Bad Thoughts
918 Words
The footsteps stopped outside my door.
I waited.
Heart pounding. Breath held.
Silence.
Then nothing.
No knock.
No voice.
No Damon.
I opened the door slowly anyway.
The hallway was empty.
A strange mix of disappointment and relief hit at the same time.
I stood there another second before shutting the door again.
Sleep clearly wasn’t happening tonight.
A few minutes later, I wandered downstairs barefoot, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder as I headed toward the kitchen.
The estate was dark except for the low lights left glowing through the halls.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
I moved toward the whiskey cabinet almost without thinking.
His whiskey.
Bad decision.
I poured some anyway.
The burn hit my throat warm and slow as I leaned back against the counter.
And unfortunately—
That only made me think about him more.
About his hand around my wrist in the hallway.
The way his voice lowered when he said punishment.
The way he’d looked at me in the kitchen last night while I touched him.
God.
My thoughts drifted before I could stop them.
I imagined him behind me again.
One hand flat against the counter beside me while the other slid slowly up my thigh beneath one of his quiet warnings.
Telling me how badly I behaved.
How long he’d wanted to put me in my place.
The thought alone made heat curl low in my stomach.
I shut my eyes briefly, taking another sip of whiskey as the fantasy sharpened.
His mouth at my neck.
His rough voice in my ear.
Those large hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave marks.
My thighs pressed together instinctively.
Jesus.
When did I get this obsessed?
At some point I left the kitchen without fully deciding to.
My feet carried me quietly through the dark halls until I found myself standing outside the master bedroom.
Damon’s room.
The door was slightly open.
Another bad decision.
I pushed it wider anyway.
The room was empty.
Large. Dark. Clean in the same controlled way everything about him felt controlled.
And it smelled like him.
Whiskey.
Soap.
That expensive cologne that lingered in every room after he left it.
My pulse quickened immediately.
I moved farther inside slowly, eyes trailing over the room.
The bed.
The loosened tie tossed carelessly over a chair.
His watch resting near the nightstand.
Too intimate.
It felt wrong being in here.
Which somehow only made it worse.
I could picture him everywhere.
Against the wall.
Across the bed.
Hands gripping my waist while that calm composure finally disappeared.
God.
I was losing my mind.
Then—
The sound of running water.
I froze.
The shower.
My eyes shifted toward the partially open bathroom door.
Every good decision I’d ever made in my life told me to leave immediately.
Instead, I moved closer.
Slowly.
Quietly.
Until I reached the crack in the door.
And looked.
Oh.
God.
Damon stood beneath the water, one hand dragging slowly through his wet hair before moving down over his beard.
Water traced over broad shoulders and hard muscle like something sculpted instead of human.
My breath caught instantly.
And lower—
I shouldn’t have looked.
I looked anyway.
Heat flooded through me so fast it almost hurt.
He looked unreal.
Too big. Too masculine. Too much.
A dangerous thought hit me immediately:
I couldn’t handle all of that.
The realization only made the heat between my thighs worse.
I stared before I could stop myself.
Completely trapped by the sight of him.
Then suddenly—
His head lifted.
Straight toward the door.
Toward me.
My stomach dropped.
I ducked back instantly beside the wall, pulse exploding in my chest.
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
What was wrong with me?
Bad decisions.
Bad thoughts.
Bad girl.
I pressed my eyes shut tightly, trying to calm my breathing.
Then—
Another dangerous decision.
I looked again.
This time Damon continued his shower like he hadn’t noticed anything at all.
But something had changed.
He moved slower now.
More deliberate.
Soap sliding across his chest, down his stomach, lower—
My throat went dry.
He knew.
He absolutely knew.
And he was letting me watch anyway.
The realization nearly destroyed me.
I stepped back from the door quickly before I did something even more humiliating.
Then I heard the water shut off.
Panic hit instantly.
I bolted from the room and straight back toward the kitchen before he could catch me there.
By the time I reached the counter again, my breathing was uneven.
I grabbed the whiskey glass immediately, taking another sip as I leaned against the marble.
What the hell was happening to me?
When did I become this bold?
This obsessive?
Footsteps sounded behind me.
Slow.
Measured.
My pulse stopped.
I turned slowly—
And nearly forgot how to breathe.
Damon stood there wearing only a towel low around his waist, hair still damp, water tracing slowly down his chest.
But this time—
There was something darker in his eyes.
Something that hadn’t been there before.
His gaze dropped briefly to the whiskey in my hand.
Then back to me.
“You enjoy watching?”
The question came quiet.
Calm.
Which somehow made it infinitely worse.
My mouth opened immediately. “I wasn’t—”
He stepped closer and smoothly took the glass from my hand before I could finish.
One sip.
Then his eyes locked onto mine again.
“Do you enjoy touching things that don’t belong to you either?”
- Writer
