Good Housekeeping by Dove Spalding

Author:Dove Spalding [Spalding, Dove]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JMS Books LLC
Published: 2023-12-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18: Kitchen Shears

I’m in the dark. It’s early—too early. It might be close to three. I’m in Jaime’s room watching him sleep because I can’t forget what he said yesterday. Sure, we were talking about hamsters, but it was a metaphor, right? And I’m…the building? The door? I haven’t figured that out yet, but I will.

I’m in my sleep clothes because I was halfway here before I realized I was awake.

I think I know what he wants from me. I certainly know what I want from him. It feels good finally to get a handle on this situation, no matter how weak my grasp is. He confronted me, and I know that was hard for him even if he didn’t show it. He’s naked again—no boxers—I can tell because I’m looking at half of his arse, thinking about what I could do to it while I also try to dissect our conversation from yesterday.

I rub my hand against my cock because I’m already hard, which is wild, considering it’s the middle of the night and Jaime’s not even awake. My touch is firm—oppressive—and I don’t give it any friction, so it settles a little and I sigh, propping my chin on my hand as I let my eyes travel up Jaime’s back. He looks so peaceful and it makes me feel calm, even though it took me ages to fall asleep because of how much my mind was racing. I’ll be tired tomorrow, I know, but I don’t care.

I stand from my favorite armchair and sit on his bed, sighing as I slide my hand up his warm leg and over his hip. He doesn’t stir—too deeply asleep to sense me here. I let out a deep breath, feeling safe enough to let down the icy guard that protects me during the daytime. Maybe this is what originally attracted me to watching him sleep—I can let myself feel whatever I want, and it doesn’t matter because he can’t see it. He doesn’t know. He’ll never know.

I touch his soft hair, pushing it out of his face so I can see his calm expression. He’s breathing deeply, as he always does when he’s asleep, his jaw slack, arms folded against his chest. I comb my fingers through his hair because there’s this tender pain in my chest that I can’t quite figure out. It makes me feel panicked and breathless like I did when I was trying to figure out our conversation from yesterday. I silently ask his peaceful face for answers, leaning closer so that I can smell his sweet scent. I have the urge to lie next to him and press my body against his—wrap my arms around his middle and squeeze him tight. It scares me, so I momentarily pull away my hand.

He’s so strong—muscle and bone and soft skin underneath my palm as I drag it across his body. I slide my hand across his arse cheek, smooth and inviting to my touch. I love having

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