Niko
My heart almost stopped for about the thousandth time today when she walked back down those stairs in nothing but that skimpy two-piece that left little for my imagination to run wild with. Memories of sharing the ocean, of having my hands on her waist, my thumb stroking the soft, subtle skin of her hip. Of watching her pull herself up and onto the ledge, muscles flexing as she held her weight before turning around. Of the soft swell of her breasts that barely contained themselves in the tiny triangles of material made for hiding them. It all begs me to give up on cooking, to grab her and march her back upstairs to the bed I hate sharing with her.
Hate being a lie, honestly, but I do disfavour being beside her with the power to take what I need but not having the heart to force the
