It's early morning and I haven't slept in days. The sun is brushing up against the horizon and the last twinkle of the stars is fading into a rich blue glow behind the silhouettes of the trees. I've been working at the club all night, drinking vodka and smoking cigarettes. The air is chill and fresh and it makes my eyes feel hollow and my body feel sharp.
I come to your house and quietly I let myself in. I make two cups of coffee and take them up the stairs. I feel greasy and tired and I think about borrowing your shower but as I get upstairs I hear the water running. You're up already and in the shower, getting ready for your day. I go into your room and I sit on the bed and sip my coffee while I listen to you showering. I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes on your carpet.
The water shuts off and I can feel myself waiting; waiting for you to come into the room. I sip my coffee and watch the door.
You walk in, one towel wrapped round your body, another for your hair. You see me on the bed and flash me a daring little smile. You're not surprised to see me here, although you never ask how I get in. I take another slug of coffee and just watch you dry your hair and brush it back.
Watching you fills me with an urge to touch you. Maybe it's the way you move your hair, the way you watch yourself in the mirror while you brush. I trace the contours of your body with my eye. The towel hides a lot, but my imagination fills in the gaps.
I rise smoothly and walk up to you. You pause, holding the brush in your hair. I walk up close, so I'm just a few inches from you. Your eyes are wide and beautiful. Your mouth is slightly open as if you were about to say something but it didn't quite come out. I reach up and gently take hold of the brush. You don't resist as I slide it out of your hand.
Part of me worries that I stink of the nightclub, of smoke and alcohol. I know I should take a shower. But you're right here in front of me. Your breathing is almost timid like you're scared to move. Part of me worries that if I go to shower you might get dressed before I can come back. Worse, you might rush off to work and escape me completely.
I drop the hairbrush on the floor. We don't break eye contact so much as a glance to see where it falls. I lick my lips and I can feel my own breath. I tilt my head toward the wall.
"Turn around."
You turn, keeping your eyes on me as long as you can, until you're facing the wall. I gently put my hand on the small of your back and push you. You resist a little at first, uncertain of what I'm trying to do. Then you take a step. I keep the pressure on with my hand and guide you forward the few more steps it takes to get you up against the door. I hear you swallow and feel the tension in your body.
I stand close behind you and I can smell the shampoo on your hair and the fresh scent of your clean skin. I take a fist full of the towel at the back and pull at it gently. You try to step back as I pull, but I hold you still with my other hand. The towel comes undone and I drop it to the floor.
You stand still, your breasts just brushing the gloss wood of the door, your arms at your sides, your legs just slightly apart. You shiver just a little and I wonder if it's the excitement or just the cool air on your damp body.