008
1701 Words
LENA
“I think we’re done here,” his voice low, deliberate, dragging through me.
I froze, still leaning against the counter, my top clinging to damp skin beneath. He set me down slowly, his hands brushing my hips, just enough to make me shiver, then stared a moment longer, his eyes dark and possessive.
Every inch of him screamed control and dominance.
Then, without another word, he turned, climbing the stairs slowly. I couldn’t look away—couldn’t move. My chest rose and fell, my fingers trembling as I pressed against the counter for support. The ache between my thighs had not dulled; it only throbbed stronger, tighter.
Finally, when I could catch my breath, I stumbled upstairs to my room, shut the door, and locked it behind me.
The room felt small, suffocating, and yet safe. My body was still alive with memory: his hands, the weight of him, the way his fingers had brushed me, teasing me. I sank onto my bed, hugging my knees, heart still hammering.
My mind raced back to Chloe. All these totally made me forget to check if she’d gotten home safe.
Tch. I picked up my phone and dialed her. Twice, three times, all to no avail.
My thumb hovered over the screen. I dialed again. Nothing. I left a voice message, my voice low and tentative. “Chloe… where are you? Please, pick up.”
Silence.
My mind quickly drifted elsewhere, as I shivered at the thoughts of what just happened, pressing my thighs together.
My fingers trembled as they slid between my legs, brushing softly, teasing myself, desperate to feel even a fraction of what he had. My body remembered every inch of him, every whisper, every weight, every brush against my skin.
“Stop…” I whispered to myself, but the words were meaningless. My body was beyond reason, beyond control. My mind screamed at me, He’s not here. You can’t… and yet, every nerve, every muscle, every ache begged for him.
Finally, in the quiet of my room, I grabbed my phone again. My dad’s name blinked on the screen. I needed someone to talk to, someone safe.
“Hey, Dad…” My voice was small, shaky.
“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?” His tone was warm, steady, and grounding.
I swallowed hard, trying to steady myself. “I… I just… needed to hear a voice. It’s been… weird today.”
“Mark’s there, isn’t he?” His question was calm but probing, like he already knew.
“Yes… But I—” My words faltered. How could I explain? How could I tell him what I felt without shaming myself?
“Is he taking care of you?” Dad asked suddenly, casually, like it was a simple check-in.
I froze mid-breath, the words echoing in my mind. Taking care of me… The memory of his hands, his lips, his gaze, the way he had taken care of me—it all rushed back.
My body tingled, my chest tightened, heat pooling in ways I couldn’t describe. My fingers twitched, curling against the bedspread as my mind replayed every brush of skin, every whisper, every deliberate tease.
“Yes… he… he’s… fine,” I murmured, though my voice betrayed me. My thoughts wandered, imagining him, imagining his hands on me, guiding, controlling, teasing. Every inch of me remembered, aching for more.
Dad’s voice continued in the background, asking about school, routines, and meals. I answered, but my mind had drifted entirely, consumed by him. His hands, his words, the control, the promise of more—I could feel it, alive in my bones. I gasped softly when I remembered his smirk, the way he had said good girl, the way his thumb had brushed dangerously close to me, testing.
“Lena?” Dad’s voice snapped me back. “You there?”
I swallowed, shaking my head, trying to blink away the fog of heat and longing. “Yes… Yes, Dad. I’m here.”
“Good. Listen, sweetheart, I just wanted to make sure everything’s… under control while I’m away.”
I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Everything’s fine, Dad. Really.”
We ended the call, and I lay back against my pillow, exhausted, restless, alive with tension I couldn’t release. Sleep came eventually, peppered with dreams of him, each touch, repeating in my mind.
****
The next morning, light filtered through the blinds again, and I groaned, curling tighter into the covers. My phone beeped—Chloe. Relief and frustration mixed. I grabbed it immediately.
“Where were you?!” I typed, fingers trembling.
A single response blinked back: I was busy. I’m downstairs.
I dressed quickly, trying to mask the wet heat that still lingered in my shorts. Downstairs, Chloe was already moving through the kitchen, casual, cold, distant. Her eyes flicked to me briefly, a smirk forming as if she knew exactly what I was thinking, exactly what I felt.
“Morning,” I said cautiously. “Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
Her gaze lingered on me just long enough to make my skin tingle. “I was… busy,” she said softly, almost teasingly. “You okay?”
I pressed my lips together. “I’m fine. Really.”
I leaned against the counter, hoodie pulled tight, trying to steady my breathing.
Mark’s presence was still heavy in the room, close enough that every subtle movement sent sparks through me. Chloe was perched near the doorway, arms crossed.
“So…” Chloe said lightly, tilting her head. “Morning. Busy day ahead?”
I clenched my fists at my sides. “Yeah… just… morning stuff,” I muttered, keeping my voice low.
Mark’s gaze flicked briefly toward her, polite but restrained, before returning to me. “You look stressed,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer. “Everything okay?”
“I’m… fine,” I said, though the words were hollow. My pulse jumped at his proximity.
Chloe smirked knowingly, leaning just a little forward. “You two… always so serious. Don’t you ever just… relax?”
I felt heat rise in my chest. Relax? How could I with her there, smiling that smug little smile, watching him, stealing glances at him?
Mark’s lips curved faintly, just a hint, and he let his hand brush subtly against mine as he leaned on the counter. Not casual, not accidental—just enough to make me flinch and ache at the same time. “Sometimes,” he said low, “serious is… necessary.”
Chloe tilted her head, voice soft, teasing. “Necessary, huh? Must be exhausting, keeping up with him.”
“Who says I’m keeping up?” I shot back, heat coiling tight in my stomach. My voice was sharper than I intended, and I knew it made Chloe pause for a fraction of a second.
Mark chuckled quietly, almost a growl, eyes flicking to me. “She’s right,” he said calmly, smirk ghosting across his lips. “You do need to learn… patience.”
I felt a shiver run through me, partly at his words, partly at the way he looked at me. I hated it, and I loved it.
Chloe leaned forward slightly, voice lower now. “So… how’s life been, Mark? Divorce, work… everything. Surviving okay?”
He shrugged casually, eyes still on me, flicking toward Chloe for the minimal acknowledgment. “Manageable. Better than some would think.”
“Better than some would think?” Chloe pressed, smirk playing on her lips. “Hmm… like who?”
I bit my lip, hands gripping the counter until my knuckles turned white. My body wanted to lash out, to shove her, to make her see he wasn’t hers.
Mark’s tone dropped, calm but firm. “Like people who get in the way,” he said softly, eyes meeting mine for a long, charged second. “People who… distract.”
Chloe straightened, subtly taken aback, and I felt the sting of possessiveness flare hotter than before.
“You mean… me?” she asked lightly, trying to laugh it off, but there was tension in her voice.
Mark smirked faintly, a shadow of amusement and warning. “You might think so,” he said softly, “but I notice different things. Different… priorities.”
Every nerve was alive, my body straining toward him, aching, trembling. Chloe was there, hovering, trying, but she didn’t have him.
Not like I did.
Chloe tilted her head, voice softer now, almost teasing. “What’s up with you Lena?”
Mark leaned slightly, hand brushing my arm. Not casual, deliberate. “She’s fine,” he murmured. “Better than fine.”
I swallowed hard, pulse thrumming. “I… I’m fine,” I said, though my voice betrayed me.
Chloe smirked faintly, tilting her head. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Mark’s gaze turned dark, intense, and he whispered just enough for me to hear, lips near my ear: “Even with her here… all that matters is you.”
My knees threatened to buckle. My chest was tight. My body was alive with need I couldn’t control.
Chloe, noticing the shift, narrowed her eyes slightly, voice lighter, careful. “Alright… I’ll leave you two… talking.” She straightened, but her eyes lingered, sharp, calculating.
As soon as her back was turned, Mark shifted closer, hand brushing subtly against mine again. “See?” he murmured, low, intimate. “Even with her watching… it’s only you I notice.”
I shivered, trembling, heat pooling, desperate. “Mark…” I whispered.
He smirked, leaning just enough that his shoulder brushed mine. “And you… you feel it too, don’t you?”
“Yes,” I admitted, voice barely audible. “I… I feel it.”
His thumb grazed my wrist lightly, just a tease, a warning, deliberate. “Good,” he said. “Remember that. Always.”
I wanted to collapse, to throw myself at him, to forget everything. But I stayed rooted, caught between desire, jealousy, and the quiet, consuming tension that left the air around us thick and impossible to ignore.
“By the way, why’s she always around?” He shot, before I could utter a word.
- Writer
