* You drive me wild
XI
“There are no innocent desires.”
— Charles Baudelaire
Chapter Twelve
Marley
The soft rhythm of Kelechi’s breathing filled the quiet space between us in a way that should have calmed me. Instead, it made something tight unfurl in my chest. Her head rested against my shoulder. The silk scarf I had given her was barely holding back her braids as they spilled across my collarbone and down my arm, and I could feel the gentle puff of her breath against my neck.
I should have been content right here. Satisfied that I got to be the one she trusted well enough to help her discover herself. Instead, my mind wouldn’t stop racing about how all this would end.
I’d had a taste of her, and heaven knows I wanted more. I wasn’t even a bit satisfied… and her being straight and curious… shit.
If it was curiosity, you encouraged it.. an inner voice said to me.
Fuck.
I’d always stayed away from straight women. That rule had kept my life simple. They kissed girls at parties when they were drunk, flirted for fun, used queer women to experiment, to test on the way back to men, normalcy, and safety. We were the detour, the phase. The story they laughed about later.
I had promised myself years ago that I would never be someone’s phase.
So, what the hell was I doing now?
What if she woke up tomorrow and realised this had all been a mistake? What if she decided it had just been novelty, proximity, rebellion?
And even if she did, it’s a win-win for both of you… this isn’t a romantic relationship, Marley… it’s an arrangement.
But even as the fears spiralled through my mind, I knew they were unfair to her. The way she’d looked at me this afternoon, the way she’d responded to my touch, the breathless wonder in her voice when she’d moaned my name… that hadn’t felt like experimentation or like she wanted to hurt me. That had felt like recognition, like she’d been discovering a part of herself she’d never known existed. And I was more than happy to be of assistance.
This is just you teaching her how to be free, how to explore and act on her suppressed desires, my inner voice reminded me again. There was no label to what we had going on.
I forced myself to focus on the present. On the warm weight of her body against mine. On the way, her fingers were loosely curled against my ribs, like even in her drowsiness, she didn’t want to let go. On how natural this felt, having her in my space, in my bed.
After we’d dressed, we’d finally remembered the Sauerbraten. The meat had turned out perfect, tender, and rich despite the rushed marinade. We’d eaten on the couch with our legs tangled together, stealing lazy kisses between bites while she praised every mouthful as though I’d performed some culinary miracle.
The way she had closed her eyes when she’d tasted something particularly good, the little sounds of appreciation she’d made… it had been almost as intoxicating as watching her come apart in my arms earlier.
I had never cooked for a hookup before. Hell, I’d never even let anyone sleep over in my bed. But here I was, wishing she would never leave it, never leave my life. When had casual turned into careful? When did sex begin to feel like something really intense?
God, I was in trouble.
The realization hit me with startling clarity. I’d always been careful about letting people get too close. It was easier that way, safer. Keep things light, keep the expectations low, keep my heart protected behind walls that had served me well for years. But Kelechi… she was already slipping past my defences without even trying.
It had been close to 10 p.m. by the time we’d finished dinner, both of us lingering over the last of the wine, neither wanting the evening to end. When I’d suggested she stay the night, I’d tried to keep my voice casual, like it was just a practical suggestion rather than something I desperately wanted.
“It’s late,” I’d said, not quite meeting her eyes. “And you’ve had wine. I’d feel better if you stayed.”
The relief that had flooded her face told me she’d wanted the same thing.
Now she was wearing one of my old T-shirts and a pair of my joggers, both comically large on her smaller frame but somehow making her look even more beautiful. The soft cotton of my shirt clung to her curves, and I’d had to bite back a groan when I’d seen how it stretched across her chest, emphasising the fullness of her breasts in a way that had made my mouth go dry all over again.
She’d caught me staring and had blushed that gorgeous, deep red that I was already addicted to, ducking her head shyly even after everything we’d shared today.
“You’re staring,” she’d whispered, and I’d wanted to tell her that I couldn’t help it, that she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, especially like that, soft and rumpled and mine for the night, at least.
