07

                                    

                                          
Isabella
It rattled me that Andreas had to attend a business meeting right after work. And it's not because I've upheld expectations that he takes me out on romantic dates or gifts me flowers ever since I accepted that he can play the role of my boyfriend.
I want him to fuck me.
A lot of sexual frustration had assailed me after living in a house where the devil resides, and much of it has accumulated to form an almost-permanent cloud of horny desire that sails in my mind. It's all beginning to rain down on me, which explains why getting the best finger-fuck in my life hasn't supplied me with complete satisfaction. I need something more. Something better.
"You need cock." Aya stabs a lump of cookie dough with her knife, flour blasting out onto the bench and marking the tip of her nose. The navy apron she's donned—which is Andreas', as she had told me—hangs loosely over her, the dark tone of the cotton whitened all over.
"You think I don't know that?" I tell her. "I can't just call him and ask that he leaves his duties just so he can fuck me."
"Excuses, excuses. If you really wanted it, you'd ask for it," Seb calls from the pantry. He emerges with a container of chocolate chips in hand, dropping it onto the counter where Aya grinds away in her work of kneading and massaging, and pops open the lid. Blake snickers on my side, and I briefly rotate in my stool to scowl at him before returning to address these accusations.
"First of all," I slam a fist onto the counter, "I don't want to disrupt him. And second, I can wait until he gets home. And who said I'm even ready for it?"
"Bullshit," Blake comments, blowing out a cloud of smoke over me.
"Yeah. Bullshit," Seb repeats. He flicks a chocolate chip at me, and that, paired with their ludicrous claims, is enough to make me push out of my chair and set off to go upstairs.
"You all give horrible advice," I complain.
As I'm stomping off off, Aya shouts, "Love you, girl."
"Yeah, love you, girl," Seb copies.
I roll my eyes, rush up the stairs, and open the door to Andreas' room. The fragrance in here doesn't help get rid of that horny cloud of mine. 
I slip in beneath the covers and throw the navy blanket over my head. An air of masculinity washes over me―creamy scents, sharp vanilla edges, hints of something woody. Even though it's what poisons me with the need to have Andreas right here, on me, against me, in me, it also invites me to sleep. Just as I'm on the edge of gliding away from reality and into my dreams, I hear a few light taps on the floor, silence, then the door creak closed.
I'd ask him why he didn't join me in bed if I wasn't dragged into a slumber.
⚘
An enormous bag of clothes is set next to the bed when I come out of the bathroom scrubbing my damp hair with a towel and naked but for my undergarments. I pause before it and throw my towel to the side. The huge front of it reads, in bold words written with a thick marker, 'I needed to rip off the tags so I could wash it all. I promise to compensate if they don't fit.' Then, right below it in smaller letters, 'You get a day off work for being so magnificent yesterday.' I silently laugh and dig through the contents.
Cotton graphic t-shirts, a variety of tracksuits, denim shorts and jeans, padded bras, oversized hoodies, fitted tops, socks. I have no clue as to when he got it all. He had been at his meeting yesterday and in the entire time of being by his side at the store, he didn't gather any clothes. We were together for basically the whole day.