STEPHEN

STEPHEN | 2

I AM NOT GIVING ANY WARNINGS FOR MATURE SCENE. THIS IS MY LAST AND ONLY WARNING.

Dedicated to Farrah glitter_xox for her wonderful friendship, support and her love for Nick Bateman..

2

Mornings were interesting with him.

He would arise by the time of aurora. I would wake up to the feel of his hand trying to touch every inch of my body. The motion, making me shiver with anticipation.  I would open my eyes curiously, wondering what expression was on his face while I felt the tactual sensation he was leaving in wake of his hands.

He would notice that I was awake, watching him, and he'd grin.

The type of grin that had the same mischievousness his eyes did. Combined, he would playfully climb over me, lavishing me in the same exact way he had done the night before.

He would make me breakfast, never letting me lift a hand in the kitchen. He did things for himself and didn't depend on other people. After would hand me a plate, he would manage to put me onto his lap teasingly kissing me while I tried to eat to gain energy for the busy day. Energy for the night that followed.

Stephen was an introvert, I learned.

He wasn't very social outside of his nightlife. Although he knew how to talk to people, he preferred being inside his thoughts and kept to himself. He liked the quiet and he was quiet. I was certain his thoughts were louder than the words that would emerge from his lips.

Subsequently, Stephen would drop me off at work and I could see my co-workers stare at me with some type of awe. Their eyes would linger on the love bites I was not allowed to cover up because of the said man. He found pleasure in showing everyone what he had done. Like the evidence that my lips were swollen from his intoxicating kisses to the red and purple flowers that started from my neck and lead to places that weren't meant to be exposed.

The nights were the times I looked forward to. Sometimes, giving me the element of surprise he would appear at the entrance of my home and would push me up against the back of my front door. My breath would catch and sometimes we wouldn't even make it upstairs where my roommate was probably doing last minute work. We would be on the couch, the kitchen, the shower. Anywhere we could embrace a euphoric state with one another.

Stephen loved to read. It was his second anything. I think the allure that he would be so fascinated by pages of a book lured women towards him effortlessly. And when he would be reading out loud, I was captivated in the story itself as if he had brought the pages to life. He read like he was the writer and I wanted him to read my story, making it much more interesting then when he had only appeared in my life.

There was a time where he told me how his nightlife had changed. How he didn't just read or go to random places. How he wouldn't be sleeping with different women, indulging himself in different ways of enjoyment. He was with me and for a moment, I considered him mine. That every single part of him was mine.

But he wasn't.

I merely observed Stephen to know more about him. When I asked questions, he would quip in response, not wanting to answer. While his body was mine, his mind wasn't. His body I received when offered, his mind resisted to interacting with others unless it was for seldom purposes and his heart-his heart was the one thing I languished for.