A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 45 | bitterly saying goodbye

Running water didn't spill on the floor nor did it thunder down the drain.

Why did he stay in the bathroom when his bath ended decades ago?

Through the thin fur of fog crawling on the glass walls, and separating the bathroom from the bedroom; Dwain's blurring figure stood in the cloudy mess, sovereignty sipping his buildup and stretching an intense dominance to the bundle of nerves in my lingerie.

His knuckles rested around his waist, warning his towel not to slip anytime soon.

The manly grip tightened his hips like glue while he treated his frozen thighs with laughable silence.

From my standpoint, the view of Dwain's nakedness was a pure blast.

The way his body tensed up.

Oops!

It itched the bundle of nerves in my intimates and knocked me out of balance.

I hemmed my lips and cried for the itch to disappear but it devoured me like wildfire.

Couldn't Dwain stop being extra hot for a second?

I grumbled and fought the need to swallow greedily when my eyes fell on his muscular back.

Nothing could procure justice for Dwain's trial if adopted to portray the time he wasted on worshipping himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

I was held captive by his body.

His muscular abdomen and sticking-out chest would drag any naive mind into brutal graphic fornication; no doubt he checked himself out in the mirror for so long.

His workouts had done a beautiful job sculpting and contouring his muscles in all the perfect areas of his body.

I snapped out of my thoughts and kneeled to the broken photo frame; evading any move which could hurt me.

I picked the fragments of glass and racked the tiniest of particles into a shovel; distracting my corrupted mind with the sharp glass edges.

The lady with an unknown name, but a familiar face, looked at me from the nape of my hair to the sole of my toes.

In the recent picture of the red hair girl, her boobs were fed to my face; squeezed like lemons by a mini white cocktail gown and a firm designer jacket.

Lingering my fingers down her hair, I blinked at the blush on her cheeks.

After a closer look at her, I realized that the piercing on her lips could bestow life on a cadaver.

It was the ugliest piercing I'd ever seen.

She looked different when compared to the previous pictures that loitered in Dwain's drawers.

Why did she look so different and weird?

I lifted the picture.

Where was all her innocence?

She sported this pirate pose like a fashion icon, but many things about the picture roused my inner critic.

I was nauseated to my core.

Why did she harm Dwain?

Dwain cleared his throat, making sure I jumped in my tracks. "You love taking the leading role in my private business don't you?"

I shirked. "Not really."

"Of course," he sighed, very bored with my plain response. "Why didn't you shove the broken frame and picture down the dumpster?"