And then I wait.
Heels on her floorboards, first eager but slowing the second she sets foot in the hall. No alarm blares, though I haven't put lights on yet. She'll be antsy. She'll know. Silence soaks through my limbs, prickles along the back of my neck.
More sounds: her bag hitting the floor with a little thud. Keys jangling when they hit the table. Footsteps again, unsure.
"Aeron...?" she calls out in a cracked voice.
Ah, ah. The way she says my name in that accent: Air-un.
She inhales deeply. "A-are you here?"
For another few seconds, I let her simmer alone there in the hallway, let her wonder if she calls to me purely through wishful thinking, rather than logic or fear. Then, when I hear her step to search the bedroom, I spring to my feet and stalk out into the shadows to greet her.
There are no words in my mouth, or my head, or my...other places. Just a crimson sheen to my line of vision, melting sun, fragile girl. When she turns in her bedroom, breath catching in her throat, I pause in the doorway and allow her to just drink in the sight of me. She's only ever seen me clothed, yet here I am, half naked. Bared. I lean on the door frame, a casual smile pulling at my lips.
Leo looks dishevelled, as if her journey home was hard. Wisps of hair fall from her French braid to frame her face; the asphalt eye makeup she favours is feathered out further than usual. As I look her up and down, she stands rigid, clutching the bed frame behind her, and I notice then that though her heels are still on, her legs are bare. Where have those beautiful stockings gone?
"I didn't invite you in," she manages finally.
I say nothing. I'd rather watch her struggle to understand the situation we find ourselves in, let her tie a noose of frayed thread as she feels around for words.
"I told you no, Aeron." Her voice is quiet, pleading. "I said I couldn't."
I bite my lip in response.
"I'd like you to leave. Please. I won't tell, I just...please leave."
"You didn't change your locks," I say.
She drops her gaze.
At that act of defiance, I step closer. Can't help it—her refusal sucks me in, practically goads me to test it. "Or your alarm code. You didn't change that. Did you bring home your third gift?"
"I couldn't leave that at work," she says feebly.
"Of course not."
"Because if somebody found it—even in the bin, I—"
"No gun this time, either. Honestly, sweetheart. It's like you've just given up." Three more steps and I'm right in front of her. Peering down. I don't know whether I can smell her...or me. "You're home later than usual."
She bleats out a sardonic laugh. "Because you know when I get home, hmm?"
"I know a lot of things about you." I reach up to smooth the hair from her face. Such a small act, but every time I find myself close to her, I'm drawn to do it—like I'm putting the finishing touches to a masterpiece, cheesy as fuck as that sounds. "But there are some things...I need to experience them for myself."
"I said no, I said—"
"Leo." I cup her chin, tip her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes are glassy with tears. "I just want a kiss. You can do that for me, can't you?" I tease my thumb along her lower lip. "Just a kiss."
She nods. Says nothing.
I dip my forehead and press it to hers. Breathe with her. Run my free hand along the back of her neck, tug her braid lightly, stroke her nape. I can't remember the last time I petted a kitten but I'm guessing it's a lot like this.
"I won't do anything else," I murmur against her mouth. "I just want to taste you. For you to taste me. Haven't you ever thought about what that would be like?"
She gives a slight nod, her nose brushing mine. "Sometimes."
"Mmm."
I make her wait a few seconds longer. I love the feel of her breasts rising and falling; they rub along my forearm every time, just near the elbow, and her nipples get harder with each sweep. When I can't stand the snare of my own heartbeat any longer, I plant the softest of kisses at the edge of her upper lip. Oh, she trembles. It's gorgeous. Another and another—just vague suggestions of kisses, each barely landing, until she snaps and whimpers and lurches up on her toes, opening her mouth in time to fully catch mine.
Leo moans; I curse; both sounds are lost somewhere in our mash of lips and tongue. She goes limp against the bed frame, and I drop my hand from her chin to scoop her up at the waist. Her arms come up—half defence, half desperation—and she drags crooked fingers along my shoulders, ushering fresh blood to the muscles that have ached for this for so long.