“What are you doing downtown?”
That’s certainly one way to start a conversation, I guess. “What are you talking about?” I look around the room, as if somehow my mother has managed to plant a camera in my new apartment.
“Sandy Higgins called this morning and said she saw you going into an apartment building downtown. And on the expensive side of downtown, too. What are you doing down there?”
I sigh. Even when I’m twenty miles from Lamara Heights, I can’t escape the prying eyes of my mother’s gossiping friends. “Mom, seeing as how you kicked me out of the house so you wouldn’t have to put up with me anymore, I just don’t know why it’s your business what I’m doing in Savannah.”
“It’s my business, Mara, because you still represent this family, whether you’re here or not.”
I just roll my eyes. It’s a family, not a corporation where I work, but I guess that’s the problem, isn’t it? My whole life I’ve been treated like an employee who has to bring something to the table in order to be valued.
My stomach churns. Maybe that’s why I’m here. Because at the end of the day, the only real thing I have of value is my body.
“Goodbye, Mother,” I say before hanging up the phone. I hate that in one single conversation, my mother has made me feel so worthless. She didn’t even really have to tell me I was worthless. I was able to put all the pieces together myself.
I get up and move down the hall, drawn to the bedroom I passed last night. The door isn’t open today, and I know I’m snooping, but I want to know more about the people I live with. So I open the door and peek inside. I’m immediately hit with a very masculine scent, like cologne or body wash or something. It’s heavy in the air in a pleasant way.
The room is very minimal, a lot like my own bedroom. The bed is made and the nightstand is tidy, just a single picture frame and an empty glass on a coaster.
I pick up the picture frame, and there’s Jonas, looking back at me. He has his arm wrapped around a female minotaur, who could be his mom or his sister or–hell, I don’t know–his girlfriend. I don’t know how to tell how old a minotaur is. I never even asked the guys how old they are. I just made a lot of assumptions based on their jobs and their level of wealth. Maybe I should ask. If they both turn out to be in their seventies or something, how would I feel about our relationship? I’m almost twenty-one, but it has certainly never occurred to me where my limit is in terms of sexual partners. Fifty, maybe?
I set the frame back down and go to the closet. I promise myself I won’t open any boxes hidden in corners or anything, but I do step inside and run my fingers along the clothes I find there. The scent of Jonas is even stronger here. Half of his closet is leisure wear, things like sweatpants and hooded sweatshirts. There are a few pairs of jeans and some nice button-ups. The other half is clearly what he wears to work: suits in black and gray and navy blue. I try to picture him in these clothes, the shape of him bulging against the seams. It gets me hot so quick.
Which brings me back to last night. Why didn’t Jonas want me? I wasn’t awake when he got home last night or when he left again this morning, but he had to know that Henry was in my room, that we slept together. Why didn’t he join us?
As if I can somehow right this wrong, I crawl into Jonas’s bed. I don’t get under the covers. I stretch out across the blanket and try to imagine him here, staring up at the ceiling. He seems like one of those people that wouldn’t tell you how he’s feeling on pain of death.
I stick my hand under the pillow and my fingers find something there. When I pull it out, I see that it’s the book he was reading on the couch last night. It’s a sci-fi novel that I’ve never heard of, and the thought of Jonas being into spaceships and aliens makes me laugh. He might have a gruff exterior, but he likes to be entertained, just like the rest of us.
I open the book to the first page and start reading.
Somewhere around the time the two warring alien species discover that they have to team up in order to defeat the World Annihilator, my eyes get heavy and I fall asleep.
4
When I wake, I’m horrified to find that I’m still in Jonas’s bed, and the sun has gone down. The book is laying open on my stomach, and I quickly shut it and put it back under the pillow. Maybe Jonas isn’t home yet. Maybe he hasn’t seen that I was asleep in his bed.
But when I stand and go to the open door, I know that’s not the case. The light is on in the kitchen. The yellow glow has partially lit up the hallway, and I know I didn’t turn it on. I almost never use artificial light when the sun is up.
When I step into the hallway, I hear a very distinct, rhythmic noise and stop. Standing in front of the kitchen island, one hand on the marble countertop to keep him steady, Jonas is standing with his shirt partially unbuttoned and his head thrown back. His other hand is jerking off his cock, sticking out of the opening of his suit pants. The rhythmic sound is the slap of flesh on flesh as he furiously strokes himself.
I’ve never seen anything so delicious in my life.
I must make a horny noise in the back of my throat because Jonas’s eyes open and he lowers his face, his eyes meeting mine across the length of the apartment.
His hand stops moving, but I can tell that it’s difficult for him by the way the breath puffs out of him.
But he doesn’t rush to put his dick away–not that he could when it’s that hard. He just watches me with his hand still wrapped around himself.
“Are you angry with me?” I ask. It’s bad enough that he’s kept his distance over the last twenty-four hours. I don’t think I could stand it if I had crossed some sort of line and now he didn’t want me at all…ever. Would he kick me out?
“Do I look angry?” he growls, and I have to bite my lip not to laugh.
“Yes, actually,” I say.
He sighs and lets his hand drop. “I’m not angry at you. When I walked into my room and saw you in there in nothing but Henry’s t-shirt and some skimpy panties, sleeping in my bed like you wanted to be near me, it made me so hard I couldn’t see straight.”
That’s enough encouragement to propel me forward. I make it all the way to the kitchen, not missing the way his eyes watch my breasts bounce as I walk. I never bothered to change out of my pajamas from last night. What was the point if I wasn’t going to leave the apartment?
