"Soph?" he asks, his voice sleepy and rough.
Oh god. He was still asleep, and now I’m mortified.
I roll toward him and look down between us to where his cock is straining against his boxers, trying to come out and greet me.
Just let me take care of it for goodness sake.
I place my hand over his heart and feel its steady thump.
My eyes must betray my confusion because he shifts, adjusting himself.
"Sorry, it’s just morning wood," he says, noticing my fascination with what’s below his navel.
"It’s okay," I whisper. "Do you…Are you…" Spit it out, Soph. My lack of experience means I have no idea how to ask for what I want. I consider dipping my hand below his waistband, taking his firm cock in my fist and stroking him. I want him to kiss me, and pin me to the bed with his big body. Instead, he continues watching me with a little crease etched between his brows like I’m a math equation he doesn’t understand. He looks at me like I'm an amusing child that he has no idea what to do with.
"I’ll take care of it," he says, climbing from bed and leaving me wet and so turned on I could scream in frustration.
* * *
I’m bored as shit.
In the weeks since I moved in, I’ve developed a routine—one that bores me to tears—but at least it’s a routine. I wake mid-morning when Colton’s been gone to work for hours, have breakfast and coffee at the kitchen island while I talk to Beth, Colton’s personal chef, then I change and sit outside in the sun, curling up in one of the lounge chairs on the balcony while I read.
Later, I either go for a swim in the pool or jog on one of the treadmills in the gym. From there, my day unravels a bit. I wander the house, take a nap, text with Becca, and basically just wait around for Colton to get home. It’s a bland existence. I need a hobby, or to get a job—I need something to occupy my days other than thoughts of Colton and my strange new life.
The silver lining to all this is that Becca has been entered into the trial program and is receiving aggressive doses of medication that make her feel weak and sick but seem to be working. It’s much too early to tell if they’ll send her late stage cancer into remission, but we’re all hopeful. And while I don’t regret my decision, I have five more months to go, and I don’t think I can take another day of this complete mental and emotional boredom. I need more stimulation.
At six o’clock, all of the household staff is gone, and I’m showered and dressed and waiting for Colton to arrive home from work. Grabbing the little LED display remote, I tap the keypad, bringing the surround-sound speakers to life and change the music to something uplifting. A jazzy, upbeat band that I’ve never heard before fills the room. I crank it up loud, craving something different, some stimulation, then pad into the kitchen in my bare feet.
I open the door to the built-in wine cabinet that’s always a cool fifty-two degrees and pick out a bottle of white wine. The label proudly announces it’s called Naughty Girl Wine. Sounds perfect. After wrestling out the cork, I pour myself a large glass and sit down at the kitchen island to wait for my master’s arrival home.
As absent as our physical contact has been, he dominates my days and nights. My schedule revolves around his. I’m all too aware of when he wakes and prepares for his workday, showering and moving about the room in the dim light, dropping his towel and dressing in the closet so as not to wake me. When he returns at night is the happiest time of my day. To prepare for his arrival, I shower, style my hair and apply makeup and greet him like I’m seeing a long lost friend. It’s pathetic, but it’s my life.
I sit and sip my wine, hoping the combination of the alcohol and the jazz music spilling from the speakers will lift my mood. My stomach rumbles loudly. God, where is he? I glance at the clock. He’s later than usual. I pour myself another glass of wine and continue waiting. Dinner is ready and in the warming tray, as usual, and I can’t help peeking to see what Beth’s left us tonight. Its steamed fish garnished with fragrant orange slices, oven-roasted root vegetables and a side of creamy risotto. My mouth waters just looking at it and I steal a couple of vegetables off of each plate, being sure to keep the portions even, popping them into my mouth and chewing greedily like I’m breaking numerous international laws. The garlicky carrots and parsnips practically melt in my mouth and I steal another bite before replacing the covers on the two plates.
After two glasses of wine, I’m slightly buzzed and grab the remote for the sound system again. This cool jazz is giving me a headache. I flip absently through the music choices, not knowing what I’m searching for until I find it. Heart thumping, booty popping hip hop fills the room and my lips curl up in a lazy smile. I haven’t listened to this song since high school.
I take another fortifying gulp of my wine and rise from the stool I’m slumped in, suddenly needing to move. I shimmy and shake across the kitchen, rolling my hips and lip-syncing along to the lyrics. I feel free, happy for the first time in a long time, moving my body along to the beat.
I dance while watching my reflection in the glass window across the room. Sticking my ass out, I give it a little shake. How could he not want this?
"What the hell are you doing?" Colton’s deep voice rumbles behind me.
Gah! My hand flies to my heart and I spin around, my spine instantly straightening. I meet his eyes, taking in his amused expression. My face flames fire-engine red and my mouth opens uselessly, then closes again, knowing I’ve been busted.
Colton’s dressed like he always is when he returns home from work. A custom tailored dark suit, light shirt and coordinating tie. Tonight the tie hangs loosely around his open shirt collar and his eyes are ringed with dark circles. He looks tired, somewhat stressed, but also amused. His mouth is lifted into a crooked smirk.
Making a split second decision, I saunter over to him, swaying to the beat of the still pumping music and grab his tie, tugging him closer.