Forbidden Desires

Forbidden Desires Pt 2

Kimberly tries to focus on the conversation with Rachel, her thoughts racing. She can't shake the feeling of Wiz being a ticking time bomb in her otherwise orderly life. Him being in her house is a constant reminder of her failed marriage, her daughter's pain, and the secrets she's not ready to face. Rachel's voice pierced through her period of reflection, and she realizes her daughter is looking at her expectantly. Kimberly nods and together they finish the dishes. The house is filled with a heavy silence, accented by the occasional clink of silverware against fine china. Rachel yawns, submitting tirelessly from her work week, and heads to her old bedroom, leaving her mother alone with her thoughts. Kim glances at the clock as she heads to the guest bedroom realizing it's almost 9PM. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the guest room door. "Wiz, it's time," she sounds off, her voice steady despite the knot forming in her stomach.

Wiz opens the door, his eyes meeting hers with a challenge. "Already?" he asks, his voice low and raspy. He steps out, his large frame seeming taking up most of the doorway. His dreadlocks are pulled back, and he's wearing a white beater that clings to his toned chest. His arms tighten as he crosses them looking down at Kimberly. The sight of him sends a strange mix of fear and arousal through her, a feeling she quickly suppresses.

"It's your curfew," she reminds him sternly, her hand resting on the doorframe as she tries to keep the tremor from oozing out of her voice. "And I expect you to respect the rules of my house." She stands tall, her posture a silent declaration of authority despite the shakiness dripping from her voice.

Wiz's eyes sweep over her, a smirk forming on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. "You know, Kimberly," he says, using her full name with a hint of sarcasm, "you're starting to come off like a mom." He laughs, the sound of his voice gnawing on her nerves. "But I'll behave," he adds, his voice a silky purr.

He slips past her, his shoulder brushing against hers, deliberately close. She can feel the heat of his body and the roughness of his prison-issued jeans as he heads to the bathroom closing the door behind him. His words hang in the air like a challenge, and she clenches her fists at her sides, fighting the urge to address his sarcasm. Standing there patiently for him to return to his room, the sound of him pissing began to run her hot with disgust. Before she knew it arousal began creeping up on her again as she went to her room deciding not to wait on him to finish.

The weekend passes in a tense dance of avoidance and forced civility. Rachel tries to ignore the undercurrents, but the tension in the house is visible. Kimberly finds herself watching Wiz more closely than she'd like to admit--his every move, his every glance. When Rachel leaves on Sunday evening, the house feels both emptier and more suffocating. She locks the door behind her daughter with a heavy sigh, her eyes lingering on the guest room door before returning to her own.

Her thoughts racing, she tries to convince herself that Wiz will behave, that he's just a guest, but she can't shake the feeling that he's seemingly more than that. She changes into her nightgown, the soft fabric brushing against her skin, a stark contrast to the tension in her limbs. She hears the TV from the guest room, the low humming of Wiz's laughter. She takes a deep breath, convincing herself she's overreacting. But when she looks in the mirror, she sees the worry etched in her eyes, the shadows surrounding her eyelids. She turns off the lights and slides into bed, listening to the comforting rhythm of her own breathing, trying to find peace in the quiet. But the quiet is a lie, every creak of the floorboard feels like a taunt, a promise of imminent disturbance. She pulls the covers up to her chin, her heart racing, and tries to ignore the throb of anticipation that pulses through her veins.

Wiz lies in the guest room, his eyes on the flickering TV screen, but his mind is elsewhere. He can feel Kimberly watching him closely and he's been watching her, studying her, looking for ways to get under her skin. He finds the power games stimulating, but he wants more. He glances at the clock as it reads 10 PM and he smirks, knowing she's probably waiting for him to break the rules she's so specifically laid out. But he's playing the long game. He rolls over, the springs of the bed squeaking, and picks up the book he's been pretending to read. The words blur as he continues thinking of Kimberly, her challenging stare, her sassy tongue. He wonders if she's as tough as she tries to come off, if she's hiding something beneath her bold exterior.

Wiz tosses the book to the side and gets up from the bed, stretching his long arms and torso. He pads softly to his door, listening for any signs of movement throughout the hallway. Hearing only the soft hum of the central heating, he decides to go on further. He opens the door and peeks out into the hallway, the light from the TV glowing across the wooden floorboards. The house is still as he tiptoes closer to Kimberly's room. He presses his ear to her door, doing his best to focus on the sound of her breathing. But all is quiet. The thrill of the forbidden speeds his heartbeat up as he wraps his hand around the doorknob to her room. He's tempted to open her door, to see just how much he can get away with. But the consequences of him getting caught come over him, so he retreats back to the guest room and closes the door behind him with a silent click. The house sighs back into its slumber, while a storm continues to brew within its walls.

As the days drag on, the tension between Wiz and Kimberly becomes a living, breathing entity in the house. It festers in every room they share, a silent third party in every conversation. Wiz starts testing the boundaries more often, carelessly leaving his dirty dishes in the sink, ignoring his curfew, playing his music just loud enough to pierce through the walls. Each infringement is a subtle challenge to Kimberly's authority. Yet she begins refusing to engage, her eyes full of irritation but her voice remaining cool and calm. She keeps her distance, her movements precise, as if his very presence could taint her. Rachel's weekend visits become a balm, a brief break from the tension, but the moments of relief are fleeting. The minute her car pulls out of the driveway, the house seems to shrink around Kimberly again, the weight of Wiz's presence growing heavier.

One evening, after Rachel's weekly visit, Kimberly decides to take a stand. She's had enough of Wiz's elusive goading. She marches down the hall, anger boiling her blood and she rocks her knuckles against the guest bedroom door with more force than necessary. "Wiz, we need to talk," she says, her voice steady despite the tension in her chest.

He opens the door, a sarcastic look on his face. "What's up, Kim?" He leans against the frame, his bare chest and chiseled arms an obvious display of his rebellion. She tries not to let her eyes linger on the tattoos that snake down his arms.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her silk blouse outlining her figure as she glares at him. "You know exactly what's up, Wiz. The rules are there for a reason. You're pushing them, and it needs to stop." She's wearing her favorite pair of high-waisted jeans that hug her curves and a snug-fitting blouse that accentuates her breasts. Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, revealing her high cheekbones and the slick line of her jaw.

He chuckles, his eyes trailing over her form. "Relax, I'm just trying to live a little, you know?" He runs a hand through his dreadlocks, the muscles in his forearm flexing. "You're so tense all the time. Maybe you should loosen up, get a massage or something." His voice is a purr, a clear manifestation of seductive energy.

Her cheeks flush, but she maintains her cool facade. "This isn't about me, it's about you following the rules," she responds, her eyes flashing. "You're on house arrest. If you want to stay here, you need to behave." She takes a step closer, her heels clicking against the floor as she looks up to him.

His smug expression doesn't waver, but there's a hint of something else in his gaze--curiosity, perhaps. "You're right, Mrs. Thomas," he says, emphasizing her title. "I'll try to be a better guest." His eyes dip to her crossed arms, then back to her face. "But maybe you could relax, you know? Crack open a beer, run a bath?" He smirks, as he looks at her from her freshly painted toes on up to her thighs, breasts, and green eyes, as Kimberly notices him seemingly checking her out.

Her heart races, but Kimberly keeps her expression calm. She's not about to let Wiz think he can manipulate her with his charm or sweet talk her. "I don't need to relax," she says, her voice even. "And I'd prefer it if you'd keep the noise down at night." She takes a step back, putting space between them feeling the warmth of his body radiating onto hers. "I'm going to bed. Don't forget, lights out at 10 PM." With that, she turns on her heel and walks away, her hips swaying slightly with each step. She can feel his eyes on her ass, and it sends a strange mix of anger and attraction through her. She wonders if he's always been like this, or if prison had changed him. She tries to push the thought aside of him getting a good look of her ass in her jeans as she made her way into her room, closing the door firmly behind her. She changes into her pajamas, the silky fabric sliding against her soft skin as she climbs into bed. The house feels colder without Rachel, the silence deafening. She can hear the muffled sound of Wiz's TV, and it takes everything within not to march back out there and tell him to turn it off. Standing in his presence with him bare chested was enough disrespect for the day. Instead, she grabs her headphones, drowning out the noise with a podcast about true crime, the irony not lost on her. She tries to focus on the narrator's soothing voice, but she couldn't keep her mind from drifting back to the man in the next room. She can't ignore the way her heart races when she thinks about him, the way her body responds despite her mind's protests. She tells herself she's just on edge, that it's the stress of the situation. But deep down, she knows it's more than that.

The days bleed into one another, a monotonous routine of intensity and unease. Kimberly finds herself looking forward to her weekly phone calls with Rachel, the sound of her daughter's voice a lifeline in the sea of Wiz's drama. Rachel seems at peace now, more focused on her job and her new apartment. Kimberly's heart aches, knowing that Rachel is the one who put her in this position to house Wiz. But she can't bring herself to say anything about it to her daughter. The fact that Wiz is pushing her buttons is the last thing Kimberly wants her daughter to know.