Page 27 of Waiting Game

It was as if my body reacted to his command, and I tensed around him as I came.

Stars came into my vision as a shattered and finished, and he was right about one thing.

I forgot about every other man I had been with.

His hands worked faster, moving my hips for me because my legs were now weak and useless. He panted against my chest, pulling me closer and closer against him.

“Fuck,” he growled through gritted teeth as he finished inside of me, slowing the rhythm further and grinding me slowly against him as he came down from the high.

With a deep breath, he leaned back, lying on the bed and pulling me down on top of him. I nuzzled into his chest, listening to his heart pound as he stroked my hair.

Right here, it felt like not a single minute had passed since I left him. It all felt so normal, so natural. Yet I couldn’t ignore the pit I felt forming in my stomach the more that my mind ran away with itself.

I knew that his mind would also be racing, I could tell by his silence.

What had we done?

* * *

I woke up alone in his bed with a pounding headache.

My body was no longer used to large amounts of alcohol, and I had consumed more of it in the past 24 hours than I had in years.

Rolling over, I put my hands to my head.

My mind was reeling with regret already.

Still tangled in his soft, green, sheets, I heard the faint sound of music pouring in from the living area of the apartment. I searched for my dress, and sighed as I remembered that it was by the front door. I got up, went to the large set of drawers in the corner of the room, and started rummaging through them.

For the first time, I looked around his bedroom.

Everything was black, or green, or gold.

It was surprisingly put together for a single man, and the aesthetic looked more like a woman had been involved. I was annoyed at myself for the jealousy I felt at the thought, even though it was completely ridiculous. I pulled out a shirt that I found in the second drawer, and pulled it on. It fell to a stop at the top of my thighs, and the v-neck fell too deep down my chest - but I shrugged.

It was nothing that he hadn’t already seen.

I stepped slowly into the hallway, and followed the sound of the music. Ren was standing in the kitchen in a pair of boxers and no shirt, humming away as he worked over the stove. I leaned against the wall, watching him as he whisked, my eyes drawn to the flexing of the rippling muscles on his back and the tattoos that I had never seen before.

He turned around and flashed a smile at me, his eyes wandering down and a cheeky smirk tugging at his lips as he noticed I was wearing his shirt.

“Good morning.”

“Hey,” I rubbed my eyes, running my hands through the knots in my hair once he looked away. I felt self-conscious all of a sudden, and tugged the shirt further down my thighs.

“Pancakes?” he asked, sliding one from the pan to a plate.

I shook my head, “I should get going.”

“Come on, Val. It’s just breakfast,” he placed the plate on the table and pulled out the chair. “It’ll help your hangover.”

I remembered my thumping headache and felt a deep rumble in my stomach.

“Fine,” I sighed, sitting down and eyeing him with suspicion. He turned back to the stove, and poured more batter into the pan. I picked at the pancake, though it was delicious, I didn’t have faith in my stomach.

He eventually sat down opposite me, and began eating. I watched him as I moved the food around with my fork. His silence was irritating me. So was his ability to act as if nothing had happened. I wasn’t sure which part of our story he was ignoring - the past ten years, or last night.

“It’s a beautiful apartment,” I said, trying to fill the silence.

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