.
A still-warm pirozhki.
I eat his food, standing in his kitchen.
Like I’ve always belonged here.
Like this is my right.
Because it is.
He’s mine.
Callum said Oksana was all bones and bite.
Tall, brittle, sharp-edged.
“That’s not what you want, is it?” I whisper to the empty house. “Not when you could have something soft.”
I wash my glass, leave no trace.
He deserves a woman who knows how to take care of things.
The office is next.
Camera angled to catch every word he writes, every secret he tries to keep.
I want to read over his shoulder.
I want to crawl inside his head.
Two left.
The bedroom, so I can watch him dreaming of me.
And the bathroom.
Because research doesn’t have to be boring.
And the fastest way to break a man is to know exactly how he falls apart alone.
And if his cock is subpar?
I need to know now.
We’re investing a lot in this man.
The last thing I’m willing to tolerate is disappointment.
The ghost of his morning shower is still clinging to the air.
Thick. Humid.
Laced with the memory of his body.
My whole body goes molten.
The mirror’s still fogged up.
