Our Finest Moment ✔️

38

COLTON

The house is dark and cold when I enter. I don't expect there to be lights on in the middle of the night, but I half expected some warmth, at least. I lock the door behind me and set my helmet down on its usual spot on the floor, and then I make my way through the first floor.

There's no trace of anyone other than me living here. At least not in the first living room. In the second, the one closest to the back garden, there are still some glowing charcoal in the fireplace. So she has been making herself at home while I was away—good. I enter the kitchen and find two glasses in the sink, and an empty bottle of orange soda. I know it's just Dorian, but it still makes my insides twist to think she had company. Or maybe the fact that it was Dorian is what irks me.

I open the fridge, curious to see what I can scarf down quickly before I go to clean up and sleep, when I see the plate with three—no, four—slices of pepperoni pizza, and a paper towel with some writing on top.

Managed to sneak these away before Dorian ate it all.
I hope you've eaten, but if not—you're welcome.

I huff at it, that stupid uncomfortable feeling once again spreading in my gut at the mention of her friend, before a small smile spreads across my face. She thought about me. Warmth spreads throughout my chest and stomach, replacing the bad, and I clear my throat silently before pulling the plate out and setting it in the microwave.

With the pizza gone, I set course for my room. The stairs seem longer than ever as I climb them, two steps at a time. My strides are twice as long as normal as I make my way to the black door, and when I open it and see my bed's empty, my heart sinks.

It's not that I told her I wanted her in here or anything, but this weekend...something changed. We changed—together. Maybe I was stupid to hope she'd weasel her way under my covers even here.

I let the handle go and turn around, aiming for the stairs again. Her room is the furthest away from mine it could be, and that used to please me, but right now I mutter a good few curses under my breath as I move, practically sprinting towards her closed door.

I swallow.

I shouldn't...

Fuck it. I open the door as softly as I can, and peer into her bright room. The only bright room in my entire house, the one my mother used as her free space when she lived here. It wasn't until she left that it was converted into a bedroom. Before that, it was filled with paint, paintings, drawings and colors and...life. Almost like now, with the golden skin of my wife peeking through the sheets, her even breaths filling the silence.

I'm a creep. I'm being stupid. I should let her sleep, and I'll talk to her tomorrow about...whatever it is I want to talk to her about. I don't even know right now, as I stare at her rich, brown hair sprawled across the white pillows.

She stirs—her body turns around, and her throat makes the most glorious sound I've ever heard in my life. A soft moan, almost, that sounds so innocent and carefree.

Do I make sounds like that in my sleep? I doubt it. My very existence is only stress and plotting ways to end other people's lives.

Sleeping next to her this weekend was...everything. I can't even begin to describe how it felt to wake up with her arm and leg draped over me, with my own limbs fully secured around her. It was different, in the best way different can be. I usually never enjoy sharing a bed with the women I fuck—most of the time, I find a way to part our ways before I have to, but sometimes it happens, and it's never once been like it is with Liana.

I sigh again, mostly with the longing I suddenly feel, before I shut the door as quietly as I opened it. I take a moment to gather my thoughts—whatever they may be—before I retreat to my own room.